How many people see two Ella Alterman movies in one week? First, it was “Dubak – the Palestinian Jew” and today it was “The Woman from Sarajevo”. Both biopics, “Dubak” is the story of a nonconformist Jew from Gush Tzion, who worked with Bedouins finding lost hikers in the desert hills, and taught hard to teach kids from the local communities, claiming a connection with the land, whether it turned out to be Israeli or Palestinian.

“Sarajevo” is the story of a Moslem woman from Sarajevo, the daughter of a Yad Vashem Righteous Gentile, whose family hid (Anne Frank style) a Jewish family in the heart of Sarajevo from the Nazis for years in a room whose entrance was blocked by a large, heavy safe. Aida kept in touch with the saved family, who had moved to Israel and she herself moved to Israel with her daughter and husband. Changing her name from Aida to Sara, she converted to Judaism, along with her formally Christian husband and their daughter, and she got a job as an archivist at Yad Vashem. It is a story of bravery and righteousness, of religious differences overcome by human similarities, and of wars – not only World War II, but the 1992 Bosnian War. The footage of that war, like the movie “A Woman of Berlin” which I saw yesterday, shows just how dumb and tragic war is.

In addition to seeing the film (at the Library of Congress this afternoon), I read a book called “Suburban Sahibs” by S. Mitra Kalita, published in 2003. Sometimes I think that everyone should read a book now and then that they pick off the shelf without knowing what it is, or whether they will like it. “Suburban Sahibs” is about the Indian community which has developed in Central Jersey, around the town of Iseliln, where we often have stopped as we head north (or south) on the Garden State Freeway, for an Indian lunch on Oak Tree Avenue.

Following the lives of three immigrant families, the book gives very interesting insights into the life of this community, the “model minority” community, where the children obey the law, study hard, and almost all become doctors and engineers. While not the best edited book, it is very readable, very straightforward and delivers important messages of interest to all Americans.

1. Martin Heidegger. A book by Emmanuel Fay, published in French in 2005, is about to be published in English translation and there have been a series of articles that I have seen talking about the book, and about its subject, an influential philosopher, who happened to be a Nazi (as well as a lover and friend of Jewish philosopher Hannah Arendt). support of the Nazis has not held back his influence; this book questions whether it should, and whether in fact, in taking into account philosophical writings, one needs to understand the full background of the writer. Heidegger, opponent of western technological society and reason-based philosophy, was in fact, according this new book, extolling a philosophy that is consistent with Nazi thought. Of course, you don’t have to be a Nazi to be suspicious of western technological development (and you don’t even have to be an Islamic fundamentalist). And I wonder whether Heidegger’s Nazi background is important at all, or rather whether Heidegger is. Look at what the New York Times said today in its article on the subject:

“His prose is so dense that some scholars have said it could be interpreted to mean anything, while others have dismissed it altogether as gibberish. He is nonetheless widely considered to be one of the century’s greatest and most influential thinkers.”

Is there something wrong with this picture?

(As an aside, Kate Fodor’s excellent play on the relationship between Heidegger and Arendt was performed several years ago at Theater J; it has been performed elsewhere from time to time, and I expect this book will revive interest in it. It explores Arendt’s thinking as she reconnects with Heidegger after the war.)

2. The Woman of Berlin. At the last minute, we decided to see Eine Dame von Berlin at the Avalon last night. In 1954, in English, an anonymous diary was published by a woman who was living in Berlin when the Russians entered the city in April 1945. The diary, which extended over a period of several months, told of the brutal treatment of women by the entering and, eventually, occupying Russian forces, included continual sexual attacks. But it also told the story of how these women responded to these attacks, not necessarily by sabotaging their conquerors, but in some instances by accommodating to their new situation, picking and choosing between various Russian military men in return for protection from others, food, peace and quiet. Was this their only motivation? Were some of them themselves starved for sex? Were some of them simply thinking survival, or defeat, or coping with unbearable depression?

When the diary was published in 1959 in Germany, it created a furor, as a piece besmirching the German woman, and it was quickly hushed up. The author, anonymous but now believed to be a former German journalist named Marta Hillers who moved to Switzerland after the war and who decided that the diary would not be published again until after her death. Hillers died at 90 in 2001, the diary published in Germany in 2003, and this movie made several years later.

It is a brutal movie – both the war and the graphic sexual scenes (although nudity is kept to a minimum) – that keeps pounding you as you watch it. Is this the way it really was? Or was Hillers’ situation someone unique in that the movie focuses entirely on the fate of the women (and the few men) living in one particular formerly elegant apartment building in Berlin, and the Russian soldiers they came into contact with. Were other experiences of others different?

It is interesting to note that the first review of the diary itself on Amazon is by a man who was in the American military in Berlin at the time, and he finds the story line to be very credible and authentic. On the other hand, as we are dealing with an officially anonymous diary, other questions are raised: is it authentic at all? The book is apparently quite polished, and it has been suggested that it is the product of the writer’s imagination, rather than a true diary. Most scholars, though, seem to accept the diary for what it is.

You might find the movie, which is well acted (in German and Russian with English subtitles), worthwhile, but don’t expect it to be pleasant. And certainly recognize that it may raise new questions in your mind about the human condition, and not answer those that you already have.

The Berlin Wall. Today, of course is the 20th anniversary of the Berlin Wall’s fall. If you haven’t read any of the articles giving the chronology of what happened on November 9, 1989, try to do so. You will find it interesting, how some missed signals sent out word that the gates to the west were being opened, and once the word was out and people stormed the walls (something that perhaps they could have done at any time in at least the decade preceding that date), the East Germans had no choice but to follow through and open the passageways.

I keep talking about my visit to Berlin in 1962, one year after the wall was erected, and again in 2006, and how seemlessly these two formerly so different portions of this city were being reconstructed. Humpty Dumpty it was, turned on its head.

1. This morning, virtually all of America’s synagogues were empty. That’s because everyone was at Adas Israel in Washington. Many services and post-service goings on going on.

2. This afternoon, virtually all of the nation’s roads were empty. That’s because everyone was driving on Rockville Pike (except that trying to go south; they were parked four lanes across on Rockville Pike.

3. This evening, the nation’s restaurants were empty. That is, with the exception of Zaytinya in Washington. At about 5:15, the tables were filled, the bar over-crowded, and the wait was about an hour. That was at 5:15.

4. Tonight, more than 80 Metro stations in Washington were empty – that’s because everyone was at the Gallery Place station at about 10:00 tonight. Trying to get to a train after the hockey game.

Yesterday afternoon, I stepped onto a DC Metro train and found myself on the Ugly Car. By that, I mean only a subway car which was fairly crowded and where each passenger seemed to have at least one physical characteristic that was extraordinarily ugly. Any type of physical ugliness you can think of was well represented on the car. “How”, I said to myself, “did I ever get onto this particular car?”

Well, I’m not exactly stupid you know, and I figured it out pretty quickly. I think I was on the car because I fit right in. I hope I look good in my new sunshades and balaclava.

Today, finding myself in Fairfax at lunch time, I wanted something quick and cheap and reliable, so I went into a Subway at the first strip center that I passed. Subway is still quick and cheap (6″ sandwich, chips and a drink for only $6), but is it reliable? I think it has gone down, down, downhill.

OK, the whole wheat rolls are still OK (even if they aren’t really whole wheat), but the selection of fillings seems to have deteriorated – diced chicken with various sauces, sliced turkey, veggie patties, black forest ham, etc. I am not sure what is missing, but it sure is boring. I used to like getting the veggie patty with tomatoes, olives, pickles and bell peppers and put barbecue sauce on it. Some time ago, Subway stopped carrying barbecue sauce, so now, you are limited to ranch/mayonnaise type sauces, it seems. The patty is not the same any more. The tuna lacks style, the chicken combos just aren’t that interesting, turkey sounds dull, ham I don’t want.

All in all, it was a pretty ugly lunch. The chips were too salty, even if I took them first through a makeshift desalination process, and the drink was Dr. Pepper, which I don’t really like, but I selected so I wouldn’t drink too much soda.

I don’t know. Perhaps my approach is wrong. I will do it differently the next time I go into a Subway – scheduled for 2016.

The Movie: “Dubak -The Palestian Jew” is a very interesting one hour film directed by Israeli film maker Ella Alterman, shown tonight at the JCC. The director was present for a talk-back after the movie.

It is a biopic focused on an unusual West Bank resident, who unfortunately died of a heart attack during the filming, cutting short what was to have been a much longer film. Dubak lived in the Gush Etzion bloc, a religious block of settlements east of Jerusalem created after the 1967 war by proponents of a Greater Israel. But he was unusual.

A descendent of Jews who first came to the area in the 1850s, he felt his roots there, and stated that he didn’t care what country he was in. He would fight for his land and the right to live there, but whether he lived in an Israeli state or a Palestinian state was unimportant to him.

One of his four sons was killed by a terrorist in the 1990s. He was greatly affected, as one would expect, and redirected his life. He settled in the valley that his ancestors had settled in, he planted trees and vines and vegetables, and built stone fences. He took children from the Jewish settlements who were having trouble fitting in (academically, socially, whatever) and had them work with him, treating them sternly but very positively. He devoted time to searching for missing hikers, and found quite a number of them; he knew the hills and valleys well, and his co-workers in this task were the Bedouins. He was very close to the Beduoins and they seemed to respect and like him. Everyone did.

He was, I thought, a very confused person, searching for the answers, finding them only in the land. And his early death (he was quite overweight) affected that land, I am sure. For there was no one to continue of his programs. His kids were too sophisticated, too normal. His wife (not in the film) is, according to Alterman, very different from her husband; she is the daughter of an American rabbi.

I thought Alterman caught her subject well. A friend of Dubak’s in the audience agreed. I think Dubak’s unique life and thought process raise many, many questions, none of which have complete answers, and all of which should.

The Book: “The Messenger” by Daniel Silva. A fine book to read when you have a cold and want something that will keep your attention (and not lead you to close your eyes) and which you can finish in a day or two. And, yes, Gabriel Allon comes out just fine, even deciding it’s time to marry Chiara (although of course he doesn’t quite do it in the book). But it’s a tough ride – he witnesses a terrorist attack on the Vatican which kills hundreds, he moves back and forth between Italy and Israel and CIA headquarters in McLean, he saves the life of the Pope (one of his close friends, of course) as well as the life of the President of the United States, he gets a young Phillips Gallery curator into a heap of trouble and sort-of barely extracts her, he penetrates the secrets of one of the world’s largest corporations to see how they fund and control al-Quaeda and other terrorist activites, and he has some wonderful meals at some exquisite Caribbean restaurants. What more can you want?

The second book. Charles Bragg’s “Asylum Earth”. Great drawings, nonsensical writings that look like things that I write. I can’t say it’s classic literature. But you have to like stories about St. Francis of Azusa who loved animals so much. He got a lion to lie down with a lamb; they looked so nice. He wondered why, when he looked at them later in the day, the lamb had decided to leave. He thought that God made bats blind so they couldn’t see how ugly they were. And “the gentle and saintly Francis could not even bring himself to swat a mosquito….. He died of malaria.”

If you get hungry on Connecticut Avenue, near DuPont Circle, no problem. Ditto, if you walk east about 5 blocks to 14th Street. But what if you are in-between, on 17th Street, between P and R, another strip with a large number of eating places? You may be in trouble.

We wanted to get dinner before a 7:30 curtain at Theater J on Saturday night. We first walked into Hank’s Oyster Bar, a popular small restaurant on Q Street, just off 17th. It may be fine if you want oysters or some other crustacean to eat, but if you want fish? The choices were sable and Portuguese sardines, neither a strong favorite. Want meat? Well, on Thursday night, it’s pork chops. Ditto, again.

We thought of the other restaurants that we were familiar with. Sushi Taro has become much too upscale, Komi even more so. Annie’s, Trio and Peppers have the opposite problem. Bua Thai is too boring, Cafe Luna the same.

We decided (with time moving along) we needed to go somewhere new, and that somewhere turned out to be Floriana, which has opened sometime recently in a building that used to house the Mercury Grill. It was just about 6 when we entered this old red-brick townhouse with its New Orleans bordello-lite decor, and we were the only customers (there might have been some in the English basement bar; there were, when we left an hour later). To our surprise, after sitting and eating for an hour or so, we were still the only ones in the restaurant. Thursday night is a pretty busy night. Is this typical? If so, how long can they last?

On the positive side, on Thursday nights, you can get drinks made from Skyy vodka for $3. That’s quite a bargain (and may explain the crowd in the bar below). On the negative side, the dinner rolls looked like they had been made before the turn of the millennium and just taken from the freezer. (My father used to judge a restaurant by its coffee – if it served good coffee, you could be assured that everything else would be good. I once spent some time with the late seer-real estate agent Jeanne Dixon, who told me that she judged restaurants, on the same basis, by the quality and variety of their potato dishes. I tend to extrapolate from the bread.) Once, the rolls were served, I figured it might be downhill from there.

And it was. My wife had tuna, which was fair. I had chicken, which was fair. Not good, not bad. Certainly, you had no problem eating it, but you never would say: I think we ought to come back and have this again.

Our waitress seemed friendly and attentive, until I asked her why she charged us $2 more for the tuna than the menu price. She then turned very cold and said, “Georgio [I think] the manager will handle that.”. He told me that they just lowered the price on the menu and the computer must not have caught up. I doubt this; certainly, it did not look like we were given brand new menus. He told us he would adjust the computer, and then he gave me 2 one-dollar bills. He was very brusque, which I didn’t appreciate, so rather than simply take the $2, I told him that there was a sales tax (10% for restaurants in the District), a tip based on the full cost, etc. I would have expected that they would have redid the bill – but they didn’t. He grumbled, and handed me another dollar, saying, strangely, “we don’t have quarters”. OK, I said, and left, never again to visit Floriana.

I have just read two books about the good old days, “The Politics of Rage” by Dan T. Carter (a biography of George Wallace) and “The Unmaking of a President” by Herbert Y. Schandler (the story of the Vietnam War and the presidency of Lyndon B. Johnson). The good old days.

Dan T. Carter was a history professor at Emery University, and later went to the University of South Carolina, from which he retired in 2007. His book on George Wallace, published in 1995, is highly regarded, and rightly so. Not only is it a fascinating biography of former Alabama governor and two-time presidential candidate Wallace, but provides a broader history of the 20th century civil rights movement in the United States, and serves as a reminder of all the people and all of the events which so many of us lived through. Wallace as a poor, small town southern boy, as a boxer, a soldier and finally a politician, and how his politics turned more and more segregationist as time went to, becoming so influential that the Republican party, during the second Nixon campaign, began to emulate him, thus birthing the Southern Strategy. Only after Wallace was shot at a political rally in 1972 did he begin to slow down and realize his limits and, eventually, perhaps even to realize the wrongness of his earlier ways, as he toned down his rhetoric and sought forgiveness from many of his former targets. But it is the picture of America that is really important to remember, much more so than the personality of Wallace. For it is America that allowed Wallace to become a fairly series candidate, and certainly an influential politician. Thinking of himself first, perhaps, as a southern states-rights advocate for whom segregation was one important facet of a states rights campaign, he changed his mind when he began to campaign in the North – in Wisconsin and and Indiana, and when he gave the speech at Harvard that I remember so well boycotting. Then, it was that he discovered, to his great surprise, that all of American was the South. And to a significant extent, he was correct.

Schandler’s book is less well know, written in 1977 as an expanded Ph.D. thesis at Harvard and published by the Princeton University Press. It is an account of the politics of the Vietnam War during the Johnson years. Not an account of the war itself (although certain important trends and events are discussed), but an account of the discussions that went on between the White House, Defense Department, Military and State Department about how the war should be carried out – do you expand the bombing or curtail it and for what reason, with what expectations; how do domestic concerns affect the way you fight the war; how does the ability of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam to fend for itself influence your actions; can you continue to avoid a call up of the Reserves, and should you; how thinly stretched in the American army; what are the ultimate goals, possibilities and expectations. Much sounds like what must be happening now, as the government ponders Afghanistan and Iraq. But there are differences – clearly the media (with all its focus on body kill counts, etc.) was not privy to the discussions in the way they seem to be today, and the highly partisan nature of today’s debate was notably absence in the 1960s. Again, it was reliving the past, reading about (in new ways) those familiar names: Johnson, Humphrey, Clifford, Vance, McNamara, Rusk, Westmoreland and all the others.

Why did Johnson decide not to seek reelection in 1968? For one thing, his polling numbers had dropped dramatically; it would not be easy. For another, he probably did believe that the need to campaign and to posture for votes would affect both the decisions about the war, and about various competing domestic issues. For a third, he was simply worn out (and in fact, he lived only about four more years, dying at the relatively young age of 64).

This was a very well researched book, and probably is not easy to find today. But it is working looking for, and reading.

At Theater J, and recommend that others leave the GPS at home and follow suit.

As a literary work, I am not sure that Neil Simon’s “Lost in Yonkers” deserved the Pulitzer Prize that it received, but it is clearly a play that is an audience pleaser if well performed and well directed, and the Theater J production is all of that.

The story line: It is 1942, in Yonkers. Embittered German refugee, now living in Yonkers, saw two of her six children die, and the four others each in their own way develop abnormally, presumably in part based on her overly strict, hands-off, dour parenting (her husband died young). Her living children include Eddie, a weak, inoffensive man, somewhat afraid of his shadow, whose own wife has recently died (and who was estranged from his mother while he was married) and who must go on the road selling scrap iron to make enough money to pay off some major debts; Louie, estranged from his mother from time to time, who appears to be a (minor?) thug and bagman, and whose personality is as strong as his brother’s is weak; Gert, who is so nervous that she can’t even speak a full sentence without having to breathe in the last phrase; and Bella, who is an adult, but still a child, with an addled brain, but an extraordinary amount of warmth and humanity, and who lives and works (in the candy store) with her mother. When Eddie announces he is going on the road for ten months, he leaves his 13 and 15 year old sons to live with their grandmother, and it is the goings on, most of which are unpleasant and show tremendous familial dysfunction, that the audience follows until a kind of denouement is reached upon Eddie’s return.

So, with Bella we have a little of Tennessee Williams’ “The Glass Menagerie”, and with Eddie and his two sons a little of Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman”. But Simon adds his own touches of course, as he puts these and other story lines together, and turns it into a comedy of great poignancy.

Some of the lines are extremely clever, and each of the characters fascinating (although I wonder if the play would have been a bit stronger if Eddie had only existed off-stage, rather than bookending the script with his going and coming).

“Lost in Yonkers” is often referred to as a coming of age play, about the two boys, Jay and Arty, but in fact the central characters are the mother and Bella. And especially Bella, played at Theater J by Holly Twyford in extraordinary fashion, drawing you in to sympathize with her limitations, and to marvel at her buoyancy, her sense of tragedy and her continual recovery and optimism.

There was a cast talk-back last night after the show. It seemed that the majority of the large audience remained, and the conversation was as interesting as the show itself. Surprising to me was the fact that at least three audience members had German grandmothers/mothers (I forget which), who were precisely the woman played so well by Tana Hicken. Tough, bitter, strict and – at least from the outside – unloving. And that Kevin Bergen, who played Uncle Louie, really had an Uncle Louie (not his name), who, like the character in the play, would show up unannounced and say that he had to stay a few days, or a few weeks, who carried the same black satchel that Louie carried, who had to duck as he walked by the front windows. And then there was the audience member who said that she was a step mother of two children with disabilities and saw characteristics of her children in the precise way that Twyford played Bella. And a discussion about whether this family, clearly Jewish in that the mother escaped anti-Semitic Germany, but not Jewish at all in any of the other elements of the script.

So the play appears to be universal in its appeal and in the ability of the audience to relate to it. And perhaps that it is this universality that led to a two year run on Broadway and a Pulitzer Prize.