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10. Intra-Urban Variations in Vulnerability Associated with Extreme Heat Events in Relationship to a Changing Climate

Sara C Pryor Indiana University Press ePub

D. P. JOHNSON, V. LULLA, AND A. C. STANFORTH

In the developing literature on the nature of climate change and its potential impact on society, vulnerability is an emerging pervasive theme. As can be seen in chapter 1 of this volume, vulnerability, by its very nature, is a multidisciplinary and multidimensional concept and thus requires multiple levels of definition and examination (Bankoff 2001, Bankoff 2003). Vulnerability is also a term that has been recently utilized as a “catch-all” phrase and thus is in danger of losing some of its descriptive effectiveness (Cutter et al. 2008). Vulnerability is so encompassing because it stems from multiple conditions that could represent the social, health, intelligence, or economic status of an individual or location (Wisner 2004). For the present discussion, we are concerned with the vulnerability of populations to a changing climate; our definitions will focus on health and social vulnerability to extreme events, such as those that will likely punctuate climate change globally, particularly heat waves. This chapter intends to introduce vulnerability in the context of extreme heat and to present a case study where such an analysis of vulnerability has taken place.

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7. Toward a Theory of the Modern Hebrew Handshake

Benjamin Maria Baader Indiana University Press ePub

ETAN BLOOM

More history is made by secret handshakes than by
battles, bills, and proclamations.

—John Barth

My interest in handshakes began some years ago, when a friend of mine, Menashe, unexpectedly rejected my handshake.1 He told me that I had pressed his hand too hard and demanded that I shake it more gently instead. His reaction, I believe, was connected to his decision to change the manner of his own handshake, returning to that of his late father, who had immigrated to Israel from Baghdad in the 1950s. My friend asked me, in particular, to stop giving him the strong slaps on the back and shoulders that Israelis call chapcha. Like many of my fellow countrymen, I had been fond of greeting my friends with a chapcha while handshaking.

This handshake with Menashe was perhaps my last authentic, modern Hebrew handshake. What had seemed spontaneous, friendly, and cool had been experienced as problematic by Menashe, leading to a kind of de-automatization of my handshaking. The interaction also inspired me to undertake some research on handshakes. For the present study, I interviewed and had conversations with more than 100 Israeli men and several women, as well as numerous Germans, Dutchmen, Bedouins, Egyptians, and Palestinians. The interviews were conducted in the early twenty-first century in conjunction with my larger investigation into the politics of the German Zionist Arthur Ruppin, who played a central role in the project of “culture planning” in Zionist Palestine. Under Ruppin’s leadership as the first and most influential director of the Palestine Office (PO), contemporary ideas of Arbeitswissenschaft (science of work) and of the German eugenics movement informed the creation of a new Hebrew man and a modern Hebrew habitus in Palestine.2 The modern Hebrew handshake was both a manifestation of and a motor for the formation of this distinct proto-Israeli cultural repertoire.

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Chapter 40

Marianne Boruch Indiana University Press ePub

Chapter 40

It would be a long journey by sea. Their boat was almost finished. We could see it sticking out of the garage, its wooden keel about nine feet high, practically an ark. It barely cleared the roof beam. And when a little subcommittee of them found us that evening, they popped the question formally. Though Frances had gotten the drift earlier that something was up, she knew nothing of the details.

We have this idea, said one of the robes, the one who had kept his eyes closed earlier, the one called Shashee. He seemed to be the spokesman at present, now that his sight had been restored.

It was easy for us to look blank and say nothing. That seemed the polite thing to do, a way of acknowledging our total attention to whatever they might say.

We’re building a boat. Maybe you noticed it, in the garage.

We nodded dutifully. Who could miss it?

Well, Frances, you know the reason for that boat, yes? And you’ve told your friend here? How it concerns our beloved Satamanyu? Perhaps you both have spoken earlier about these matters with Mukunda.

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1 Seeing Israel in Bernard Rosenblatt’s Social Zionism

Ken Koltun-Fromm Indiana University Press ePub

1   Seeing Israel in Bernard Rosenblatt’s Social Zionism

It is conceivable that one could view the Zionists’ deliberate mediation of the Jewish experience in Palestine as manipulation, or worse, exploitation. But that would misrepresent their deep-seated quest for, and sincere belief in, the authenticity of their claims. This was, in the Zionist imagination, one of the chief means of national liberation for the Jews: they had to be able to see their potential as a people and a nation, quite literally, before their eyes—preferably in the best possible light, as a blossoming flower—in order to perceive themselves as fully human.

—Michael Berkowitz, Western Jewry and the Zionist Project, 1914–1933

In an essay discussing Israel in American Jewish education, Walter Ackerman (1925–2003) recalls how every American kid attending Jewish schools of his generation, at one time or another, went to see the film A House in the Desert (1948). This now classic Zionist promotional film tells the story of the alutzim—those vanguards of a rejuvenated Jewish people in the land of Israel whom Arthur Goren and Mark Raider have explored in some detail.1 Building a kibbutz in the desert region known in Israel as the Arava, the alutzim produced their first crops and made the desert bloom. Ackerman acknowledges the heavy romantic propaganda, yet still recalls its visual impact: “But I have never forgotten the last frame of that movie—a fragile sliver of white bud bursting through the dry and dusty brown of desert waste.” That frame holds its power for Ackerman in ways that Jewish education, focused on “the reliance on telling,2 can rarely capture with the same urgency and vitality. Images captivate the senses in ways such that even the most romantic of pictures seems right and fitting. A House in the Desert deploys images to make arguments—a visual form of telling that travels very deeply into historical memory.

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5. Recorder

Jeffery KitePowell Indiana University Press ePub

HERBERT MYERS

Of all the early winds the recorder is surely the most familiar. In fact, for many it stands as a symbol for the whole of early music, for until not so long ago it seemed that the recorder movement and the early music movement were almost synonymous. Fortunately for both, that day is now past. In many an early music ensemble, however, the recorder ensemble still provides the main (if not the only) opportunity for students to become acquainted with an early wind. This modern emphasis on the recorder is not without some historical justification, particularly for Renaissance music, as it is evident from the sixteenth-century treatises of Virdung, Agricola, Ganassi, and Jambe de Fer (whose principal readership was undoubtedly the literate bourgeois citizen) that the recorder was often the primary woodwind of the musically cultivated amateur. Then (as now) its value as a pedagogical tool was recognized; Virdung specifically mentions that what is learned through the recorder can be applied to learning the other woodwinds, and the same thought appears to underlie the method books of Agricola. The recorder was also one of the instruments upon which the professional wind player was expected to double; some, such as Ganassi himself, may have specialized on it, and his own method attests to the high level of performance attained by some players. However, it is worth remembering that the ultimate achievement of the professional musician of the Renaissance was not playing any one instrument but several, and that those woodwinds that commanded the most respect were not the recorder but the shawm (in the fifteenth century) and the cornett (in the sixteenth). Thus, a student with the interest and aptitude should be encouraged to look beyond the limitations imposed by the recorder and to explore other avenues of Renaissance performance as well.

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