The Rally

by Tzvi Gluckin

A few years ago I attended a pro-Israel rally in Washington, DC.

Armed with a large jug of coffee, $60, assorted hip-hop favorites and “Bobs” Dylan and Marley, my friends and I began the nine-hour, all-night descent on DC from Boston. The Jewish Establishment called for a march on Washington and we were going. We trekked the length of America’s northeast looking for adventure or at least a bathroom. We took turns driving, having misplaced my license the week before I stuck painfully to the speed limit fearing the long arm of the law.

“You drive like my grandmother,” one of my friends said.

At four in the morning we reached Jake’s house on the outskirts of DC. The door was wide open and we let ourselves in.

Jake was crashed on the couch. Messianic tales of doom were piled on the coffee table; books that spoke of the inevitable apocalypse that was at our doorstep.

“Repent, the end is near.” I whispered to one of my traveling companions.

“I’m a debased sinner cowboy - no hope of redemption for this farmhand.”

We took over the house. I booted Jake off of the couch. The other traveling rebels retired in the bedrooms upstairs. Jake joined his family and we waited for morning. When we awoke, dreams of coffee and more sleep were on my mind.

“Coffee.”

“Chomsky.”

“I can’t stand Noam Chomsky.”

“Neither can he. He hates being Jewish. Worst thing that ever happened to him I guess.”

We walked to the Metro (DC’s subway). The ride was uneventful. We got off in downtown DC and made our way to the rally.

America’s capital is an eerie place: Huge faceless facades housing thousands of nameless bureaucrats plugging away at a system of mass control. Not a soul on the streets.

“DC is one weird place.”

We approached the city center. A stage and rows of flags were set up on the steps of the Capitol building. Crowds of Jews were crammed onto the huge lawn. Thousands had come to the rally. I muscled my way into the fray, seas of people clambered to see, to be heard.

“If I was a suicide bomber you’d be dead,” read one sign. I took a few steps back just in case.

“Hey Bush, get off your tush!” We chanted. “No more Arafat!”

I was awed by the spectacle. The Jewish Establishment had flexed its muscles: In less then a week it managed to gather the leaders from both Houses of Congress, governors, former mayors, Israeli prime ministers, dignitaries and officials. The mighty Jewish machine had spoken and we listened. It was an awesome display of power and influence.

The speakers went on for hours. They said what we wanted to hear and we applauded.

“What am I doing here?” I thought to myself unsure of the answer.

Sunburned and dehydrated my friends and I abandoned the cause. We paid two dollars for bottled water and made our way back to Jake’s house. We raided the fridge, piled into the car and began the nine-hour journey back to Boston. The roads, the signs, all were asleep and I stuck to the speed limit.

I pulled off at the first rest stop in Jersey. It was awesome, thousands of Jews, also heading up north from the rally, had descended upon the strip-mall of fast food joints and concession stands like a plague of locusts from biblical times. Everywhere I looked I saw the Chosen People choosing dinner. The lines to the un-kosher eateries were empty - the faithful were interested in snack foods bearing the requisite dietary supervision.

“Where are the politicians and influential people?” I thought to myself. “Wouldn’t the whole world be Jewish if they could experience this moment of culinary unity?”

Over iced-tea and cheese-doodles I thought about the last twenty-four hours: “What was the point? Were we trying to change American foreign policy? Would it matter if we did?”

For sure we accomplished something big; Jewish unity is a rare commodity and it was powerful to see 100,000 people stand together in support of the Jewish State. We showed our brothers and sisters in Israel that we care, that we are willing to take time out on their behalf.

But we were also very out of touch. The distinguished speakers knew what we wanted and we cheered, we overwhelmed the roadside establishments in our search for kosher food, but we were the exception and did not represent the majority of American Jews.

Most of America’s Jews didn’t go to the rally.

They do not keep kosher or actively support Zionist causes; they will not travel to Israel, affiliate with a synagogue or marry a Jew. Most American Jews are simply not interested in the things we were doing or talking about.

We got back on the highway. My road-weary crew dozed off as I fumbled with the radio.

I was disturbed. We lived in a pro-Jewish bubble, with enough influence to impress powerful people, but our causes and customs were almost totally irrelevant to the people we were claiming to represent. America is currently pro-Israel but it would be better if American Jewry had a reason to be pro-Jewish.

I kept on thinking about the day as we drove further north. “How can we make demands on the world to take notice? We don’t even notice our own people.”