Sixty years ago a tiny outpost of Western Civilization was established in the vast cultural wasteland of the Middle East. It took two world wars and a collective global recoil from the horror of the holocaust to set the stage for such an improbable event.

Today there are those who actually believe the Middle East would be a giant love-in if Israel didn’t exist. All harmony and understanding. Sympathy and trust abounding. Seriously.

However, some knoweldgeable folks at Foreign Policy magazine imagined “A World Without Israel” and came to a different conclusion:

Imagine that Israel never existed. Would the economic malaise and political repression that drive angry young men to become suicide bombers vanish? Would the Palestinians have an independent state? Would the United States, freed of its burdensome ally, suddenly find itself beloved throughout the Muslim world? Wishful thinking. Far from creating tensions, Israel actually contains more antagonisms than it causes.

There were about 200 people present on May 14, 1948 when David Ben Gurion proclaimed Israel a sovereign nation. Only one of those witnesses to history is alive today. His name is Arieh Handler. And this is his story.

The official Poet Laureate of BWR (or in Texas is it “Poet Lariat”?) is friend-of-Blather Bonnie Wilks.  She and her husband Wayne just returned from a trip to Israel and Bonnie crafted a lovely piece of verse inspired by some ancient mosaics they saw and photographed. Enjoy.

I have been a registered voter pretty much continuously for the last thirty years. And somehow I have never been summoned for jury duty. Until today.

A few weeks ago I got a notice to appear at the Tarrant County courthouse on this day. I arrived at 8:30 a.m. as instructed, and found myself in a room with about 150 other prospective jurors. I had heard from others who have been summoned recently that the odds are against even been called out to be a jury prospect pool.

So after some initial instructions they began calling out numbers and names for the first jury pool. Number 1, Jane Doe. . .Number 2, Joe Blogs. . . Number 3, David Holland. . .

Okay then. I was in a jury pool. Me and about 14 of my closest new friends clipped on our “Juror” name tags and headed up to the sixth floor in search county courtroom 15. There we were handed surveys to fill out. The early questions were about profession and level of education. But a little farther down we got questions like:

• Has someone close to you ever been the subject of a restraining order or protection order?
• Has someone close to you ever been a victim of spousal abuse?
• If something is crime when done to a stranger, is it always a crime when done to a spouse?
• Should someone be prosecuted for a crime against a spouse even when that spouse does not want that person to be prosectued?

After a few of those, I was ready to take a wild guess as to what kind of case we might be hearing. But would I be selected or rejected? I was praying for rejection given the fact that I couldn’t really spare the hours I was already losing.

As it turned out, the judge had 10 cases on her docket today, and every single one of them ended up in a plea bargain or with the charges dropped. As we were dismissed, she explained to us that knowing that a prospective jury is waiting out in the hall tends to concentrate the minds of the attorneys in ways that gets deals done.

So I didn’t get pulled into a multi-day trial and my work life was saved.

A few days ago I made some wiseacre observations about a 1950s-era Camel ad featuring Rock Hudson. It is a typical example of the era for cigarette hawking in that it combined both celebrity endorsement AND dubious scientific claims. It a formula we also see in this Phillip Morris ad:

Here Lucy and Ricky hold out the alluring promise of an end to the dreaded “cigarette hangover.” We’re also reminded that these cigarette’s are special because they are “made differently” than other brands.

Different how, you ask? After all, how many ways can there be to roll dried tobacco leaves into a paper cylinder, you wonder? “Shut up,” they explained. We apparently don’t need to know. All we need to know is that the making is “different” somehow. And that Lucy says it will help me avoid something that sounds bad.

In my recent exploration of the world of Happy Days cigarette advertising, one startling revelation was that before the Marlboro brand was marketed solely to men who wished they were craggy, weathered cowboys riding the fence line of a Montana ranch–Marlboro was marketed to women…specifically stressed out young mothers. Behold:

Yes, if Gerber-babies could talk, that’s what they’d say when Mommy fired up another one. Certainly not, “Gee Mommy, thanks for the life-shortening secondhand smoke.”

The subtle message for young moms here was this: “Anything that helps you be less stressed out, makes you a better parent. A happy mommy makes for happy babies. So light up all you want. It’s the parentally responsible thing to do.” Until you start feeling “over-smoked” anyway. I’m guessing it’s not good to feel over-smoked. Which probably leads to “cigarette hangover.”

Just how far was Marlboro willing to take this play-on-the-guilt-of-young-mothers thing to sell cigarettes? This far:

Oh, yes they did.

They armed nicotine addicted mommies with the rationalization that if they didn’t fill the house and car with choking, toxic fumes, they might turn into shrieking, psyche-scarring scold-harpies.

At the root of this campaign is something behind a lot of effective advertising for vices and luxuries. The key is to help someone feel good about the thing they feel bad about.

The fine print at the bottom of the ad tells us that Marlboro’s are available in “Your choice of Ivory Tips, Plain Ends, Beauty Tips (Red).” I’m guessing they dropped the “Beauty Tips” version once the Marlboro Man became the brand icon.

Some thoughts along lines similar to those I expressed below from. . .

Victor Davis Hanson

Andy McCarthy 

There’s a new post up over at “Chris Matthews’ Leg,” if snarky political satire and taunt-ery is your cup of chamomile.

Some random thoughts. . .

1. Rev. Jeremiah Wright is a preacher.

I have known preachers all my life. I have worked closely with scores of preachers throughout my adult life. I’ve even done some preaching myself but have never contemplated it as a full-time gig. In other words, I know preachers (and love and admire most of the ones I’ve known.)

And they tend to have some things in common that illuminate the current Wright Affair.

With rare exceptions, a person doesn’t accept a call to preach without being the kind of person who enjoys being the center of attention. That’s not a criticism. It’s a fact. And as a group, they tend to believe they have things to say to others ought to hear. And the more people the better. I’ve never met a preacher with a congregation of 100 who wouldn’t be happier if it was 200; and thrilled if it was 500. (As I write this, I’m aware that 6 or 7 of my most loyal readers are pastors. No offense guys!)

Particularly in Pentecostal-ish churches (black and white) successful preachers are in one sense “performers” and carry a performer’s sensibility and a performer’s hungers. Needless to say, for a guy like Jeremiah Wright, a crowd of people with a live microphone in front of them has the gravitational pull of a super-massive black hole. (And I don’t use the term black hole in any racial. left-brain, right-brain sense.)

Today a large number of pundits, analysts and bloggers are scratching their heads trying to figure out why Rev. Wright isn’t laying low and keeping his mouth shut while his protege is running for the White House. There’s no mystery there for me. There’s an empty pulpit on a national platform with his name on it. Expecting him to leave it empty it asking more than a mere mortal is capable of.

2. Some are wondering if Rev. Wright is actively trying to undermine Sen. Obama’s chances to be elected. I think that’s quite possible.

You see, like much of the civil rights establishment and ethnic grievance culture in this country, Rev. Wright is deeply, deeply invested in world view in which blacks are noble victims and whites are evil oppressors. Barack Obama is sort of a walking refutation of most of Rev. Wright’s assumptions and talking points. Even the nomination of Obama as the candidate of one of the major parties makes much of the Wright-Farrakhan-Sharpton rhetoric seem silly.

And if Obama were to be elected, well that would expose Wright’s entire ideological framework for the hateful farce that it is.

3. A month ago, we were all told that the clips of Rev. Wright were “taken out of context” and represented a “caricature” of his real views. So over the last few days we’ve had the opportunity to hear the minister in pristine, crystalline-pure context. And guess, what? It’s worse than we thought.

Books, Non-Fiction

• The Really Inconvenient Truths: Seven Environmental Catastrophe’s Liberals Don’t Want You to Know About– Because They Caused Them; Ian Murray

Books, Fiction

• State of Fear; Michael Crichton

Essays/Articles

• Unintended Consequences
• Food Riots Made in the USA
• Scientist: Earth Cooling, Not Warming

Video

Here is the ad I modified for this week’s header graphic. The mind reels with possibilities.

{click image to enlarge}

First of all, I like the appeal to the authority of psychology. For smokers desperate for a justification for continuing the nasty, health-trashing habit, this must have been a real lifeline. “Look buster, it’s a psychological fact. These smokes make me a better person! NOW STEP OFF!”

On the other hand, I’m not sure how much the average woman would have appreciated the “yip like a terrier” comment in the opening line of copy. Given that this ad was crafted in the 50s, it’s a near certainty that it was written by a man. And this ad is clearly a bunch of male ad execs’ attempt to boost Camel sales among women.

Thus the Rock Hudson appearance (this was back in the day when a girl could still dream about being dreamy Rock Hudson’s girlfriend.) But didn’t ladies find the suggestion that a package delivery error could transform them into a an obnoxious, grating pooch, a tad condescending? “Yip like a terrier” sounds more like something a grouchy cad of a husband would accuse his wife of if she protested about his weekly poker nights with the boys.

Finally, it wouldn’t be a 50’s-era cigarette ad with some bizarre hidden sexual imagery.

In this case we have woman with a dog’s head at the top of the ad. And below we have a real dog’s head with similar coloring that is hovering over the movie star’s “area.” Just truly disturbing at a number of levels.

The photo caption tells us, “You can see rugged Rock Hudson starring in U-I’s ‘Never Say Goodbye.” That would put this ad in 1956. His love interest was the lovely Cornell Borchers–a Lithuanian/German actress who probably hoped to become the next Ingrid Bergman in American films but never broke through (perhaps because her name sounds like a painful foot disorder).

 

Fergus brings my attention to this chilling story in the New York Times about the growing alliance between the Putin dictatorship-in-progress and the Russian Orthodox Church.

It seems the long-suffering believers of Russia are facing another brand of repression.