War Again

Whenever the bombs begin to fall, my fragile psyche takes me right to the abyss. Buildings collapsed. Bodies in the streets. The achievements of statehood scattered like pottery shards. It’s the whole nine yards of the Book of Lamentations, Jeremiah’s vision of Jerusalem in ruins, right down to the cannibalism of starving mothers. Add to that Warsaw and Bialystok, and there’s very little to stop my descent.

What makes it harder is my own romanticism. Like every Jewish child of the sixties, my images of Israel are edged in gold. In my agitated mind, Jerusalem is fabled, an Emerald City, fragrant with pines and night-blooming jasmine. Late in high school, it matched the dreaminess of my selfhood, my sense that Israel was transformational, a miraculous instance of national resurrection. I spent a year studying in the city, and I never really made sense of the reality, the grittiness and tension of a city divided. Instead, I absorbed it like a song or a scent. “One who has never seen the Temple has never seen a beautiful building in his life.”

I may be older now, but I still carry those sentiments, and the news of war has shaken me again. We immediately called and wrote our relatives, Alice’s family and my own many cousins. They represent young and old, urban and rural, liberal and centrist, plain folks and elites. At this point, everyone seems calm, settled into safe rooms across the country. This has happened many times before and it contributes to the sense that this is business as usual. All of my paranoia and anxiety to the contrary, they know the nature of this drill up close, and the near-certainty that they will come through alive.

I can also feel their relief that their government has acted to relieve the strain of Iranian radicalism. It is one of the essential differences between us. However much attention I pay to the news, I don’t feel the burden of a hostile Other, clamoring daily for my own annihilation. Saying this helps to moderate my views. Even if I question the wisdom of this episode, I acknowledge that others will have different ideas.

But that doesn’t keep me from the hard issues of this moment. Why was it necessary to break off negotiations? Were we somehow less safe on Saturday than the day before? How is it possible that we sent Kushner and Witkoff, deeply compromised by their ties to Iran’s rivals. That runs counter to Diplomacy 101, which operates on the basis of appearance and perception.

And what, finally, is the purpose of this adventure, which many will claim is the brainchild of Israel and its puppeteering efforts with a credulous president. Apart from his excitement at playing with toy soldiers, Trump has articulated no serious explanation. And if we already “obliterated” Iran’s uranium stores this summer, why are we doing it again in March? Is this changing the channel all over again so that we no longer think about Trump and Epstein, Netanyahu and October 7, and their other failures?

I personally think it’s about changing the channel, but only time will reveal the true nature of this sortie and the likelihood that it is an effort to evade culpability. In the meantime, many lives will be lost, young and old, urban and rural, liberal and centrist, plain folks and elites. That will happen all over the region, including the cities of the State of Israel. Meanwhile the powerful will claim unscrupulously that there was no alternative, that the bombs were mandatory.

On the eve of Purim, I remind readers of the Book of Esther that this is the fatal reasoning of King Achashveros. Instead of cancelling the decree he has issued, he claims that the empire requires rigid follow-through. He promised Haman that the Jews would be dealt with, and so they must, good sense be damned. Once the process of war has been initiated, nothing can be done to cancel his decree. Despite Esther and Mordechai’s successful intervention, he must allow the Jews to be attacked. Reversing this course ultimately requires thousands of fatalities.

It looks like we may be in Shushan again, with a foolish emperor imprisoned by his temperament, and a wily vassal who knows his customers. I pray, with you, that that is not the case.