Hasidic Buses: What Is Critics' Real Motive?

First published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Oct. 25, 2011 BROOKLYN – Earlier this week, the media discovered that a private bus line (although one with a public franchise) between Hasidic Williamsburg and Hasidic Borough Park maintains separate seating for men and women, with women relegated to the back of the bus. To those who are familiar with the Hasidim and the ultra-Orthodox (as opposed to those who consider themselves "modern Orthodox"), this is no surprise. According to the halachic (traditional rabbinic) interpretation of the Torah, men and women must remain separate for two weeks out of the month because a woman is considered "unclean" during her period. This often is reflected in actions that would be considered extreme by the outside world. For example, in many Hasidic communities a woman who is having her period cannot sit in the same car seat as her husband. She can’t even pass a salt shaker to her husband at this "time of the month" – she must put it down on the table, and then he takes it. One of the reasons for separation between men and women in the public sphere, such as on this bus, is that a man might inadvertently come into contact with a woman who is having her period. The other is that any contact between men and their wives or close female relatives is considered a temptation and an invitation to adultery. This is reflected, for example, in the long dresses and long-sleeved blouses that Hasidic women must wear – this is called snius (modesty). Many ultra-Orthodox (or "black-hat Orthodox") and Hasidim won’t even listen to a women’s voice singing lest it arouse passions – the term for this is kol isha ("the voice of the woman"). Personally, my interpretation of Judaism is much, much more liberal than that of the ultra-Orthodox, and I more or less agree with Mayor Bloomberg that because the bus has a public franchise, its operators should follow city law and let men and women sit together. However, the reaction from the non-Jewish world (and some Jews) on the blogosphere is somewhat disconcerting. Like the controversy over circumcision in California, many people who just don’t like Jews, hate Israel or hate religion in general have seized on this issue like a dog seizes a bone. They say, more or less, "See, how primitive Judaism, and religion in general, are! These primitive people shouldn’t be subsidized. Indeed, no one can be an intelligent person unless they reject religion and nationality!" The trouble is, however, that you don’t hear much of those arguments about Islam (women sit separately in the mosques, and the religion has rather prescribed roles for women), the Amish (in whose churches women also sit separately) or any number of other religious sects that have similar beliefs. No, it is only Jews who are asked to give up their beliefs or customs in the name of "universalism." I myself belong to an egalitarian congregation with a female cantor, and I would be thrilled to death of a group of Hasidic women started a movement to give them more equality in religious life. I would support it wholeheartedly. But this movement has to come from within – not from what they perceive as a hostile world. So, maybe it’s time to stop being so self-righteous about the Hasidim and their buses. Multiculturalism is for Jews, too!

Let's Vigorously Enforce the Anti-Trust Laws!

By Raanan Geberer Brooklyn Daily Eagle Oct. 18, 2011 BROOKLYN — Despite some of the rhetoric one hears, it’s not necessary to totally overthrow the status quo to effect some of the changes the “Occupy Wall Street” movement wants. One good step in the right direction would be to vigorously enforce the anti-trust laws. Anti-trust legislation came into being in the 1890s after the efforts of magnates like John D. Rockefeller of Standard Oil to crush competition, often by extra-legal means like burning down competitors’ oil wells, and to establish monopolies or near-monopolies. The net result was that economic power was concentrated in an extremely small number of companies — just like today. Often, the public was forced to endure high prices for commodities because there were few other places to go. During that decade and up until the beginning of World War I, the government, under leaders like Republican President Theodore Roosevelt, vigorously initiated one action after another against such giant corporations as Standard Oil, J.P. Morgan’s National Security Company and James Duke’s tobacco trust. Afterward, especially during the prosperity of the 1950s and ‘60s and after the Reagan “revolution,” anti-trust legislation took a back seat. Conservative economists like Alan Greenspan and Milton Friedman argued that anti-trust legislation was harmful to business because it stifled potential innovations and improvements. The last major anti-trust prosecution, that of Microsoft, was defeated on technicalities. But the problems that led to Teddy Roosevelt’s vigorous prosecution of the entities he called trusts still remain. Free competition still exists at the Main Street, mom-and-pop level. For example, if a bakery store exists in a small town like New Paltz, and another one opens three blocks away, the two will compete honestly. But at the higher levels of society, it’s a different story. For example, how many people know that food companies often actually pay for shelf space in supermarkets? (And I know this because I once worked for a supermarket trade publication.) Thus, the public will never know many products that it could come to embrace because the smaller companies that produce them won’t have the ability to pay that the food giants do. Also, there are many allegations, such as those from the New America Foundation, that Walmart, the nation’s largest retail chain, often makes its suppliers suffer by insisting that its suppliers accept low prices. When Walmart (and for all I know, some other giant retail chains as well) demands this, the supplier has to accept these prices because the chain buys such a large amount of its products. This can then lead to layoffs and plant closings because the supplier has a harder time staying in business. Does trust-busting actually deprive the public of innovative products? I say it’s the opposite. Let’s look at the Tucker car. The Tucker car, which came on the market briefly in 1948, was one of the most innovative vehicles ever produced. But after pressure from the Big Three (according to Jeff Bridges’ Tucker: The Man and His Dream), bought-off officials from Michigan began a regulatory campaign against the small company. Eventually, Tucker was exonarated, but by that time the company was out of business. Also, look at the credit card industry. Credit cards are known for their high interest rates. It would make sense that at least one large company, in order to compete, would lower its interest rates substantially. Why hasn’t this happened? Sounds mighty suspicious to me! Let’s have a new Teddy Roosevelt and a new round of trust-busting!

Zuccotti Park and Participatory Democracy

By Raanan Geberer Originally Publshed in Brooklyn Daily Eagle NEW YORK — The other day, I took a short trip to Zuccotti Park, the headquarters of the “Occupy Wall Street” movement that has so many people up in arms. One of the first things that strikes one is how small the demonstration really is. The area it occupies, if one were to compare it to Brooklyn, is comparable to the area of Cadman Plaza Park north of the War Memorial — not even the entire park. But within the park, there were lots of people, mainly young people. Some were camping, some were giving out material, some were merely curiosity seekers. Being a veteran of many mass demonstrations during the 1970s, one difference is how democratic the current protest is. Major decisions among the group members are resolved by a “general assembly.” In contrast, during the ’70s, decisions were made from the top down by “steering committees.” Also, during the ’60s and ’70s, highly organized, ideological (and I would say elitist) Leninist groups like the Socialist Workers Party and the Progressive Labor Party, who were admirers of totalitarian societies, put all their energy into dominating and manipulating any protest groups that formed spontaneously. Here, in contrast, most of the demonstrators did not have any kind of an “agenda.” Indeed, many of today’s far-left groups, like international A.N.S.W.E.R., were nowhere to be seen at Zuccotti Park (although others, like the Industrial Workers of the World, were there). All the protesters know is that something is wrong with this country, and that the deck is stacked against them. The majority of them are college graduates who have been unable to find jobs or housing. If anything, the gathering was oriented toward what used to be called participatory democracy. One young man whom I spoke to told me that the members didn’t know enough to make any “demands” on the larger society. Rather, he said, the demonstrators would spend their time talking to each other, debating issues and trying to discover any common ground. Only after this would they formulate a platform. It was a true marketplace of ideas, with anyone and everyone represented, from prisoners’ rights groups to a young lady who protested the use of temps as “permanent workers,” but without the benefits. Side by side were a member of the Green Party, some evangelical Christians, a few Hasidim and even a representative of Ron Paul’s presidential campaign. There were some who praised Obama and others who felt that there was no difference between the Democratic and Republican parties. All of them co-existed without the bitter, back-and-forth insults that were typical of the 1960s and ’70s movements. No one called the police “fascist pigs” — instead, they called on the cops to join them. And in the process, many underlying assumptions of American life were questioned, at last. One young man held up a placard saying, “Corporations are not democracies.” When I asked him about yearly shareholders’ meetings, he compared them to the “legislative bodies” of the former Soviet Union, which basically acted as a rubber stamp for high party officials. I had to agree. Another table served as the “people’s library,” where people donated books and others borrowed them. Curiously, one saw few artifacts of the electronic age — smart phones, iPads, etc. What one saw in Zuccotti Park was participatory democracy, the type that Tom Hayden and company wrote about in the Port Huron Statement in 1960. There have been brief times when this type of democracy has flourished — during the Paris Commune in 1871, during the early days of the soviets in Russia before they were compromised by the Bolshevik bureaucrats, during the sit-down strikes in the U.S. during the 1930s, during the brief rule of the anarchists in Barcelona in the 1930s — and, now, in Zuccotti Park.

National Infrastructure bank: An Idea Whose Time Has Come

Published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Oct. 5, 2011 BROOKLYN — In Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand’s recent telephone press conference, which mainly concerned money for transportation projects in President Obama’s Jobs Bill, she also touched on another important matter. She voiced her support for an unusual concept — a National Infrastructure Bank. The government would identify infrastructure (road, bridge, rail, mass transit, airport) projects that need to get done and contribute seed money. Then, it would recruit private investors to contribute to repairs or new construction. Gillibrand said that she’s often run into businesspeople who want to contribute to such projects, but have no opportunity to do so. The measure was actually introduced in the Senate in 2008, but has been stalled since then. This is extremely important. Businesses or individuals who want to contribute to the operations of, say, Central or Prospect Park have every opportunity to do so. The same goes for the museums and the performing arts. But let’s take myself. I’m a lifelong rail fan. If I suddenly find myself with a large sum of money, and I want to contribute to the repair of the Culver Viaduct, I have no means of doing so. Let’s take another example. The recent flooding of the Ramapo River all but wiped out the Port Jervis line of MetroNorth in Rockland County. If I were a business owner in one of the affected towns who wanted to contribute money to the rebuilding of the line, I would probably have to call about 20 government offices and make about 50 calls before I found the opportunity to do so. So let’s have the National Infrastructure Bank, sooner than later. I dare say that if that bank had existed since the 1930s or so, we would still have the New York, Westchester and Boston railway; the Putnam Line of the New York Central; and the North Shore Line of the Staten Island Railway, because interested parties would have had the opportunity to step up and contribute funds to ensure those lines’ continued operation. Bob Diamond might have completed his Red Hook trolley line, provided that investors came forward to support it. The parks have their support groups, and so do the arts. Now, let’s give road and rail projects a chance!

Give Me Back My Old Username and Password

Originally Published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle

At the dawn of the internet age, around 1996, when I first connected to the web, I was asked on several sites to choose a user name and password.

After some thought, I chose a user name that both my wife and I could use and a six-letter password that was based on one of my wife’s childhood imaginary characters.

This state of affairs made me very happy. The names were simple and easily remembered and could be used on many different sites. There was one site that wanted a longer password, but I merely added another imaginary character to the first.

Within the last five years or so, however, I have been given to understand that my old user name and password are no longer “politically correct.” Every time I log onto a new site and set up an account, it seems, I have to choose a password that’s not only 10 or more characters but one that also has some upper-case and some lower-case letters, numbers, and, in at least one case, a figure such as a star or an exclamation point. In other cases, especially financial sites, even after I log on, I have to identify a pre-chosen photo before I get the site.

Almost as odious as this is the fact that half the time, I can’t even choose a user name for myself any more. More and more sites want my email to serve as my user name. That might be simpler for them, but what happens if I change my email address?

I know that these changes are designed to keep me safe, but I think I’m safe enough as it is — few people, for example, would know the names of my wife’s imaginary characters. I long for the days when life was nice and simple. Give me back my old user name and password!

It's Not Enough Being Green

Originally published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 8, 2011

BROOKLYN -- No one in their right mind would say that the environment is not one of the major issues of our time.

Major lakes and rivers in parts of this country are highly polluted (although some cleanup efforts, like that on the Gowanus Canal, have made progress). Air pollution contributes to respiratory diseases, many people have serious concerns about the safety of gas drilling in upstate New York, and the supply of fossil fuel is running out. We seriously need to develop renewable energy and to recycle our garbage more effectively.

However, there are some people who focus only on the environment as the big issue of our time. The environment, of course, is only one of several big issues – there’s education, the economy, foreign conflicts, labor conflicts, housing. And those are just a few.

The unfortunate truth is that the “powers that be,” for decades, have promoted environmentalism as a “safe” outlet for youthful idealism, for young people’s desire for social change. And many of these young people, and not-so-young people, are enraptured with environmentalism on the surface, but fail to make connections, to see the environment in context.

They fail to examine why so many American corporations and foreign governments like Russia and China have engaged in massive pollution, and without adequate controls may continue to do so in the future.

At its extreme, this sort of narrow vision has led to widespread acceptance of a situation where the mayor of New York City proposes to build bike lanes on every other street and all sorts of “green” traffic islands, but almost in the same breath threatens to cut the jobs of 6,000 teachers and to close almost 100 senior centers.

Most misled are those people who are under the delusion that they’re changing the world because they’re growing a garden on the roof or buying organic apples rather than “regular” apples. I, given the choice in a grocery or produce store, would probably buy the organic apples, but it’s mainly because, in the long run, this will contribute to my personal health. I have no illusions that I am impacting the wider society in a major way by doing so.

If every single person in the city started to buy organic apples and broccoli tomorrow, the stock market would still be in serious trouble, the good credit rating of the United States would still be in doubt, unemployment would still be high, and wars would still be going on in at least a dozen countries in the world. That’s something to think about.

Food for Thought

In the spring of 1982, life as a reporter at the Tri-State Food Retailer, a small, independent trade magazine, had grown progressively weirder for Rob.
Not that the Tri-State Food Retailer wasn’t weird to begin with. It was run like a prison camp; people were discouraged from talking to each other unless their conversation was related to the job. The Zuckermans, father and son, who owned the company ran around the place scowling and peeking over the employees’ shoulders; and only white shirts were allowed. There were no birthday parties, no Christmas parties. You didn’t get any medical benefits until you were there for a year, and every few weeks, someone else was fired. When Rob got the job, he’d hoped to move out of his parents’ house and get his own place again, but on the pitiful salary he received here, it was impossible.
Rob’s misanthropic father usually assumed Rob was to blame for anything that happened to him, but this case was so extreme that Dad was forced to concede that the fault lay elsewhere. "Whoever heard of a job like that!" he screamed. "Why don’t you quit? I’ll support you until you find another one!"
It looked like his father might not have to worry. Bobby, one of the advertising salespeople, confided, "I think you’re a good kid. I’d keep you around all the time. But I’m not really sure what the Zuckermans think ...."
"But Paul just moved me from here," said Rob, indicating the seat near the door, "to there," the seat nearest the editor, Paul Walsh, thought to a sign of moving up within the tiny organization.
"Well," Bobby said, "in the past six months, I’ve seen five people move from here to there, and most of them were fired anyway!"
The following day, Walsh, a tall, bearded man with a lisp whose major claim to fame was having worked for the National Enquirer a few years ago, closed the door.
"Rob," he said, "I have bad news for you."
Maybe it’s not so bad, Rob thought. Maybe it’s merely that he promoted Marlene, the other reporter, to assistant editor over me. But the next minute, he heard Paul say, "I’m firing you."
Rob asked why. Paul replied that Rob had bought two cameras, one a backup, to a supermarket opening in the Bronx because he was uncomfortable with the new camera, showing that he was unsure of himself; that he had let errors slip by in the proofreading process (although Rob had never claimed to be a proofreader); that Rob had misplaced papers on his desk, although he subsequently found them; and above all, Rob had mentioned, in conversation, the Supermarkets Association, which the Zuckermans hated so much that they didn’t want to hear the name mentioned.
"In a way, it’s too bad, because you’re a good writer!" John continued. "But you have a problem – disorganization! And in this organization, you either have to move up or move out! I’ll recommend you for a job, but it has to be as a writer, not an editor. You’re better off in a large organization, like Fairchild Publications, where they can give you assignments and tell you, `Do this,’ `Do that’.."
"But why didn’t you tell me before?"
"Rob, you’re an adult! You’re twenty-nine years old! What should I tell you? `Get organized’?"
At that point, Rob walked into the other room and into the office of Ray, the younger Zuckerman. With nothing to lose, he told him all his dissatisfaction with the magazine: the lack of friendliness, the mandatory white shirts, the fact that the bosses looked over people’s shoulders, the lack of benefits.
"Well," Ray replied, "I’m sorry, but I trust John’s judgment in these matters. As far as the other things you said are concerned, we are what we are!"
As Rob was walking out, he ran into Ellie, the jovial, middle-aged secretary, by the elevator. When he told her what happened, Ellie replied, "Don’t worry about it. They do that to everybody. What’s the problem—that you made mistakes? Paul’s made plenty of mistakes! He’s gotten people’s names wrong, the whole bit! He once left two hundred-dollar ads at home and forgot to take them to the printing plant, and that cost the company more than a thousand dollars!"
Disappointed but relieved, Rob walked out the building and into the crowded streets of Midtown Manhattan, with their overpriced restaurants, their soul-less, glass-and-steel office buildings, their tourist-trap camera stores. He saw the overstuffed executives in their $500 suits, the vapid secretaries with their dreams of soap operas and romance novels, the overworked delivery men with their hand trucks, all hurrying, rushing somewhere. The only places of any interest to Rob for miles around were Grand Central Station, the Chrysler Building and the 42nd Street Library – he certainly wouldn’t miss working here!
Walking uptown, Rob pondered his future. Thank God he’d be able to get unemployment insurance. If worse came to worse, and he wasn’t able to get another journalism job within six months or so, he could go back to his old management job at the city Housing Authority. Unlike Paul Walsh, Mr. Katz at Housing thought that Rob had done a wonderful job, and promised to bend the regulations so that Rob could return if he ever wanted. Rob, a journalism graduate, had left the Housing Authority for a one-year job on a weekly paper in Ohio to gain newspaper experience, but he was grateful that he still had friends at Housing. He only wished that when he’d left the Authority and temporarily moved out west, he’d had enough time to sublet his old studio apartment, his lost Arcadia. Now he was stuck with his parents again. But it could be worse–what if he’d found a new apartment, only to not be able to pay for it when the Food Retailer fired him?
Walking his usual route, toward the Co-Op City express bus that would take him home to his parents’ house, Rob suddenly felt in the mood for a diversion, for relaxation. He was in no hurry, especially now, with his newfound freedom. He’d take the subway up to Allerton Avenue, the Bronx neighborhood where a particular crowd he’d met in high school used to live, and walk around a little for the sake of nostalgia. Then he’d take another bus back home.
Allerton Avenue was the same as it had been back in the days when Dave, Jeff, Vinnie, Mary and the whole gang had ruled the roost at the pizzeria or the aptly-nicknamed "sleazy bar," although none of those people had lived there for at least five years. There was the Italian bakery, there was the Jewish deli, there was the Woolworth’s. Up the block, the tiny movie theater was still there, hanging on despite the steady march of multiplexes that seemed to be opening everywhere.
Rob went into Joe’s old-fashioned candy store, spun around on the stool, then ordered an egg cream. Next to him was a young Hispanic guy reading a copy of the Daily News. Rob reached a copy of Newsday and perused the magazines and newspapers on the rack.
"Crain’s Chicago Business?" he asked, amused.
"It’s funny, but there’s two guys who buy it every week, like clockwork!" Joe said, pouring the milk and syrup into the seltzer.
Soon, a casually-dressed black guy in his thirties came in and started to talk to no one in particular. "Man, I’m glad I got a day off from work today," he said. "I can spend all my day with my writing! Sometimes I just write for hours!"
The Hispanic guy turned around and faced him. "What sort of writing do you do?"
The black guy’s face lit up. "I do songwriting, man! I write songs!"
"Really! I write songs, too! I’ve written about 100 songs, I’ve given them to at least 20 artists, I even gave one to Luther Vandross’ company, but no luck yet! What’s your name?"
"Mine’s Norman."
"Mine’s Manuel. Maybe we can do some business, man. Here, here’s my phone number."
Watching these two guys, Rob reflected that the real life wasn’t in Midtown Manhattan, it was in neighborhoods like this one, all over New York City. This is where the sense of community was, not back there, where the people totally forgot about their co-workers aside once they left their offices. This is where the real people were, people who meant what they said, not people who were planning to fire you for weeks but didn’t tell you until the last minute.
Satisfied, Rob paid for his egg cream, left the store, then waited for the bus to take him home.