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Alan Feiler

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Contemporary issues and random thoughts.

The Fire This Time

Standing outside the Clarence M. Mitchell Jr. Courthouse yesterday morning, I shivered with folks on both sides of the aisle who were there to voice their support and disgust with Eli and Avi Werdesheim. The Werdesheims are the Jewish brothers (one of whom at the time was on a call for the Shomrim patrol group) accused of assaulting an African-American teenager on Fallstaff Road last November.

Despite the presence of lots of cops and TV cameras, there was a weird, inexplicable tension in the air. About 200 Jews, mostly Orthodox, were stationed on the north side of the block, singing Jewish (“Hava Nagila”?) and American tunes and praying in support of the Werdesheims, while eating Dunkin Donuts (no, this is not a product placement) and drinking coffee from their Boxes O’ Joe.

On the other side were about 20 people, mostly African-American, who seemed to be genuinely fuming – at the Werdesheims, at City State’s Attorney Gregg L. Bernstein (for reducing the charges from felony to misdemeanor), at what they perceive as the Jewish community’s seemingly blind support for the brothers, even that our side had doughnuts and theirs didn’t.

But things stayed cool for the most part. The only time I was concerned about a possible confrontation was when one anti-Werdesheim protester, Leo Burroughs Jr., a self-described former “’60s activist,” showed up with a sign reading, “Bernstein Promotes Black Holocaust.” (Ouch. I feared some hothead might pass by and clock him for invoking the Shoah.)

“Our numbers will grow,” he told me about his side’s smaller showing yesterday. “We can’t tolerate brutality against the people of this city – black, white, Jewish or otherwise.”

But the person who really got to me was Renee Washington, an East Baltimore resident, who told me—without any hesitation or concern for political correctness—that the case “all comes down to one thing – money. Most Jewish people have money, and they all stick together.” (Hmmm, a double-whammy.)

Ms. Washington, who appeared to be a very pleasant, cordial and peaceful woman, clarified that she knows Jews and has worked with them in the catering business for years. She seemed to be making sure I recognized that she’s no anti-Semite.

“I’m not saying all Jewish people are racist, but this incident should never have happened,” she said. “Just because you have money doesn’t mean your child is any different than mine. People shouldn’t be afraid to walk where they want. If [the Werdesheims] were African-American, they’d be in prison right now, serving time.”

And to make sure I understood she was no radical or militant, she added, “We may disagree with those people over there, but there’s no need for confrontation. We’re not out to fight. In fact, we’re here because of violence. Violence solves nothing.”

The whole conversation, though, reminded me of the days when I used to occasionally cover speeches delivered by controversial Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan. When I would approach African-Americans before, during or after these gatherings, they let me know what they thought of Jews, no holds barred. They didn’t care if I was Jewish, half-Jewish, a quarter-Jewish, Orthodox, Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Ashkenazi, Sephardic or even a descendant of the Baal Shem Tov (which, of course, I’m not).

One time in the early ‘90s, I chatted on a Pratt Street sidewalk with a young African-American gentleman outside of a Farrakhan speech at the World Trade Center in Baltimore. While alluding to the travesties of the Holocaust and slavery, he stopped me dead in my tracks. He didn’t want any part of it.

“Please, stop there,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ve heard enough. We’ve all heard enough. Look, all I know is what my people have been through and are still going through. And my pain is more than your pain when you now are up there and I’m still down here. So just move on and don’t talk to me about your pain anymore.”

Obviously, the tendency of trying to outdo each other in the misery game is a ridiculous one. It’s not a competition. However you feel about the Werdesheim case, what’s important to remember is that there is a lot of anger out there in the African-American community toward Jews. It’s been there a long, long time.

I understand that it swings both ways, but we still have to recognize that hurt, frustration and anger. We can talk about Heschel and King, about the Jewish martyrs for the civil rights movement, etc. We can even sing “Ebony And Ivory” in Yiddish and Ladino. But we have to remember there is a lot of fury and pain there, some of it possibly warranted (even though we don’t want to hear that) and maybe some that’s not. But it’s still there.

And maybe one of these days, instead of just blowing it off, we should really address it, if for no other reason than to prevent situations like the Werdesheim case from unraveling and turning into flare-ups ripe for exploitation by leaders on both sides of the fence.

 

Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 02/17/11 at 11:40 AM

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A Smile Like No Other

What do you say to someone who is young and going through the surreal experience of losing someone they love – inexplicably and without any warning—in the prime of their life? Death never makes any sense, it always stuns and slams and blindsides you at any age, but how do you deal with it when you’re fresh and young and have the whole world ahead of you? How do you make any sense whatsoever of the incomprehensible and unfathomable?

I spent some time this week interviewing friends of Mitchell Perlmeter, the 17-year-old son of Rabbis Rex D. Perlmeter and Rachel Hertzman, both of whom were well-known and well-respected leaders in Baltimore’s Jewish community from 1996 to 2008. Mitchell died suddenly Feb. 1 of a massive coronary in his family’s home in Montclair, N.J.

I know his parents, but I never actually met Mitchell. But I now feel like I knew him, thanks to his friends’ loving and vivid descriptions of him. I’ve written tons of obituaries over the years, and yes, everyone who dies seems to be viewed in a haze of adulation and reverence. I do the same thing when someone I know passes away. I suppose it’s just human nature.

But I’ve never, ever heard people rave about anyone like I heard Mitchell’s friends and others rave about him. One friend, Emma Kane, a McDonogh School student, even said, “Look, Mitchell wasn’t perfect. No one is perfect. But Mitchell was as close to perfect as you can get, especially for a teenage boy.”

Wow.

From what I gather, Mitchell was the kind of kid who always had a light around him. He was friendly, outgoing and fun-loving by nature, but smart and kind-hearted as well. A good listener, a good friend. I guess that’s why so many people were drawn to him and loved him so much. And why his funeral was completely packed.

Everyone talks about Mitchell’s smile. It was apparently radiant, warming, soothing, magnetic. And now, eternal.

He had lots of interests – sports, video games, rap music, books, movies. He loved sweets, especially chocolates. He was your everyday kid.

And he loved a good joke or a tasty prank (but always good-natured). “Mitch was sarcastic bliss,” his close friend Josh Mandell told me, trying to summon the right words to describe him adequately. “His sarcasm was the greatest thing about him, next to his big heart. He was so creative with his insults, they just always made you smile. But everything he said or did was out of love. It’s just who he was – a loveable kid. So much fun to be around. That feeling you’d get with him – he was just one of a kind. He brought out the best in you.”

Last week, Josh was in Spanish class at Friends School when he felt his cell phone vibrate, and he started getting a flurry of voice-mail messages from his friends. He ignored them all until he got a text message from his mom: “Call ASAP.” That’s how he found out about Mitch. Like so many others touched by Mitch, Josh’s world will never be the same. He now knows that life just isn’t fair.

“It didn’t even hit me at first,” Josh said. “I went back to class for another minute, the bell rang and then I went straight home. … When I first heard about it, I was just like, there’s no way. It didn’t seem real.

“It was not a day to remember, but one I know I’ll never forget.”

When I was 15, I lost two friends in a pair of completely separate drug-related incidents. One drowned at Liberty Reservoir, the other froze to death in a field in Howard County. Sometimes on a cold, moody night, I find myself getting lost in thoughts and wondering how their lives might have turned out if they had lived and not gotten dragged down in the drug epidemic.

But to be totally honest (and not to minimize their deaths), they were not close friends. I can’t even imagine what Josh Mandell and Mitch’s other close, close friends – not to mention his family – are going through right now. But I know they touched my heart with their stories and descriptions about this amazing young man whom I wish I could’ve met.

When I asked Josh how he was getting through it all, he responded, “I’m taking it day by day. There’s no way to really describe it. I see a lot of his friends and we all have our own ways of coping. I think Mitch may be gone but he lives on in our memories. He touched everyone he came into contact with. No matter what, I’ll always carry a piece of Mitch with me. Mitch is family. … I’m trying to celebrate his life instead of being upset about the death. But I don’t think it will ever be completely real to me.”

Life just isn’t fair. It’s true. But I do believe that Josh and his friends are absolutely on the money when they say Mitch will live on because he dearly touched the hearts of everyone who ever loved him and basked in the warmth of his smile.

Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 02/09/11 at 03:36 PM

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