Candles Always Cry

And Other Stories

Month: September, 2011

Will There be Palestine?

Mahmoud Abbas, president of the Palestinian Authority is expected to make a bid for an independent Palestinian state. They need nine of fifteen votes, but one veto from the US will take it off the table. Here are some good links with intelligent speaking points on the topic.  Intelligence by default excludes words like apartheid, genocide, traitor and AIPAC.

–> Declaring independence does not a state make
1) Evidently, there’s more to being a state than believing in yourself, and Palestine, an undefined people and location, does not fit the bill. 2) Another problem is that the PA was granted power by the Oslo peace accords. That agreement expressly excludes what Abbas is doing right now.

–> Diplomatic ties
Abbas must present his bid to the UN because he promised his people he would.
Obama does not want to be placed in the position where he will have to veto the bid, which he will.
Diplomats are coming up with a plan to keep them both happy.

–> Enough of the American know-it-alls. What do Palestinians think?
That UN vote or no, things won’t change much on the ground, and that they need to be a nation before they can be a state. The interviewees say that to build a state they need to teach the children their heritage by giving them an appreciation of what was taken from them. That hardly seems like a forward way of thinking in my opinion, especially considering that there never was a Palestine.


Why do I run?

I run to escape my destiny. I run to escape the certainty that there is a destiny.

I am trying to outrun three centuries of scholars and rabbis who cherished books and scorned Hedonism, even as they intellectually abolished the lines between physical and spiritual. It isn’t meant to me, they say sagely, God will help.

It weighs me down nonetheless, this heritage. I tell myself I’m young, I have a great metabolism, all I need is willpower. It laughs. Tells me I need a lot more than willpower, I need a virtual realignment of the stars to lose the creaky body, the scholarly slump, the philosopher’s melancholic eyes.

I see it more each time I run. That’s who I find running with me through the streets, panting and wheezing and aching in every muscle I never learned to name. When I reach a goal I’ve set out for myself I can’t tell if I’m succumbing or embracing. Running towards or running away.