Greenberg's View
New housing units
New Housing Units
In our house, a man’s place is in the kitchen. That’s the way it’s been for all 18 years of our marriage. I do the cooking, not because I have to, but because I like to. I actually worked as a chef and caterer for years before we met. My wife picks up the domestic slack doing those household chores I don’t enjoy, like everything else. This is an arrangement that has worked out well from the start of our marriage.
First, let’s establish that what Israel did by announcing the construction of 1,600 new housing units in East Jerusalem during the visit of Vice President Joseph Biden was dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. It was dumb because it shifted the focus of the United States and Israel from the most immediate existential threat Israel and the entire Middle East face — Iran — to one of lesser importance, the settlements.
The last time I saw Christopher Hitchens speak publicly in Los Angeles, he argued against God and religion. This time, delivering the eighth annual Daniel
Pearl Memorial Lecture at UCLA on March 3, he sounded a warning against a resurgence of anti-Semitism.
In one month, four young lives are gone, each one of them taken in an automobile accident. One after another — it feels less like a coincidence than an attack. For
such loss, grief goes beyond words. You can’t write about it, you can’t not write about it.
The year started tragically. When the 7.0-magnitude earthquake hit Haiti on Jan. 12, it looked as if fate finally had humanity on the ropes. The scale of devastation scoured our hearts. Children crushed by their own classrooms, bodies heaped onto the backs of trucks and ferried out to mass graves. When the president of Haiti said it would take three years just to clear the debris, I wondered how, in an age when attention is measured in nano-spans, the people of Haiti would ever get the help they need.
I first met Ed and Bernie Massey 12 years ago when they organized a citywide art project to paint the oil derrick towers at Beverly Hills High School. The brothers, who got hundreds of children in schools and hospitals around Los Angeles to paint brightly colored panels of flowers, then affixed them to the drab green towers. I hadn’t seen the Masseys since, but I thought of them every time I drove down Olympic.
They say we are all children of the same God, but it’s clear we don’t act like it. For centuries we’ve slaughtered one another in the name of God. We’ve enslaved, oppressed, reviled and ridiculed our fellow men and women because their god just looked at us funny. I belong to a people who, because we chose not to believe in somebody else’s idea of God, suffered 2,000 years of mayhem at the hands of true believers. I’m over it — sort of — but a quick glance in any history book makes me wary of those who say the path of human unity is through the Divine.
This week, Michael Oren kept up a very busy schedule in Los Angeles.
If you eat Jewish food you’re likely to get heart disease. If you read Jewish news you’re likely to get whiplash.
In the early 1990s, when I started work as a Jewish journalist, there was a great fear in the land. Its name was intermarriage.
The 1990 National Jewish Population Survey had just been released, and its central finding — that 52 percent of U.S. Jews who had married in the previous five years had married non-Jews — greatly upset American Jewish leaders.
In Philadelphia over winter vacation, I popped over to see the Philadelphia Museum of Art, one of the nation’s best. I got to stand alone before Picassos and Van Goghs. In fact, the only place I had to wait in a line of jostling, snap-happy tourists was to see — Rocky.
Disasters teach us more about religion than religion teaches us about disasters.
Whatever happened to gribenes?
I still make them every time I roast a chicken or make chicken soup; couldn’t be more simple.
One Shabbat morning several years ago, Dan Shevitz, one of my two favorite Venice rabbis, was walking down Abbot Kinney Boulevard toward his synagogue, Mishkon Tephilo. He came to a narrow stretch of sidewalk in front of Abbot’s Habit, and stopped, not wanting to walk over a large dog standing guard beside its owner.
The year almost ended with a bang. If not for some brave, smart passengers on that Detroit-bound flight from Amsterdam, a Muslim underwear bomber would have succeeded in blowing a hole through 2010.
2010 could be the year Iran gets the bomb.
Last week, I met a guy named John who moved out to Los Angeles many years ago, dreaming of Hollywood.
Elliott Broidy seems like a nice guy. I know he’s a charitable one: As I travel through Jewish L.A., I see his name on synagogue and museum plaques. The last time I saw him was last summer, when we exchanged “Shabbat Shaloms” in a sushi line at a bat mitzvah. Like I said, seems like a nice guy.
Why would anyone launch a new publication at a time when every indication is that print is dead and the economy is on life support?
Ask my wife — every week I come up with one sure-fire, world-changing, patent-worthy invention. My latest is an iPhone app that will tell me a person’s name when I hold the phone up to his or her face. Of course none of these inventions make it past the I-tell-her-and-she-rolls-her-eyes stage. The difference between me, a wannabe inventor, and a real high-tech entrepreneur is I don’t know the first thing about technology. The difference, in a word, is education.
Last Friday evening, I arrived early for a Shabbat event at American Jewish University, where I was supposed to interview Israeli writer Amos Oz in front of some 300 guests.
If you heard Benjamin Netanyahu speak at the General Assembly in Los Angeles three years ago, you would have thought, except for the perfect diction, it was a different man.
Last year, the Israeli human rights group B’Tselem released a video showing an Israeli soldier shooting a rubber bullet into the left foot of a bound and blindfolded.
Palestinian demonstrator at close range while a lieutenant colonel and other soldiers watched. After an army investigation of the incident, a military court charged the battalion commander with conduct unbecoming an officer.
I arrived in Israel in 1984. I didn’t speak or understand Hebrew, didn’t have a job and didn’t have a friend. In my pocket I had the name of the one person I knew in the entire country: a middle-aged Israeli American woman I had heard lecture on contemporary Hebrew literature at an Orthodox synagogue in Berkeley. After her talk, I mentioned to her that I would soon be moving to Jerusalem. She scribbled down her address and told me to come by for Shabbat.
Every day, more like every hour of every day, I get e-mails, letters and phone calls crying out that Israel faces dire threat, if not certain doom.
Everybody with a cause, everybody angry at a country eventually ends up in front of the Federal Building on Wilshire Boulevard at Veteran Avenue, waving a poster at passing cars, hoping for a honk. It may not be the most effective form of activism, but at least it tries to reach Angelenos where we live: in our cars.
Rob Eshman interviews David Sax, author of the book, "Save the Deli."
The way I see it, after a sheriff rides into town, cleans the place up, then rides off into the sunset — those townspeople better be out in the center of Main Street, waving goodbye and choking back tears.
My friend Norma came up to me at the celebration following my daughter’s bat mitzvah and said, “Do you know how special this is?”
This past summer, the last two Westside gas stations offering 99 percent pure biodiesel closed down their pumps. You can still buy regular gasoline at those stations, but the Great Green Hope of the Millenium, a powerful fuel made from sustainable organic matter, is nowhere to be found. Well, not quite.
At the official Oscar party March 7 for the Israeli foreign film nominee “Ajami,” the tension between art and politics threatened to overwhelm the night. And rather than celebrate a win for the third consecutive Israeli film to be nominated for an Oscar, private sighs of
SAT | MARCH 20
(MUSIC)
Erwin Schulhoff and Kurt Weill had their careers silenced under the Nazis. Tonight, art rises above injustice as violinist Daniel Hope and pianist Jeffrey Kahane perform select pieces by the composers in a Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra concert. Sat. 8