Living in Israel now is scary, but where else would we want to be? - opinion

We’ve heard of “Me too, unless you’re a Jew,” and we’ve heard of cartoonists who don’t caricature Muslims for fear of losing their own heads. We’ve watched the world’s greatest academics choking over “context” in their attempts to appease Qatari donors, and we’ve despaired as the Red Cross gets red-faced and cross when begged to check on our hostages.

But antisemitic computers? Does artificial intelligence fear that vengeful masked men with Kalashnikovs will shoot out its hard drive?

Take a look at this verbatim conversation with ChatGPT:

You: Tell me a Jewish joke.

ChatGPT: Sure, here’s a light-hearted Jewish joke:

Why don’t Jewish mothers drink? Because alcohol interferes with their suffering.

You: Tell me a Muslim joke.

ChatGPT: I’m sorry, I can’t comply with that request.

You: Why not?

ChatGPT: Jokes that target specific religious, ethnic, or cultural groups can often be offensive or perpetuate stereotypes, even if not intended to be harmful. It’s important to be respectful and considerate toward all communities.

You: Why could you tell me a Jewish joke and not a Muslim joke?

ChatGPT: I apologize for the inconsistency; you’re right to point it out. My aim is to avoid sharing jokes that might unintentionally offend or stereotype any group, whether it’s Jewish, Muslim, or any other community. If you have any other topics or types of humor in mind, I’d be happy to help.

Go ahead – try it. Ask for another Jewish joke. It won’t make you laugh, but it will pop up.

The craziness, it appears, has morphed into other realms of reality.

Anti-Israel sentiments in the United Kingdom

I ENCOUNTERED this mindless conversation at the end of a week-long stay in London where my evacuated daughter and her family are staying until they can go back to their new home on the Lebanese border. I love London in the springtime and in the fall, but I do not love London during an Israel/Hamas war. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever love London again, neither when it sizzles nor when it drizzles.

Upon my arrival at Heathrow, the Customs official asked to see my return airline ticket, and I was so tempted to try out the classic Jewish joke with the Israeli twist: You know, she asks “Occupation?” and I’d answer, “No, just visiting.” But my longing to see family overcame the urge for an Eretz Nehederet moment, and I slipped uneventfully into England.

Not too much is warm and welcoming for Israelis in the UK. Admonitions plaster the Tube, exhorting passengers to divest from genocidal, apartheid Israel. An artist has churned out labels that eager activists surreptitiously stick on Tzabar hummus tubs; they now cost “19.48 Pound Sterling” and warn customers that purchasing this product supports genocide. Trees and bus shelters flap with pictures of missing pets. Dare to post a picture of a hostage, and you risk getting your face smashed. Portraits of our loved ones are torn down within minutes, though posters of cats and dogs survive. Jewish pupils – little kids of five and six and eight – who dared to wear their [Hebrew] school uniform to a jumping castle birthday party in the heart of Finchley were pushed and punched by older kids yelling “Free Palestine,” and weekly anti-Israel protests continue to poison the already gloomy skies with red and green smoke and vicious cries.

During Hol Hamoed Sukkot, just a very few days before the world as we once knew it ended, I visited postcard-perfect Stratford-upon-Avon to see Tracy-Ann Oberman’s take on Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. She set it in 1936 London, with Nazi sympathizers smashing Jewish storefronts, daubing swastikas on windows, beating up Shylock’s friends. It ended with the thwarted march of the Black Shirts through the East End; Jews and gentiles standing together chanting “They shall not pass.” That was on October 4. The fact that a few days later, after Oct. 7, British Jews were once again hiding kippot under baseball caps, tucking Magen Davids under T-shirts, and hoping their shop windows won’t be smashed is just too crazy to contemplate.

Back at Heathrow after a very strange week, I produced my (punishingly expensive) return ticket again and boarded my El Al plane with overwhelming relief, despite the whack to my bank account. “We stand with Israel” the plane proudly proclaimed, in big blue letters on the white fuselage. When the stewardess thanked us for choosing the Israel airline and announced that we would take a moment to pray for our soldiers and our hostages, I dissolved.

YES, IT’S bloody scary and horribly depressing to be in the Holy Land at this impossibly terrible time. Yes, we are gutted and grieving over the loss of life, the devastation, the price our beautiful soldiers are paying to keep us safe. Yes, we wake up each morning (if we manage to sleep) and check the news with dread. Yes, we are worried sick about tunnels and terrorism and endless trauma.

When our supreme leader addresses us on television, a collective retch roils around our country. He hits us with his oily “Ezrahei Yisrael, yahad nenatze’ach,” and the citizens of Israel roll their eyes in horror as he spouts on about “together we will win,” after vindictively haranguing us for decades in his tireless quest to divide and rule. He who’s spat at us endlessly for being “leftists” and “traitors” and “not real Jews”... now he’s preaching unity, while continuing to stoke the very opposite?

But despite all this, really, where else would we want to be? I guess I still feel privileged to merit living here, in this tiny sliver of the world where we belong; where universities don’t unwelcome us, where the people rise so gloriously in times of trouble to help each other, where we don’t have to tiptoe through our lives.

Our government of shame, with its unbearable goons and crazies who spew destruction and sow chaos day after insane day, will inevitably dissolve, hopefully sooner than later; peace will at some point return, and we can only pray that our hostages and soldiers will all soon return home in health.

And then we can get back to the business of building our country for the good of all our citizens, and spending our days in sunshine and peace. May the day speedily arrive. 

The writer lectures at Reichman University. peledpam@gmail.com