Americana

I step out of my apartment and turn to lock the door. I walk down the hallway and nod at one or two of the other people in the building. I consider how fortunate I am to be in an almost completely Orthodox apartment building in a predominantly Orthodox neighborhood. Not everyone in the building is Jewish nor is the neighborhood entirely without its other religions, but by in large we live symbiotically, tolerating each others unique practices.

But as I walk up the street the change can be seen immediately. There is garbage on the street, the passing cars with their never ending bass pounding rhythms chorusing up into the air. I am now only a ten minute walk from where I started out and it seems like another world. An eclectic mix of shop peddlers are displaying their wares out in the street for all the pedestrians to sample. A man on the street corner asks me to spare some change for the bus. The store in front of me is advertising compact discs and calling cards.

I keep walking.

I stop in at the local Blockbuster to see about picking up a movie, but leave unsatisfied. I grab a bus into the heart of the city and eavesdrop on the couple sitting next to me, treated to the rare pleasure of hearing a conversation in English. The advertisements affirm that I am appropriately dressed in the latest fashion trend and that I am using the wrong Internet provider. The radio on the bus is playing yet another generic pop-culture-overnight-hit song that sounds like every other song on the Top 40.

I meet my friends at the local pizza shop and we grab a quick bite to eat. We head out to see the latest pseudo-horror-high-budget-heavily-special-effects-laden movie. After the movie we go over to a late night café, and while sipping lattes we debate the merit of the surprise ending and the horrible typecasting. I take a cab back to my apartment and as I close the door behind me and get ready to retire, I think back on my eventful day. I can't help but think that being here in Jerusalem is really no different then being back in New York.

On my most recent trip to the Holy Land I realized the blatant presence of American culture that has embedded itself in our most holy city. Please, I do not mean for this column to mislead. I happen to consider our generations brand of Americana to be one of the best cultures around. Yet, I always felt, perhaps due to a misplaced piece of naiuml veteacute, that Jerusalem was above modern culture. I've always felt that Jerusalem was supposed to be a safe haven of cultural purity, an island sanctuary on the tumultuous sea of moral depravity. Put simply, the more American Israel becomes, the less room the State has to be Israel.

When the front page of the New York Times displays Joseacute Boveacute's fist raised in a triumphant protest against the permeation of American culture in France, maybe it is time that we reconsider how far we want to spread our American culture. Maybe there is more to be gained by limiting our ethos to our natural borders. With ever increasing globalization of every division of life, what remains to identify the individual nations? The answer is each country's own values, ethics and way of life. If Israel stays its course then what is to remain of its own individuality; an individuality founded upon a history dating back to the dawn of time. No other country has the where with all to make such a claim. To forfeit such a prize for a Blockbuster video or Tower Records doesn't seem like a fair trade. Who is to say how far off is the day when a former wrestler will be appointed head of the Knesset?