Let me get this on the screen right up front.
I can't wear your shoes, ladies. I can't adorn my tootsies with 95 percent of the strappy, open-toed, glittering numbers stores put in their front windows.
Ever since I was a kid, I've been ordering my shoes from the "Tall Girl" (should be called "Tall Girl with Big Feet") catalogue.
Until Zappos and other online retailers came along, I had to sneak to the back of the store and scan their remnant rack to see if someone had decided there were enough of my kind to produce a shoe I could wear.
Do I have shoe envy? Of course.
And I'm aware that lots of women with their demure size sixes, find it comforting to pick up an inexpensive (or perhaps a more expensive) pair on the way home from work, or a tough talk with the spouse, or just because they go with that outfit you just bought.
My retail therapy expresses itself differently, as I "find' myself at Macys on a Friday night, or my fingers wander every few months over to Bidz, the online jewelry site where you can find something funky and bid just enough to make it yours.
I'm not an addict. But I am inclined to use material goods as a substitute for loneliness, or discontent, or a spur to the fantasy that it's THIS sweater or those lacy leggings that will catch his eye.
Do you have an alchemical cure? Or perhaps a couple of (temporary) moodraisers?
I sometimes wonder if they free us -- or cage us in. Retail therapy wouldn't be so popular if it didn't give a rush, if only until the next mood swing or "gotta have it" moment.
Does your thirst for books or jewelry or charming chemises form a boundary beyond which you dare not dream?
Then there are all the online sex shoppes.
There's a reason so many magazines keep talkin' porn. Its availability to everyone, pretty much, is a sign of our times.
When we took apart my father's house my sister and her boyfriend found a Confederate bayonet. but no skanky magazines. Of course, dad was in his late eighties -- but I never had the sense that publicly consumed erotica was a part of our domestic life.
Not so anymore. Older male mentors have warned my son that pornography is everywhere, and coping with it a lifetime temptation.
After a date with a prospective beau, I idly wonder, more curious than anything else, as to whether he is a fan of online porn. When it is available at the tap of a few fingers, it is hard to assume that most guys aren't partaking -- whether guiltily or not is another topic.
My most extended encounter with on screen erotica was an "art" movie screened at my college.So yeah, not exactly an expert. I believe I saw it with this incredible nerd, but that's another story...
Oh, and then there was the artist who kept showing me Gustav Klimt pictures and wanting to take my picture. I hid in my rented room at the back of the house when he would show up, totally clueless.
But when it comes to dating, I am a little concerned about my competition, with her sultry eyes and facile hands. My most unexceptional form is no match, at any given time with what he sees flickering across his monitor or cell phone.
For a man (or men) who have lived in the desert for long time, even a pixelated siren seems like a long, cool drink of water.
And I don't think I am alone. Many women are concerned that they are being defined, both anatomically and amorously, by the soulless antics of paid and often exploited actors and actresses.
It's not easy to talk about these topics -- certainly not with your spouse or your kids. But as long as we can't talk about what virtual sex does for and to us (and women also consume it), it will continue to call out to us, offering substitute for the messy realities of male and female intimacy.
Ask yourself -- do your secrets define you?
I recently read an article about how the ubiquity of cell phones was one factor in decreasing parent-infant communication.
Of course, we don't need articles to tell us this. We see it all over, as the mother chats on the cell phone in the Acme while the children run up the aisles, or dad keeps his phone glued to his ear while maneuvering his huge SUV through the parking lot at the Little League fields. Or casting furtive glances at it while his son runs the bases.
Access to email. Access to Facebook. All of these incredible apps...that newest iPhone or tablet is just too fabulous to walk by. Unputdownabble, in fact.
Meanwhile, life flows and ebbs around you, and me.
If we don't lift up our eyes from the screen, we might not even know what we are missing.
I'm not against fantasy -- whether it be in a good book or a Star Wars app. But if I had to choose, I'd take messy life, with all of its inconsistencies and challenges, over the gauzy goods marketed to fulfill our dreams.
After all, they are just substitutes.
I want the real thing. And I bet you do, too.
jeudi, juin 27, 2013
mardi, juin 25, 2013
Dance like everybody's watching
I turned around, half-furtively, to see if there was a car coming up the hill.
Or, heaven forbid, another exerciser, breathing deeply as he or she ascended the steep grade and neared the turn where the road climbed towards the left-handed turn onto the grassy lawn of the elementary school.
Nobody in sight, I lifted my arms above my head, and, experimentally, did a few twirls.
I could say that dancing up the lane made the road ascent easier: any runner or walker knows the trick of moving diagonally to break up the tedium.
But that wasn't really the reason.
I was just tired of being so a model of sobriety.
Being so serious for so long is exhausting. No one wants to be around someone (often, anyway), who doesn't add a dose of mischief to their daily vitamins.
I once had a teacher who, as far as I could tell, had no sense of humor.
Oh, she was worthy. Worth indeed. Actually, truthfully, she is a wonderful person.
But to see her aspire to crack wise is a painful thing.
And what about fun?
What about racing through the sand, dashing into the water together, silly puns and laughter that does nothing to enrich the future, but much to lighten the moment?
What about the joy that children seem to channel so easily, but that appears to elude adults?
I am a performance artist -- I think that many writers are. There are lots of us who want to be seen and heard, even if it's in character. Sometimes that urge to be meaningful can get in the way of being relaxed, open, able to throw caution to the winds.
So what if someone thinks you are being an idiot as you throw yourself on the grass or burst out singing?
It's your life.
Do you want to say, near the end, that glee eluded you?
I don't happen to believe that healthy spontaneity is only for the chronologically youthful.
We just mistake it for the disinhibition that comes with booze, or drugs, a steady diet of porn, or some other form of escapism.
Watch out for me as you drive up that hill. I might be twiling.
But shedding the skin of the sober adult doesn't have to be done solo.
Joy for two.
Now THERE's a thought.
Or, heaven forbid, another exerciser, breathing deeply as he or she ascended the steep grade and neared the turn where the road climbed towards the left-handed turn onto the grassy lawn of the elementary school.
Nobody in sight, I lifted my arms above my head, and, experimentally, did a few twirls.
I could say that dancing up the lane made the road ascent easier: any runner or walker knows the trick of moving diagonally to break up the tedium.
But that wasn't really the reason.
I was just tired of being so a model of sobriety.
Being so serious for so long is exhausting. No one wants to be around someone (often, anyway), who doesn't add a dose of mischief to their daily vitamins.
I once had a teacher who, as far as I could tell, had no sense of humor.
Oh, she was worthy. Worth indeed. Actually, truthfully, she is a wonderful person.
But to see her aspire to crack wise is a painful thing.
And what about fun?
What about racing through the sand, dashing into the water together, silly puns and laughter that does nothing to enrich the future, but much to lighten the moment?
What about the joy that children seem to channel so easily, but that appears to elude adults?
I am a performance artist -- I think that many writers are. There are lots of us who want to be seen and heard, even if it's in character. Sometimes that urge to be meaningful can get in the way of being relaxed, open, able to throw caution to the winds.
So what if someone thinks you are being an idiot as you throw yourself on the grass or burst out singing?
It's your life.
Do you want to say, near the end, that glee eluded you?
I don't happen to believe that healthy spontaneity is only for the chronologically youthful.
We just mistake it for the disinhibition that comes with booze, or drugs, a steady diet of porn, or some other form of escapism.
Watch out for me as you drive up that hill. I might be twiling.
But shedding the skin of the sober adult doesn't have to be done solo.
Joy for two.
Now THERE's a thought.
samedi, juin 22, 2013
Meet the con woman
A few days ago, I sat in a classroom with students who were mostly half my age.
Thank goodness for the teacher in her fifties. Thank heaven for the other harried middle-aged mom, torn between an elderly father and her four college and high school kids.
Not that the younger ones, the twenty and thirtysomethings, haven't been great. They are gracious, accepting, and much smarter about statistics than I am.
But I do stand out, not only for my relative senior status, but because while a lot of them (though not all) are at the beginning of a career, I have a few behind me.
Not to mention a few that I'm juggling right now.
A panel of experts was discussing how to assess programs in student affairs offices (hush, now), and I brought up a few questions that had been bugging me. Later that evening, one of my student colleagues complimented me for bringing in a different voice and perspective -- asking the unusual questions.
"Oh, I'm a journalist" I said wryly (almost unthinkingly). "I'm trained to ask the questions. Finding the answers is much harder."
Deflection. Denial. Avoidance. Turning away a compliment quickly and, I must say, rather smoothly.
Damn, I'm good. If someone is running a competition for not accepting compliments, tell me where to enter. Of course, I might lose the stamp and have run out of envelopes, and write down the URL incorrectly but still....
And oh, if some guy compliments me, tells me I'm pretty -- aw, he's telling three thousand other women the same thing. Or he's in search of a willing and gullible female for a quick romp between the sheets. Or he has some kind of visual difference. Because who else but someone who can't see that clearly...well, you get the idea.
The problem is, that there is a grain of truth in these caricatures, though not enough, really to build more than a cartoon series on.
When it comes to work, love and child-rearing give me credit for trying is my mantra. But don't give me too much.
I bet it's the mantra of many women -- or else why would "Lean In," the book by Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg, be so very popular?
One of her chief arguments is that part of the gap in earnings between men and women is fueled, in part, by a lack of confidence among otherwise various very talented women.
You don't have to look too far to see that trait in many women.
But not accepting (authentic) compliments -- well, it's getting a bit ridiculous at my age. I don't know about you, but I sacrificed a lot of my thirties to denying my abilities.
Men accept compliments if they run a marathon, finish an office project, achieve a personal best, look good in a suit. Sheesh.
Why shouldn't women be that bold?
Because, possibly, saying "thanks" doesn't only imply that you have earned the nice words. It also suggests that, next time, the bar may be set a little higher.
And if we accept that we are gifted in some areas, then we also have to own up to deficits in others. I can rattle those off right quick.
When it comes to physical attractiveness, we are even more besieged by mixed messages.
Beauty, as we all, know, can fade -- unless it is a fire the emanates from within. And, in fact, some men and women who are by no means models of Grecian perfection are dazzling not because they would be great magazine models, but because of an energy and yes, a confidence, that wells up from their core.
I am going to be working on my own personal "confidence gap."
Next time a friend lobs a bouquet in my direction, I'm not going to toss it over to the guy next to me, because undoubtedly he really earned it. I'll simply say "thank you" -- and move on, feeling a bit more inspired, a little more challenged.
What will you do, my sisters?
I hope you join me.
Thank goodness for the teacher in her fifties. Thank heaven for the other harried middle-aged mom, torn between an elderly father and her four college and high school kids.
Not that the younger ones, the twenty and thirtysomethings, haven't been great. They are gracious, accepting, and much smarter about statistics than I am.
But I do stand out, not only for my relative senior status, but because while a lot of them (though not all) are at the beginning of a career, I have a few behind me.
Not to mention a few that I'm juggling right now.
A panel of experts was discussing how to assess programs in student affairs offices (hush, now), and I brought up a few questions that had been bugging me. Later that evening, one of my student colleagues complimented me for bringing in a different voice and perspective -- asking the unusual questions.
"Oh, I'm a journalist" I said wryly (almost unthinkingly). "I'm trained to ask the questions. Finding the answers is much harder."
Deflection. Denial. Avoidance. Turning away a compliment quickly and, I must say, rather smoothly.
Damn, I'm good. If someone is running a competition for not accepting compliments, tell me where to enter. Of course, I might lose the stamp and have run out of envelopes, and write down the URL incorrectly but still....
And oh, if some guy compliments me, tells me I'm pretty -- aw, he's telling three thousand other women the same thing. Or he's in search of a willing and gullible female for a quick romp between the sheets. Or he has some kind of visual difference. Because who else but someone who can't see that clearly...well, you get the idea.
The problem is, that there is a grain of truth in these caricatures, though not enough, really to build more than a cartoon series on.
When it comes to work, love and child-rearing give me credit for trying is my mantra. But don't give me too much.
I bet it's the mantra of many women -- or else why would "Lean In," the book by Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg, be so very popular?
One of her chief arguments is that part of the gap in earnings between men and women is fueled, in part, by a lack of confidence among otherwise various very talented women.
You don't have to look too far to see that trait in many women.
But not accepting (authentic) compliments -- well, it's getting a bit ridiculous at my age. I don't know about you, but I sacrificed a lot of my thirties to denying my abilities.
Men accept compliments if they run a marathon, finish an office project, achieve a personal best, look good in a suit. Sheesh.
Why shouldn't women be that bold?
Because, possibly, saying "thanks" doesn't only imply that you have earned the nice words. It also suggests that, next time, the bar may be set a little higher.
And if we accept that we are gifted in some areas, then we also have to own up to deficits in others. I can rattle those off right quick.
When it comes to physical attractiveness, we are even more besieged by mixed messages.
Beauty, as we all, know, can fade -- unless it is a fire the emanates from within. And, in fact, some men and women who are by no means models of Grecian perfection are dazzling not because they would be great magazine models, but because of an energy and yes, a confidence, that wells up from their core.
I am going to be working on my own personal "confidence gap."
Next time a friend lobs a bouquet in my direction, I'm not going to toss it over to the guy next to me, because undoubtedly he really earned it. I'll simply say "thank you" -- and move on, feeling a bit more inspired, a little more challenged.
What will you do, my sisters?
I hope you join me.
samedi, juin 08, 2013
Get your facts straight
Put more politely, and more articulately, that is Dale Hanson Bourke's message to those who want to understand and have an influence in finding a peaceful solution to the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians.
A passion for education, and a desire to further the cause of peace, is, in part, why Bourke wrote a book on a topic that arouses such heat, and often little light, on many sides.
Describing herself as a "liberal evangelical," Bourke, who has been deeply involved in international relief and justice work, says she grew up in a conservative Christian home. Thus she is well-acquainted with dispensationalism and various schools of Christian Zionism.
In this interview, Bourke addresses the ignorance and emotions that often bar the way to a constructive dialogue -- and suggests that perhaps American Christians need to put aside selective use of Scriptures and start to build relationships -- and listen carefully.
http://lancasteronline.com/article/local/858981_Column--Pro-Israel--pro-Palestine--pro-peace.html
A passion for education, and a desire to further the cause of peace, is, in part, why Bourke wrote a book on a topic that arouses such heat, and often little light, on many sides.
Describing herself as a "liberal evangelical," Bourke, who has been deeply involved in international relief and justice work, says she grew up in a conservative Christian home. Thus she is well-acquainted with dispensationalism and various schools of Christian Zionism.
In this interview, Bourke addresses the ignorance and emotions that often bar the way to a constructive dialogue -- and suggests that perhaps American Christians need to put aside selective use of Scriptures and start to build relationships -- and listen carefully.
http://lancasteronline.com/article/local/858981_Column--Pro-Israel--pro-Palestine--pro-peace.html
mercredi, juin 05, 2013
Twitter rubbernecking: turning someone else's tragedy into your 140-character update
Today I was working on a paper for my last course in the graduate program in counseling.
Remember the good old days (for some of us), when online news, Facebook and other virtual opiates didn't pose a perpetual threat to productivity?
Those days are gone as though they had never existed.
Given that my self-control is feeble at the best of times when it comes to distractions, I soon found myself surfing Twitter, linking to articles, and thinking of clever ripostes to some of my followers tweets(most of which I was too sane or scared to post because really, they weren't all THAT smart).
A little after eleven, my Twitter feed lit up with bulletins: a building had fallen in Philadelphia.
There were injuries (as it turns out, there were also deaths).
Then the commentary began.
One update followed another. Some seemed rapt, even compelled, to bring us news of tragedy -- as some had done, one tweet following on another, during the Oklahoma earthquake the week prior.
Watching my followers, and those whom I follow (as I type, I am struck by the "Game of Thrones" quality of these descriptors), I started to feel queasy.
For minute, I imagined a town square, and villagers gathering to watch a public burning or a hanging.
Why were people tweeting about every tragic detail?
What was this voyeuristic impulse to watch, to communicate, to rubberneck in the virtual ruins of someone else's life?
One tweet -- that made sense to me.
Now everyone gets to be a reporter.
Buut on a more practical level, I wondered: didn't they have jobs?
Write a story? Teach third graders? Take their son to the doctor for his check up? Change this sorry world for the better?
After a while, I turned away, feeling unsettled by the vigor with which some were chronicling the collapse and rescue efforts.
If the people were under the rubble were their brothers or daughters, would they want this much public attention to their personal grief and terror?
Perhaps I am overly pious. Perhaps some of these tweeters saw it as a public service to let the world know about this Philadelphia story.
Possibly this urge to share is a perfectly human impulse.
I'm still not entirely sure why.
After all, most of those who didn't have to know because they were related to the victims would learn soon enough.
It is never too early for joy -- and never too late for mourning.
Remember the good old days (for some of us), when online news, Facebook and other virtual opiates didn't pose a perpetual threat to productivity?
Those days are gone as though they had never existed.
Given that my self-control is feeble at the best of times when it comes to distractions, I soon found myself surfing Twitter, linking to articles, and thinking of clever ripostes to some of my followers tweets(most of which I was too sane or scared to post because really, they weren't all THAT smart).
A little after eleven, my Twitter feed lit up with bulletins: a building had fallen in Philadelphia.
There were injuries (as it turns out, there were also deaths).
Then the commentary began.
One update followed another. Some seemed rapt, even compelled, to bring us news of tragedy -- as some had done, one tweet following on another, during the Oklahoma earthquake the week prior.
Watching my followers, and those whom I follow (as I type, I am struck by the "Game of Thrones" quality of these descriptors), I started to feel queasy.
For minute, I imagined a town square, and villagers gathering to watch a public burning or a hanging.
Why were people tweeting about every tragic detail?
What was this voyeuristic impulse to watch, to communicate, to rubberneck in the virtual ruins of someone else's life?
One tweet -- that made sense to me.
Now everyone gets to be a reporter.
Buut on a more practical level, I wondered: didn't they have jobs?
Write a story? Teach third graders? Take their son to the doctor for his check up? Change this sorry world for the better?
After a while, I turned away, feeling unsettled by the vigor with which some were chronicling the collapse and rescue efforts.
If the people were under the rubble were their brothers or daughters, would they want this much public attention to their personal grief and terror?
Perhaps I am overly pious. Perhaps some of these tweeters saw it as a public service to let the world know about this Philadelphia story.
Possibly this urge to share is a perfectly human impulse.
I'm still not entirely sure why.
After all, most of those who didn't have to know because they were related to the victims would learn soon enough.
It is never too early for joy -- and never too late for mourning.
vendredi, mai 31, 2013
The Philadelphia School Implosion: why suburbanites should give a hoot
To talk about the appalling conditions of the Philadelphia School System, I want to tell you about my son's school.
He attends a new high school in our district. It was founded to help kids in the hard sciences (Science, Technology, Engineering and Math). More than that, it's the only S.T.E.M. school with the I.B. (International Baccalaureate) program in the United States, he told me recently.
While there is grousing about the new school among teachers and some parents in the regular district high schools (very understandable), it's not like they are particularly deprived. Our parents have to pay fees for some extracurricular activities now.
Tough.
That's because Governor Corbett and the legislature have tightened the belt on public education.
My point?
It's not our relatively affluent school district which has suffered.
Wanna know about suffering?
Check out Philadelphia.
Yesterday the Philadelphia School Reform Commission voted to eliminate 3,000 jobs (yup) and make an eight percent budget cut for the next school year.
No more guidance counselors.
No more sports teams.
No more art classes.
But why should we folk in suburbia care, you might ask?
After all, Philadelphia politics is a hot mess. Corruption. Mismanagement. Politics, yadda, yadda yadda.
It's not at all clear that Mayor Michael Nutter can get his "sin" taxes through a divided City Council.
Not to mention that the "small government " Republicans who run the State Legislature are awfully attached to telling Philadelphia what to do.
Then there is the resistance of the teacher's union to further sacrifices.
Business as usual, in other words.
Except for the kids.
It's the children who will have nowhere to go to blow off some steam, exercise their creativity, or get some help in escaping the chains of economic disadvantage.
If we care about other people's children, we should be outraged at what may happen in our local city.
Are we?
If we care about the future impact of these cuts on violence in Philadelphia, on our jails, on our educational institutions of higher learning, we should be dismayed.
If we care about the tapestry, increasingly frayed, that holds our social fabric together, we should speak out in solidarity with our neighbors.
If we care about ourselves, and want to be able to look ourselves in the mirror and sleep at night, we should cry out with disgust and exhort our state and city government to do better.
I happen to be a Christian -- as a believer, I subscribe to the words of the apostle Paul, who saw us as a Body, each dependent on each other.
But you know what? I'd believe that even if I wasn't a Christian.
Home school your kids if you want. Send them to private schools. Sign them up for Lower Merion or Downingtown or Radnor High, and count your blessings.
But don't think for a minute that what happens in Philly doesn't matter -- to your quality of life or your conscience or the future of this area. These could be your children.
These are are our children.
He attends a new high school in our district. It was founded to help kids in the hard sciences (Science, Technology, Engineering and Math). More than that, it's the only S.T.E.M. school with the I.B. (International Baccalaureate) program in the United States, he told me recently.
While there is grousing about the new school among teachers and some parents in the regular district high schools (very understandable), it's not like they are particularly deprived. Our parents have to pay fees for some extracurricular activities now.
Tough.
That's because Governor Corbett and the legislature have tightened the belt on public education.
My point?
It's not our relatively affluent school district which has suffered.
Wanna know about suffering?
Check out Philadelphia.
Yesterday the Philadelphia School Reform Commission voted to eliminate 3,000 jobs (yup) and make an eight percent budget cut for the next school year.
No more guidance counselors.
No more sports teams.
No more art classes.
But why should we folk in suburbia care, you might ask?
After all, Philadelphia politics is a hot mess. Corruption. Mismanagement. Politics, yadda, yadda yadda.
It's not at all clear that Mayor Michael Nutter can get his "sin" taxes through a divided City Council.
Not to mention that the "small government " Republicans who run the State Legislature are awfully attached to telling Philadelphia what to do.
Then there is the resistance of the teacher's union to further sacrifices.
Business as usual, in other words.
Except for the kids.
It's the children who will have nowhere to go to blow off some steam, exercise their creativity, or get some help in escaping the chains of economic disadvantage.
If we care about other people's children, we should be outraged at what may happen in our local city.
Are we?
If we care about the future impact of these cuts on violence in Philadelphia, on our jails, on our educational institutions of higher learning, we should be dismayed.
If we care about the tapestry, increasingly frayed, that holds our social fabric together, we should speak out in solidarity with our neighbors.
If we care about ourselves, and want to be able to look ourselves in the mirror and sleep at night, we should cry out with disgust and exhort our state and city government to do better.
I happen to be a Christian -- as a believer, I subscribe to the words of the apostle Paul, who saw us as a Body, each dependent on each other.
But you know what? I'd believe that even if I wasn't a Christian.
Home school your kids if you want. Send them to private schools. Sign them up for Lower Merion or Downingtown or Radnor High, and count your blessings.
But don't think for a minute that what happens in Philly doesn't matter -- to your quality of life or your conscience or the future of this area. These could be your children.
These are are our children.
samedi, mai 25, 2013
Christians can be faithful without being domineering
I didn't start the series on Israel wanting to write about Christian Zionism. In fact, when I heard John Hagee a few years ago being interviewed on Fresh Air, I got mad at Terry Gross for interviewing him (why does she always choose these fringe Christians, right or left?) Hagee is a lighting rod, and he says outrageous things.
But I don't this he is a "fringe Christian." In fact, Hagee's theological perspective, refined and altered a bit for popular consumption, can be discovered lurking in many mainline and evangelical churches.
Christians often seem to either ignore the Hebrew Scriptures, or to treat them as a wholly owned subsidiary of the Christian Gospel. It's understandable for historical reasons, but not particularly helpful for dialogue.
Haim Beliak, creator of the hilariously named "Jews on First" website, would like to see theology take a backseat to conversations about land-sharing between Jews and Palestinians. To do that, Americans need to own their part in supporting the Christian Zionist perspective here, and how it influences American government policy.
Can we leach religious rhetoric and assumptions out of peace talks between Israelis and Palestinians? Perhaps not. But at least we can be aware of our assumptions, and try to get out of the way.
http://lancasteronline.com/article/local/853687_Column--Beyond-Armageddon.html
But I don't this he is a "fringe Christian." In fact, Hagee's theological perspective, refined and altered a bit for popular consumption, can be discovered lurking in many mainline and evangelical churches.
Christians often seem to either ignore the Hebrew Scriptures, or to treat them as a wholly owned subsidiary of the Christian Gospel. It's understandable for historical reasons, but not particularly helpful for dialogue.
Haim Beliak, creator of the hilariously named "Jews on First" website, would like to see theology take a backseat to conversations about land-sharing between Jews and Palestinians. To do that, Americans need to own their part in supporting the Christian Zionist perspective here, and how it influences American government policy.
Can we leach religious rhetoric and assumptions out of peace talks between Israelis and Palestinians? Perhaps not. But at least we can be aware of our assumptions, and try to get out of the way.
http://lancasteronline.com/article/local/853687_Column--Beyond-Armageddon.html
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