The Lies They Tell

by Tuvia Tenenbom

  Just this morning! Did you announce it in my honor?

  “Yes, absolutely! It’s for you!”

  Let me ask you: Berkeley is known, at least in some circles, as being very much anti-Israel. Is this true?

  “Actually, I don’t know quite where that impression came about.”

  You know that such an impression exists –

  “I don’t hear many complaints from Jewish students about that.”

  I spoke with some Jewish students and I was told that it’s tough here. Some Jewish students even told me that they don’t get involved politically on campus because they don’t want to be singled out by other students. Are you aware of any of this?

  “No,” he replies, and then immediately corrects himself: “I am aware of some of it, but we have reached out to Jewish students and we want to make sure that they get involved as they wish to. We have done a survey, in fact, across the Jewish student community and we’ve found that there’s a high level of satisfaction with their life at Berkeley.”

  I know nothing about Berkeley. What I said now to you is what the students said to me. They said, for example, that in their estimate nine out of ten professors are against Israel.

  It is at this point that Dan, the Jew, interrupts me. He is upset that I raise this issue. Had he known that I would raise this issue he would have made sure that I would not be sitting here now with the chancellor.

  He goes on and on, defending Berkeley’s name over and over. I let him blow off some steam and then ask Nicholas: Is it true that nine out of ten lecturers here are anti-Israel?

  “First of all, I’d have no way of knowing. We don’t actually survey what the political views of professors are. I mean, we have a commitment to academic freedom, very deep at this university, and so we don’t have any political litmus test for any political position. The important thing is that all our faculty, and they are among the most highly reputed faculty of any university in the world, pass the most stringent test of disciplinary performance. Whether they were hired in political science or in anthropology, or whatever, they are the top of their profession.”

  I change topics and ask Nicholas if academia shapes public thinking on issues such as human rights and other social issues.

  “The relationship of the university to any of these things, I think, has been critical.” As he sees it, universities have also in the past had a “major cultural and political impact on the United States.”

  When walking around Berkeley I noticed fewer flags than in most other cities that I have been to thus far. Is Berkeley less patriotic than other cities? Are the people here anti-American, anti-government?

  “Heavens, no!”

  Are you proud to be an American?

  “ Absolutely!”

  Before I leave, Dan tells me that he would like to talk with me in private. We sit down for a little talk and Dan says that according to a survey done by the university “90 percent of the Jewish students say that they feel welcome and respected on this campus.” If this is true, this is the first time in four thousand years that 90 percent of Jews agree on any given topic.

  • • •

  California requires driving. If you want to go from one place to another, you gotta drive. If you use public transportation, you will spend a lifetime at the bus stop.

  I rent again. This time, like Berkeley’s admissions people, I settle on an Asian car, the Japanese Nissan Versa Note. I get my body into the driver’s seat and turn on the machine. This Japanese, let me tell you, handles itself much more smoothly than my previous cars, and driving it is a sheer delight.

  The question is: Where should I drive from here? A little history might help.

  The decision to create the United Nations was made in no other place than the United States. To be more exact: California. To be even more exact: San Francisco. Many years ago, long before smoking was outlawed, the charter of the United Nations was signed in San Francisco. To be specific: June 26, 1945. Three years later, this United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, a declaration that is a major part of today’s Western thinking.

  I think I should make my acquaintance with San Francisco.

  I reach San Francisco via the Golden Gate Bridge. I used to think that the Brooklyn Bridge in New York was the finest of the world’s bridges. No way, Jose! This Golden Gate Bridge is majestic in comparison, a bridge that seems to never end. But it does, after 1.7 miles.

  As I drive I notice all the Spanish names in this part of America, San this and San that. This part of America used to be a Spanish colony and its people celebrate the colonizers. Sorry, Indians. You should be happy that the president named a mountain in your honor; that’s more than enough.

  Driving in San Francisco, let me tell you, comes with a price: San Francisco’s drivers. They are creatures whose vocabularies are missing one word: patience. I’m new to the city and I want to take in the view, and so I drive a little slow. Oh boy, these people hate it! They honk their horns as if World War III had just erupted. Cool it, folks!

  San Francisco, may I share another detail with you, has a little problem, an old elephant that won’t leave the room: homeless people, mostly black. It is sad to see the many poor, black poor, in this rich country.

  I give up driving here. I park the car near my hotel, which is downtown, and go for a walk. There are many similarities between this city and Manhattan: constant traffic, privileged rich and a high cost of living. I meet people who pay $3,000 a month for a one-bedroom apartment, not including household expenses such as utilities.

  At the base of my hotel, a four-star hotel, homeless black people are gearing up for a night’s sleep. My hotel is near Union Square, a major shopping area, and the stench of urine fills the air. The sidewalks are shockingly dirty, reminding me of the poorest towns in the Third World.

  Is this America? Finely dressed people, the kind you would encounter at high-class charity events, pass by but fail to notice the poor lying by their feet. The only poor they do see are the prostitutes, who are picked up by some of them and taken into nearby hotels. San Francisco, as seen here, is home to two kinds of people: the rich and the homeless.

  I go up to my hotel room and turn the TV on. The TV unit is exquisitely beautiful. I love its design, color, look, feel and its overall appeal. But then comes content. Not one of the channels offers anything remotely interesting. How can so many channels be so boring? Who writes this awful stuff? We are in an age, a thought creeps into my mind, of genius packagers and retarded writers.

  I go to sleep. My dreams are usually more intriguing than what I can expect to find on the screen.

  • • •

  Early the next morning I read the news. This comes from the New York Times: “Austrian officials said that 6,500 migrants, many of them from Syria, had reached Austria by Saturday afternoon, and at least 2,200 were already on their way to Germany.”

  Wonderful Austrians. They sell their Glock pistols to American stores so that gangs in Minneapolis and other parts of the United States can kill each other with ease, but within their own borders they are so great and so humane. Elsewhere I read that Germany will accept 800,000 refugees this year, most of them Syrians, and perhaps even more.

  Did I mention the Germans are extreme? America agreed to take ten thousand refugees, but Germany is shooting for a million.

  For Germans, this is a great boost for their image. Long despised for the horrors that their country inflicted on Jews and others during World War II, Germans have a constant, dire need to be absolved. In reality, almost everybody out there loves the Germans, but the Germans are not sure that this is deeply rooted and fear that everyone else could turn against them at any second. They have not yet convinced the world, they think, how great they really are.

  Enter the Syrians. The civil war in Syria, which has produced countless refugees roaming the earth in search of shelter, is a golden opportunity for the Germans to show the world that they care for others and that they are
a great nation, and better than any other. The whole world lets the refugees drop dead in the sand or drown at sea, but Germany, only Germany, shows compassion. People worldwide take notice, and everybody with a heart praises the Germans.

  Germany is also one of the biggest weapons manufacturers in the world, but almost nobody is paying attention to this little detail right now.

  Frankly, I’m happy I’m not in Germany these days. Last time the people in Germany felt so good about themselves, during the years of the Reich, it didn’t end up nicely.

  In a funny way, the only ones who remember those years are some Syrian refugees. They are the ones who, upon reaching Germany, had this polite request: Could you show me to the Adolf Hitler museum? In their minds, the Germans are great because they killed so many Jews in the last century, and they, the refugees, want to show their appreciation to their German hosts by honoring the Führer.

  I go downstairs to have a smoke. A young black lady carrying an iPhone approaches me. “Hey, baby,” she asks, “want to hang out?”

  Thanks, I tell her; not now. She moves on to the next baby.

  I take another puff out of my cigarette, and two black ladies approach me. “Hi, Sexy. Want to have good time?” one of them asks.

  Next time, my dears.

  I pray that this not be the fate of the Syrian refugees in Germany. It is quite easy to open the gates of your country to foreigners, but it’s a totally different story once they are in. It will take years upon years of love and dedication to help the refugees forget the dark past and march, ever so cautiously and patiently, toward a brighter future. Is Germany built for it? This sexy man doesn’t know.

  • • •

  I go to the Castro District, also known as the Castro. Built by German, Irish and Scandinavian immigrants well over a century ago, over the years it has turned into something else altogether. Referred to by some as “the gayest spot on earth,” the Castro is a neighborhood known worldwide for its gay residents and its gay activism.

  Once I, Sexy, arrive, my eyes catch sight of naked people roaming around, parading their genitals for all to see. It’s an interesting sight to behold: young and old in the nude, surrounded by people with various signs which read, in part: “Gay 4 Pay is Okay,” “Free Hugs, Cheap Sex,” “Stop the War on Whores,” “My Body, My Rules” and “My Friends Are Sex Workers.” One man, dressed like some sort of priest and calling himself Sister Merry Peter, walks around with a Whole Foods bag and collects money, while in the background various speakers charge the audience with lofty messages.

  Whole Foods is a nationwide chain of grocery stores that has earned the “liberal” badge. I’m not sure why; perhaps due to the store’s policy of supplying only paper, not plastic bags, because plastic is bad for the environment.

  Who are you? I ask the “priest.”

  “I am a sister of perpetual indulgence. We are an international order of queer nuns who work to liberate the community from shame and guilt and to help everyone find their own unique joy.”

  Do you believe in the Virgin Mary?

  “Honey, there are so many Virgin Marys and I don’t have time to believe in all of them.”

  Do you believe in the Son of God?

  “Of course I do, my darling! I meet him every Tuesday on the corner for coffee, and usually we spend our time bitching about what happened the night before, and that whore Virgin Mary. She was a long-suffering mother.”

  I love this sister!

  Why are these people here, these priests and nudists? A few days ago the Department of Homeland Security, a government body tasked with protecting America from terror attacks and other breaches of public security, shut down a website called rentboy.com and arrested its operators.

  Rentboy, which was in operation for about two decades, specialized in matching gay escorts and their rich male clients. Why the US government decided to close them down, and why now, is anybody’s guess. My guess is this: young, attractive males emit too many dangerous gasses into the atmosphere. The gathering here, a demonstration, is aimed at getting the website back on and its operators cleared of all charges.

  No matter what the government thinks, I like the Castro. The people here are spirited souls and, like many persecuted minorities, these gays have developed a great sense of humor – and I adore it. Yes, not every gay is funny, but collectively they have created a “fun” environment, which is absolutely refreshing.

  Within minutes, I join the fun. I pick up some of the handmade posters and fly them high and higher. Standing near me is a lady who calls herself “slut.” I talk with her a bit, and she explains to me the act of prostitution in legal terms, as if I really care to know. “Penal Code 647b,” she says, is the law against prostitution in California.

  “At first, prostitution was illegal on the basis of solicitation,” but later on the government expanded the law to include agreeing to prostitution. She goes on and on and on, detailing the history of law and of prostitution, how they relate and don’t relate, and a whole host of other issues. She is, no doubt, the most intellectual prostitute in history.

  Gypsy, a forty-six-year-old mother of three, walks around in full nudity and tells me that she is here “in support of this demonstration for the rights of the sex workers. They deserve to be treated just like anyone else and should not be treated as criminals.”

  Are you personally part of the sex industry?

  “I used to be. I used to be a stripper as well. And I shoot pornography.”

  Are you lesbian?

  “No. Straight as a board.”

  On the other side of the street is Mr. Pam. Needless to say, being that this is the Castro, Mr. Pam is in reality a woman, known among the faithful as Gay Porn Mama. She is a bit overweight, ever smiling, and she tells me that “I’m a proud and passionate gay pornographer.” She was raised Catholic, and still is, because “you can never really escape Catholicism.”

  How was your first porno movie? How did it feel? “Amazing!”

  What’s more fun, gay or lesbian films?

  “With boys, you know when it ends. They ejaculate and it’s done.With girls, I don’t know when it’s ending.”

  How about straight porn?

  “I’ve never shot straight porn because I like watching it.”

  Ah, so you are bisexual. Why not shoot straight sex?

  “It would be too distracting. I would want to jump in! I would get jealous!”

  I finally found myself some liberals, the real deal. I like these Americans!

  Across the street is a gas station, where they charge $3.89 per gallon. In Wisconsin I paid $2.29 a gallon. When I point this out to the people here, nobody is upset. As far as they are concerned, the government and businesses can charge whatever they want as long as they, the people, will be able to rent a boy by the hour.

  What else is new today? Another in a series of Jewish lawmakers, Democratic National Committee chairwoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz, announced that she would support the Iran deal.

  The Iran deal is likely to have enough support in Congress that soon it will probably be a reality. Rentboy is a security risk – Iran is not. Pastor John of CUFI should relax and come down here to have some fun. We have a priest here, why not a pastor?

  • • •

  My Versa likes to move – that’s why she is a car. Today she takes me to Palo Alto, California. Goodbye San Francisco, hello Palo Alto.

  I park and walk around to acquaint myself with the people and the place.

  The late Steve Jobs, founder of the Apple company, lived in this neighborhood before he passed away – which tells me about the kind of people living here. There are some very nice houses in this Palo Alto, which I can view only from the outside. Some of these houses, I’m told, go for as little as $10 million apiece.

  And it is here in Palo Alto that I meet two Stanford students: she has a PhD in engineering, and he will get his PhD next year. Both are cool. Very cool. “If you are educated, if you are a scientist,” the m
ale says, “you would no doubt be a progressive liberal.” The female agrees. Both – what a big shocker – believe in climate change and are pro-Palestine.

  I drive to Stanford University. I want to see where they raise such educated, scientific people. What a gorgeous place! A great park, beautiful buildings and – how grateful I am – no stench of urine. Fabulous!

  Unlike Berkeley, Stanford has not started the semester yet. I try to enter some of the buildings, but only the ghosts respond. An exception is Stanford’s Hillel chapter, the Taube Hillel House. Hillel is a Jewish student organization, and I guess the Jews like to work a bit harder than the others.

  I walk in. A lady sits next to a desk, and behind her is a puppy lying in a cage. It’s some kind of German dog, and she says that a similar dog used to chase Jews in World War II. She loves her dog and she brings him to work so that he is not home alone.

  With her in the room are a few students, all Jews. Is this chapter reddish or bluish? I ask them.

  Oops. It’s a forbidden question around here, and all present, besides the Nazi dog, immediately feel uncomfortable.

  These are the real Frozen Chosen. Only under repeated questioning, and afraid that yours truly will send dogs to chase them if they don’t reply, do they say that in the past Hillel had hosted leftist speakers and that they do not recall any instance of a right-leaning speaker showing up here.

  So, you are blue. Right?

  They are offended by this question and, fearful that I’ll ask more, they all leave.

  I leave as well and try to find some other creatures around here. Next to a fraternity house with a funny name, I meet some students, none Jewish, and they tell me that I can ask them any question I want as long as I promise that at the end of the conversation there will be some beer.

  That’s the spirit. I love it! But where the hell am I going to get beer?

  Top of the news today in major American media: 1. Germany will spend $6.7 billion on the refugees. 2. A Palestinian woman in the West Bank died at the hand of Israelis.