© March 7, 2012
The World talks and a Syrian Dies.
Israel, it could be you. It has been you, at another time and another place.
Have you forgotten the despair, the injustice, the indifference, and the outrageousness of others turning away?
Who are you, as a nation, as a people, to allow this to happen to anyone else?
Israel, and yes, Jews: Take a stand.
Help the Syrians.
Stop the killing of innocents.
But who am I?
Why give a damn what I think?
I’m not a diplomat.
Not a politician.
Not influential or wealthy.
Just a guy.
But also, long ago, a street fighter and always a Jew.
A person who has been outnumbered, overwhelmed and beaten badly while others stood by.
A person who fought back against crazy odds and won.
But also, a person whose life was saved from a mob by a man with a gun. A cop.
Not a friend, but someone who was one against thirty in 1982 in Hyde Park.
He didn’t deliberate the risk while I was mauled or killed. He acted.
He took a chance, took my side and I’m still here, and grateful.
Somehow, today, I feel like a Syrian.
And God help me, I hate a stacked deck.