They land side by side, occasionally one top of the other, once in awhile strewn in a line. The early-morning array of red, blue and orange bags greets us most days on the driveway. The Wall Street Journal arrives six days a week encased in red, The New York Times in blue, and The Denver Post (and Rocky Mountain News on Saturdays) usually in orange.
The daily newspapers come encased in their respective colors, in my mind reflecting their approximate placement on the liberal/conservative color continuum.
I find it interesting that our local paper comes enveloped in orange (or occasionally white or clear to accommodate an advertiser’s sale announcements). I wonder if it is perhaps an attempt to avoid the political color alignment or more simply a nod to our Broncos.
Unlike our papers, I prefer to defy color categorization, whether in checking a box defining ethnic identity or one indicating political or religious persuasion. Despite a classmate’s label of “loony liberal,” in my sophomore yearbook, my political views – albeit not yet expressed at the ballot box – run the spectrum from one end to the other.
Might I be blue? There are some strong indicators. After all, I could never comprehend how someone else’s choice of living partner could somehow threaten my lifestyle. Apparently my family feels the same way, as we count among our members a literal rainbow of colors, political persuasions, religious affiliations and sexual orientations.
Similarly, I could not imagine myself or any other person being the arbiter of another person’s private decisions, such as how many children to have or when or if to have them. I need only take a quick glance at the girls in my peer group to know that neither I nor anyone else has any business telling them what to do with their bodies.
Stem-cell research? If it saves the lives of some of the nice people in my life who suffer from diabetes, Alzheimer’s or similar serious diseases, count me in on that one, too.
OK, then: Color me blue.
But not so fast. How about Israel? Well, now you’re talking a newspaper bag of a different color. With the benefit of five trips to the holy land under my military-issue belt (the most recent one taking place during this summer’s wars), I am anything but a pacifist on this issue. I support Israel’s right to exist, to defend herself against those who wish to destroy her, and to protect her citizens from terrorists. If that means a backpack search by an educated, trained and armed member of the military before entering a shopping mall, I’m there. Ask me personal questions and hand-search every piece of carry-on and checked bags before boarding a plane? Fine with me. You only have to fly El Al, Israel’s national airline, once to appreciate the meaning of real airport security.
Call me a “loony liberal” if you like, but you’ll be the only one slapping that label on this shaved-head fellow in camo pants, lugging his bow case into the archery range on a weekend afternoon. I find plenty of conversation in common with my fellow shooters there; a love of physical challenge and a “live and let live” philosophy, for starters. That’s along with the benefits of bowstring wax, manual over automatic shift trucks, and a disdain of vegetarianism, of course.
I’m no more monochromatic when it comes to my personal religious practices. I am an observant liberal Jew, one who celebrates all the holidays, knows Hebrew, eschews pork and shellfish, and continues to study daily and grow in knowledge.
However, I attempt to do all this in a framework that is inclusive, egalitarian and continually open to new ideas and possibilities. I’ll go down to the mat for my right to take a standardized test on a Sunday rather than on the Jewish Sabbath, but I’ll be equally vociferous in insisting the inclusion of women in a minyan (prayer quorum).
So I’m not all blue, but certainly not all red. I don’t see the world – much less myself – in stark black or white, good or bad, them or us. The more I learn and experience, the more I see the many shades of grey in between. I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) choose but one end of the continuum and let go of the other. Just like my own ethnic identity, I’ve never neatly fit into a single line item, neither Caucasian nor Asian, but a mix of what I see as the ongoing honoring and continual combination of both.
I guess you could just color me purple.
Sammy Forshner attends Herzl/Rocky Mountain Hebrew Academy in Denver.
