In this compelling and often startling account, Robert Werman chronicles his experiences as an Israeli citizen living in Jerusalem during the Gulf War. On January 19, 1991, he began writing daily reports on his computer, sending them to friends and a few computer networks that dealt with Jewish culture and the politics of the Middle East. To Werman’s surprise, he received numerous electronic responses to his entries, sometimes as many as one hundred a day. As a result, his "war diary" was born, a diary that he continued until February 22, 1991, when, near the end of the war, he was hospitalized for a heart condition.

In the early entries, Werman notes each Iraqi Scud attack, describing in detail the sealed room in which he and his family sought shelter during the expected chemical attacks. "Sitting in the antigas room, members of the family try to put on a brave face, make jokes. . . . Only the dog, a rather stately collie, sits quietly and does not appear at all excited. We pity the dog, for he is the only one without a mask. But then we remember that—without a mask—he is our canary in the coal mine." Futilely, Werman seeks patterns to the attacks, attempting to predict when they might occur. He writes of the nation’s response to war: joggers running with their gas masks in hand, schools temporarily disbanded while children meet in small groups to continue their education, city streets emptied by six o'clock each evening as people wait in their homes for the sound of the sirens that herald an assault. He discusses the varying opinions concerning retaliation against Iraq, the fluctuating morale of the country, the damage produced by Iraqi missiles, and the widespread speculation of Israeli citizens concerning their country’s survival. Yet Werman’s daily reports, digressions, and explanations not only include his observations and impressions; they also poignantly reveal his own personal story and political, religious, and philosophical views.

Werman’s journal gives a singular view of a country under siege, recounting in detail the pressures, conflicts, and dangers existing during a war. It is a distinctive book, a fascinating personal and political account of a man, his family, their nation, and a war.

Fifteen years into a successful career as a college professor, Ilana Blumberg encounters a crisis in the classroom that sends her back to the most basic questions about education and prompts a life-changing journey that ultimately takes her from East Lansing to Tel Aviv.  As she explores how civic and religious commitments shape the culture of her humanities classrooms, Blumberg argues that there is no education without ethics. When we know what sort of society we seek to build, our teaching practices follow.

 

In vivid classroom scenes from kindergarten through middle school to the university level, Blumberg conveys the drama of intellectual discovery as she offers novice and experienced teachers a pedagogy of writing, speaking, reading, and thinking that she links clearly to the moral and personal development of her students.

 

Writing as an observant Jew and as an American, Blumberg does not shy away from the difficult challenge of balancing identities in the twenty-first century: how to remain true to a community of origin while being a national and global citizen. As she negotiates questions of faith and citizenship in the wide range of classrooms she traverses, Blumberg reminds us that teaching - and learning - are nothing short of a moral art, and that the future of our society depends on it.