A Letter to a Peace-Loving Humanitarian

 

The following letter is my response to an activist who tried to recruit me for his cause of "Strategy of Nonviolence, For the Children." 

Dear Mr. Sheldon,

          Thank you for writing to me, as it gives me the opportunity to explain that despite your good intentions, your initiative is, unfortunately, misguided, if not outright hateful and fateful.

            The idea of an enforced cease-fire between Israel, a democratic state and Hamas, a terror organization, means only one thing: the terror organization will continue to pursue its declared goal of eliminating Israel and killing its entire population. You will be prohibiting Israel from responding to murderous attacks on her populace. Not only has Hamas been showering Israel for years with thousands of daily missiles aimed at the civilian population—which had not prompted you to announce an initiative to force Hamas to stop—but Hamas broke every ceasefire ever negotiated with them. 

            How is your forcing Israel to stop fighting Hamas promotes peace? All it will do is strengthen and legitimize the terror organization which has declared that October 7th was only “a rehearsal” and that it would continue to repeat these barbaric atrocities to eliminate Israel. 

            Why isn’t your first call to demand that Hamas return the hostages? Why doesn’t your “strategy for non-violence” begin with a demand that Hamas surrender and stop using the Palestinian population as human shields? 

            You’ve had plenty of chances to take initiative. For years you could have demanded that US and Europe stop funneling money through the UN to perpetuate indefinite refugee status of the Palestinians. Tens of millions of displaces people after WWII had long been resettled. None is claiming to be a refugee three generations later, even while living in other countries, where they have made a home. Definitely not the Jews, who’d lost more than any other ethnic or national group. 

            Why haven’t you demanded—or demanding now—that the Arab countries who had exploited these people in 1948 with their murderous intention of annihilating Israel, now take responsibility for the results? None has ever offered to absorb a single Palestinian family. In fact, most have enacted apartheid laws against the Palestinians’ entry and integration. Unlike Israel which had provided employment to tens of thousands Gazans daily, Egypt had sealed its border with Gaza. 

            For your information, in 1948, the population in Gaza was about 300,000. It has since swelled to 2 million. In 2030, Gaza's population is projected to reach 3 million. Yes, in only six years it will grow by 50%. Whose responsibility is that? Where do you want these people to live? 

            Asking the question differently: What should the world do for this population you so care about when it grows additional 50% six years later, reaching over 4 million? Taking over modern-day Israel and killing the Jews living there? 

            Why haven’t you cried out your indignation when, for 75 years, UNRWA-sponsored schools taught children not only how to hate Jews, but how to use weapons to kill them, viewing Jews as less than humans? Why haven’t you cried out when you heard time and again that Palestinian parents’ greatest hopes for their children were for them to become “martyrs” who kill Jews? Where was your initiative when your tax dollars paid for militant summer camps teaching Palestinian children to kill? 

            What you now learn about children killed in Gaza, is that thousands of them are teenagers fighting as terrorists they had been indoctrinated to become. What was your strategy of non-violence for these children then, and what is it now? 

            The atrocities visited upon the Jews on October 7th were rarely recorded in their intensity, barbarism, and severity in modern human history. Yet, your past silence allowed it to happen. Your future “initiative” will make such final genocide of Jews in Israel a fact. 

            Where are your Christian sensitivities and benevolence when you accept the beheading of Jewish babies in their cribs and the lopping off of women’s breasts? What about shooting nails into women’s vaginas? How about gouging out a father’s eyes in front of his children, or burning a whole family alive in their home? 

            This will be the fate of the Jews under the repeat torture and massacre that your “non-violent cease-fire” will bring.  

            Cease-fire does not mean non-violence as you state. It means increased violence against the Jews of Israel. That is exactly what you preach. 

            Yes, Mr. Sheldon, there is a lot of work to be done, but the first of it is to support Israel which is under constant, unrelenting attack by terrorists whose actions against both populations—Israelis and Palestinians—are accepted by you and by other misguided good souls cheered on by mobs of anti-Semites. The cost of the war to both sides is enormous, but stopping it before it achieves its ultimate goal of eliminating Hamas only means the end of Israel, while giving legitimacy to a terror organization.  

            You can help stop the war. When you present your views to your list of misguided supporters and to the UN Secretary-General, please demand that the onus for achieving peace is on the world to stop terrorism. Demand Hamas’s unconditional surrender, just as ISIS was defeated. Demand the immediate return the hostages—and the end the war on Israel. 

            Please do not shift your gaze, for one minute, from the one entity that can stop the war: Hamas. 

            By doing so you’ll be freeing the Palestinian people, who may not be enamored of Israel, but whose suffering is wholly the result of years of oppression, corruption, and savagery by Hamas. Without Hamas, the war with Israel will stop and, with time and a different educational approach, these people may begin to have a vision of peace and prosperity. 

            It’s a simple as that. 

            Then you may turn to the world to fix the evil of UNRWA and the barbaric teaching of hate under its sponsorship. You may see future funding of Gaza not exploited for the construction of war-designated tunnels, but for the civilian purposes of building a society whose institutions carry out a vision of economic growth. 

            Mr. Sheldon, I urge you to rechannel your energy to support Israel, not to make her the victim of another Holocaust, as Hamas promises to do.

 Shalom,

Talia Carner

www.TaliaCarner.com 

Talia Carner is a novelist with HarperCollins. Her latest novel is THE BOY WITH THE STAR TATTOO. 

Sharon, an assistant to an Israeli naval officer stationed in Normandy, France, is intent on tracing his orphan roots to the French village from where he had been rescued post-WWII. When she identifies the mother who had tragically lost him, Sharon is unprepared for the shock of her discovery.

 

 

ONE PEOPLE

 

With Passover being celebrated this week, I'd like to share with you my essay that was previously published in The Jewish Book Council blog:

 ONE PEOPLE

            It’s breakfast at Club Med in Mexico. I select a white-chocolate bread, a croissant, and a slice of banana cake for the last time; as of tomorrow, my family and I must stretch my box of matzos for the remaining four days of our stay. Surrounded by a merry crowd in bathing suits and scant coverings—standard daytime apparel here—my heart is heavy. This evening, instead of a Passover Seder at a table laden with fine china, polished silver, and sparkling crystal, I must improvise a Seder on the beach. What kind of message am I giving my children when opting to exchange our most important holiday for a resort vacation?

            I approach the Chef-de-Village and ask for a secluded spot where my family and another Jewish couple we’ve met here could conduct a pre-sunset ceremony. He points to a beautiful thatched-roof area over a dance floor, facing the sea. “Anything else I can do?” he asks.

            “A bottle of sweet red wine, please?” Besides the box of matzos and a silver kiddush cup, I packed a dozen Haggadahs and baby-blue yarmulkes stamped with the date of our youngest daughter’s bat-mitzvah. I write down my recipe for charoset, a chopped mix of peeled apples, walnuts, pecans and dates, all flavored with cinnamon, honey and red wine.

            Moments later, I am surprised to hear him over the PA announcing that all who wish to participate in a Seder, should meet at five o’clock at the designated area.

            I cringe and glance around at the crowd, busy picking from mounds of fried bacon and pork sausages. Is someone cracking a comment about the invasion of the Hebs? No one seems to pay attention, and I decide that throughout history, Jews in far more dire conditions managed to celebrate Passover. So will my family, down to the lengthy reading of the Haggadah, the yearly retelling of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt.

            At lunch, a sous-chef presents me with an industrial-size baking tray filled with charoset. Imagining that most of this huge quantity will be baked in tomorrow’s pies, I dip a spoon into the mix. The familiar taste of Passover festivity is already inside me. “May I also have a plate with a hard-boiled egg, a lamb bone, horseradish, and sprigs of parsley?” I ask, describing the traditional Passover plate that contains the symbols of liberation of the Israelites from bondage in Egypt. “And a cup of salt water?”

             The sun is still high when I drag my family off the beach to shower and dress in what passes in Club Med for evening attire—shorts and Polo shirts for men; white slacks or gauzy dresses for women.

            At five o’clock we arrive at the dance platform, carrying my Passover paraphernalia. To my annoyance someone must have double-booked the place, as dozens of his guests, dressed for a pre-dinner party are hanging about. “Now we must go look for another quiet spot,” I mutter, and go search for the sous-chef to locate my tray of charoset and Passover plate.

            In a cluster of people, I spot the couple we have invited and wave.

            As they wave back, some guests turn toward me, smiling. Only then it hits me: All these people are here for my little Seder!

            As my husband counts them as they stream in: a hundred and forty. We order more bottles of wine and crates of glassware from the kitchen. We place the Seder plate in the center of a table covered with a white tablecloth and dedicate my kiddush cup for Elijah. We break my matzos into the smallest pieces, and ladle charoset onto serving plates.

            Then we distribute the twelve Haggadahs—the story of Passover told in biblical Hebrew. I watch as Jews from South American countries speaking Spanish and Portuguese, Jews from France and Austria and Israel, speaking French, German and Hebrew, and Jews from North America, Australia and Great Britain speaking English, all squeeze close around their respective single Haggadah. A man from Venezuela assumes the role of the Seder leader—luckily his pronunciation is the Sephardi version, that of spoken Hebrew, not the archaic Ashkenazi version of most USA synagogues—and we begin taking turns reading aloud, with the congregants responding when called to do so. The Sephardi chant their melodious renditions of some of the hymns, and the Ashkenazi respond with their musical versions. Regardless of our home language, we all utter the same ancient Hebrew words, recite the same sages’ arguments, and sing the same prayers. Together, we retell the narrative of liberation from slavery and urge our children to it on to their offspring, so generations to come will also appreciate freedom.

            I examine the men’s heads covered with baseball caps, dinner napkins, and my dozen yarmulkes in baby-blue like the undulating sea beyond. For one hour, strangers to one another, we are connected by one culture and unite through the ancient language of our ancestors in a tradition that transcends all geo-political barriers, that has stood up to centuries of persecutions, pogroms, and repeated attempts at our annihilation.

            “Next year in Jerusalem,” we chant together, expressing our shared vision of the place that for two-thousand years has anchored Jewish faith. For one hour we reassert to ourselves that we are one people. My people.

  # # #

Novelist Talia Carner is formerly the publisher of Savvy Woman magazine and a lecturer at international women’s economic forums. She is a committed supporter of global human rights and has spearheaded projects centered on the subjects of female plight and women’s activism. Her five novels have been hailed for exposing society’s ills, the latest of which is THE THIRD DAUGHTER (HarperCollins, September 2019.)

            Talia Carner has given over 400 keynote speeches and over 300 Zoom presentations about the social issues behind her novels to civic, educational and religious organizations. She lives in New York and Florida.

Public Thoughts To Be Read At The Passover Table

By Talia Carner

This Passover, as we celebrate our ancestors’ freedom from slavery, we reconnect through our most important holiday with our centuries-long traditions. It is incumbent upon us to contemplate the broader concept of freedom and what it means to us as individuals, as members of our immediate communities, and as members of the community of Jews across the globe.

Throughout history, Passover has also been a time of increased blood libels and pogroms against Jews. While Jews celebrated freedom and showed benevolence toward fellow humans, they were reminded how hated they were—hatred so strong that it “justified” killing them by the dozens, thousands, and millions. In these days, as a new wave of anti-Semitism is sweeping over the globe, gathering tsunami-like power, it lands right in Manhattan's UN building. The global Jew-hate fest from Venezuela to Spain—and renewed in Poland—has  metastasized into leading universities, mainstream media, civic organizations, and even Western governments. The tale of the Haggadah we read at the Seder stands to remind us that hate comes knocking on our door first with words, then with economic and academic boycotts, then with biased UN resolutions, and, as in the past, it may end with guns, bombs and incinerators.

Passover also marks spring in our ancient agrarian society, a beginning of a cycle of life, with the blooming of trees and the planting of vegetables and flowers. Spring’s fresh start and the tradition of inviting others to share our bounty at the Passover table reminds us of Israel’s extraordinary achievements in agriculture and science—efficiencies, discoveries and inventions she has shared for decades with over 120 countries to help nourish children, improve global food production, and wipe out starvation.

While these past seventy years Israelis—both civilians and soldiers—have given each Jew everywhere reasons to walk tall and proud, their existential threat from Iran is real.

“Every Jew should consider himself as if he was freed from slavery,” says the Haggadah we read tonight. In today’s climate we should add that “Every Jew should consider himself as if he’s just escaped a terrorist bomb.” There but for the grace of God and twist of history, we would not have been spared the wrath and bombs of Palestinians or extreme Muslim murderers taking shelter in our sacred freedom. Let’s give our prayers and charity to the families who have suffered unimaginable, senseless losses. And as we do, let us search within ourselves whether we have done all we could for them and for the Israeli soldiers who take the first bullet for us.

And while we’re at it, let’s remember our American soldiers on the forefront in the desserts of Iraq and Afghanistan—and the thousands of families who would never get to put their arms around them upon their return.

The tradition of Passover also calls us to invite to the Seder table any Jew who does not have one. Let’s invite—at least in our thoughts—all our Jewish brethren in countries that do not offer the freedom and protection that the USA guarantees us. For them, we can raise our collective voice with indignation and outrage and use our collective power to fight tyranny and fanaticism that calls for our—and their—demise.

Israel’s president Shimon Peres once said that even Ben-Gurion had not dreamed big enough. Let us dream big tonight—stretch our dream to encompass all the vast possibilities, and let us dream tonight of a world of peace.

Let us bless all the good things God has given us so far, and celebrate our resilience and our heritage of strong Jewish values that we have shared with the world over for centuries. And let's allow that dream bring joy to our hearts and to our Passover table.

Amen.

 # # # 

Author Talia Carner's novels are heart-wrenching suspense dealing with social issues. Please read the first chapter of each on her website at www.TaliaCarner.com .

One People--Passover Surprise Guests

  

            It’s breakfast at Club Med in Mexico. I select a white-chocolate bread, a croissant, and a slice of banana cake for the last time; as of tomorrow, my family and I must stretch my box of matzos for the remaining four days of our stay. Surrounded by a merry crowd in bathing suits and scant coverings—standard daytime apparel here—my heart is heavy. This evening, instead of a Passover Seder at a table laden with fine china, polished silver, and sparkling crystal, I must improvise a Seder on the beach. What kind of message am I giving my children when opting to trump our most important holiday by a resort vacation?

            I approach the Chef-de-Village and ask for a secluded spot where my family and another Jewish couple we’ve met here could conduct a pre-sunset ceremony. He points to a beautiful thatched-roof area over a dance floor, facing the sea. “Anything else I can do?” he asks.

            “A bottle of sweet red wine, please?” Besides the box of matzos and a silver kiddush cup, I packed a dozen Hagadahs and baby-blue yarmulkes stamped with the date of our youngest daughter’s bat-mitzvah. I write down my recipe for charoset, a chopped mix of peeled apples, walnuts, pecans and dates, all flavored with cinnamon, honey and red wine.

            Moments later, I am surprised to hear him over the PA announcing that all who wish to participate in a Seder, should meet at five o’clock at the designated area.

            I cringe and glance around at the crowd, busy picking from mounds of fried bacon and pork sausages. Is someone cracking a comment about the invasion of the Hebs? No one seems to pay attention, and I decide that throughout history, Jews in far more dire conditions managed to celebrate Passover. So will my family, down to the lengthy reading of the Hagadah, the yearly retelling of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt.

            At lunch, a sous-chef presents me with an industrial-size baking tray filled with charoset. Imagining that most of this huge quantity will be baked in tomorrow’s pies, I dip a spoon into the mix. The familiar taste of Passover festivity is already inside me. “May I also have a plate with a hard-boiled egg, a lamb bone, horseradish, and sprigs of parsley?” I ask. “And a cup of salt water?”

            The sun is still high when I drag my family off the beach to shower and dress in what passes in Club Med for evening attire—shorts and Polo shirts for men; white slacks or gauzy dresses for women.

            At five o’clock we arrive at the dance platform, carrying my Passover paraphernalia. To my annoyance someone must have double-booked the place, as dozens of his guests, dressed for a pre-dinner party are hanging about. “Now we must go look for another quiet spot,” I mutter, and go search for the sous-chef to locate my tray of charoset and Passover plate.

            In a cluster of people, I spot the couple we have invited and wave.

            As they wave back, some guests turn toward me, smiling. Only then it hits me: All these people are here for my little Seder!

            As my husband counts them—a hundred and forty—more bottles of wine and crates of glassware are brought from the kitchen. We place the Seder plate in the center of a table covered with a white tablecloth and dedicate my kiddush cup for Elijah. We break my matzos into the smallest pieces, and ladle charoset onto serving plates.

            Then we distribute the twelve Hagadahs—the story of Passover told in biblical Hebrew. I watch as Jews from South American countries speaking Spanish and Portuguese, Jews from France and Austria and Israel, speaking French, German and Hebrew, and Jews from North America, Australia and Great Britain speaking English, all squeeze close around their respective single Hagadah. A man from Venezuela assumes the role of the Seder leader—luckily his pronunciation is the Sephardi version, that of spoken Hebrew, not the archaic Ashkenazi version of most USA synagogues—and we begin taking turns reading aloud, with the congregants responding when called to do so. The Sepharadis chant their melodious renditions of some of the hymns, and the Ashkenazis respond with their musical versions. Regardless of our home language, we all utter the same ancient Hebrew words, recite the same sages’ arguments, and sing the same prayers. Together, we retell the narrative of liberation from slavery and urge our children to pass it on to theirs, so they, too, will forever appreciate freedom.

            I examine the men’s heads covered with baseball caps, dinner napkins, and my dozen yarmulkes in baby-blue like the undulating sea beyond. For one hour, strangers to one another, we are connected by one culture and unite through the ancient language of our ancestors in a tradition that transcends all geo-political barriers, that has stood up to centuries of persecutions, pogroms, and repeated attempts at our annihilation. “Next year in Jerusalem,” we chant together, expressing our shared vision of the place that for two-thousand years has anchored Jewish faith. For one hour we reassert to ourselves that we are one people. My people.

# # #

Author Talia Carner’s most recent novel, HOTEL MOSCOW, (HarperCollins 2015,) tells the story of an American daughter of Holocaust survivors who travels to Russia shortly after the fall of communism, encounters anti-Semitism, and must come to terms with her parents’ legacy.