In addition, Levine protests that sweatshop owners do not conform to standards set by the International Labor Organization and deny their workers basic rights, such as the right to organize. It is true that Cambodian and Vietnamese workers are in no hurry to present demands to their employers—indeed, they are thankful to have been given the opportunity to earn a living—yet it would be best not to paint too somber a picture. Reports by the ILO indicate that the production activities of the multi-nationals, mainly in the clothing industry, are one of the most important factors in the gradual improvement of working conditions in the third world. In an interview he gave in May 2000 to the Washington Post, Zhou Litai, one of the leading Chinese attorneys in the area of labor law, stated that the demands of Western consumers constitute the principal driving force behind the improvement in the conditions of Chinese workers. “If Nike and Reebok leave…,” he said apprehensively, “this pressure evaporates.”

On this point, as on others, critics of globalization display a moralistic over-zealousness. They insist upon imposing an unrealistic standard of fair wages, work hours, and basic rights on sweatshops in developing countries, while in fact this only hurts the very people they are trying to protect. The relative advantage of many developing countries lies precisely in the cheap workforce they are able to provide. “Progressive” global legislation in the area of labor laws may well deprive them of this advantage and of the opportunity to escape from dire impotence. This is precisely the reason why the voices against globalization are especially thunderous on the university campuses of the affluent West, whereas the voices strongest in its support are heard in India and Southeast Asia: The activists of Berkeley or the Sorbonne are mainly engaged in placating their pricking consciences; the Indian and Vietnamese workers are more concerned with filling their empty stomachs.

In the final analysis, the main defect of globalization’s detractors is shortsightedness. In refusing to accept that sweatshops promote economic growth, which often leads to political, legal, and economic changes that introduce democracy into the system, they continue to demand far-reaching reforms in places where there is still no adequate infrastructure for such processes. They put the cart before the horse, condemning the whole buggy to sink in the mud. Better to allow market forces to work without undue interference, for this is the surest way to improve conditions for mankind.

Hope of Marseille

TO THE EDITORS:

One wonders why it took Claire Berlinksi twenty pages of a twenty-five-page essay to arrive at the only answer in her treatise that makes any sense (“The Hope of Marseille,” Azure 19, Winter 2005). She finally explains that a contributing reason for the fact that anti-Semitism is under relative control in the city of Marseille is the incumbent mayor, Jean-Claude Gaudin, who is “notably one of the most philo-Semitic politicians in France and a committed Zionist.” The rest of her piece is pleasant reading, but in fact just a maze of contradictory arguments. Let us not hold our breath as to Berlinski’s other theories once Mayor Gaudin passes from the scene.

Jerome S. Kaufman
Bloomfield Hills, Michigan

Ecclesiastes

TO THE EDITORS:

In a letter to the editor (Azure 20, Spring 2005) responding to my essay, “Ecclesiastes, Fleeting and Timeless” (Azure 18, Autumn 2004), Miriam Pesach-Vutenberg points out that a correct reading of the compound phrase hevel ure’ut ruah is a must if we wish to find the truth about Ecclesiastes. Indeed, the two parts of this phrase must be complementary. The phrase has traditionally been rendered “vanity and pursuit of wind” (both expressions of futility), but I argued that it is best translated “vapor and foam” (both expressions of transience). In response, Pesach-Vutenberg wrote: “Dor-Shav is so intent on reading hevel in the sense of ‘temporality’ and not of ‘senselessness’ that he distorts the essence of the shepherd’s work, claiming that the shepherd moves like the wind while he searches for herding grounds.”

But Pesach-Vutenberg’s claim that I distort the meaning of re’ut is suspect. Although the verb ra’ah is indeed related to shepherding, it cannot be interpreted as “chasing after the flock,” as she argues. God was not busy “chasing after” the Israelites for forty years in the desert (Numbers 14:33), nor did King David praise the Eternal for “chasing after him” in the valley of the shadow of death (Psalms 23:4). Likewise, no one chased after the seven cows, who stood alone in Pharaoh’s dream (Genesis 41:1-2), nor was there a pursuer following the lovely fawns in the Song of Songs (4:5). These verses, and many others that employ the verb ra’ah, show its meaning to be a meandering motion in—or in search of—pastureland. When Jacob tells Rachel’s fellow shepherds, “It is not time for the flock to be collected (he’asef); water the sheep, and go pasture (re’u)” (Genesis 29:7), the reflex of ra’ah stands as a direct opposite to gathering, or chasing after. Indeed, anyone driving down from Jerusalem toward the Dead Sea sees how spread out the Bedouin flocks are. As they pasture, they are hardly collected. Understandably, biblical Hebrew does not convey the Saxon shepherd’s need to constantly herd in his flock, and huddle them together in protection against the elements, on his lush hillsides.

An additional reason discourages us from reading re’ut ruah in Ecclesiastes as chasing after wind: Kohelet himself has other phrasings for this idea. He states that “No human controls his wind, to immure it; there is no ruling over the day of death” (8:8). In this verse, two different verbs—to control and to immure—refer to the idea of “collecting wind.” In addition, Kohelet makes frequent use of the common biblical verb for chasing (lirdof), which could have been quite naturally employed to describe a futile pursuit of wind. But this is not at all what he is saying with the phrase re’ut ruah, where he is referring to a transient puff of wind.

The only evidence Pesach-Vutenberg offers against my reading of ra’ah—supported explicitly by Jeremiah 22:22 and the verses above—is a poetic parallel that appears in Hosea 12:2. Etymologically, however, parallels offer extremely weak arguments. Generally, just as in this case, they support a predetermined reading. For just as there can be a parallel of similar terms, there are endless parallels of opposites, as well as completing parallels, which fall in neither category. Were we to apply Pesach-Vutenberg’s approach to Psalms 104:4, for instance, which says that God “makes his angels winds, his ministers a flame of fire,” we might conclude that wind and fire are one and the same. Similarly, from the verse “He who guards wind (shomer ruah) will not sow, and he who watches clouds (ro’eh be’avim) will not reap” (Ecclesiastes 11:4), we might conclude that “to guard” and “to watch” are the same. Ultimately, there is no reason we cannot read Hosea as saying, “Ephraim steers air, and chases the east wind,” or even accept the King James rendering: “Ephraim feedeth on wind, and followeth after the east wind.” In any case, ra’ah does not mean “to give chase.”

Having said this, re’ut ruah is best rendered not as a movement of wind (though this is more than acceptable), but rather as a fleeting foam on the surface of waves. Contrary to Pesach-Vutenberg, it is not that I find the root r—y to be similar to the Arabic r-gh-w. The whole argument is that they are dissimilar. I owe this discovery to Moshe Sharon of the Hebrew University and to Uri Horesh of the University of Pennsylvania. The current Hebrew letter “ayin” has come to replace two completely different consonants: technically speaking a proto-Semitic voiced pharyngeal and a voiced uvular fricative. Arabic retained this distinction, but Hebrew did not. (Thus, for instance, the Hebrew term for Gaza is Aza, whereas Arabic has Ghaza.) In the time of Ecclesiastes, however, the distinction in Hebrew was likely alive and kicking. Thus, the letter “ayin” in Kohelet’s re’ut ruah would indicate the r-gh-w verb, which never had anything to do with shepherds or with the verse cognates mentioned above (all of which use the r—y verb). Since r-gh-w meant “foam,” re’ut ruah would then mean “wind foam”—a construct similar to the English “air bubbles.”

Thus the phrase of hevel ure’ut ruah is not at all redundant. It stands for “vapor and air-stirred foam.” The steam of exhaling one’s breath (hevel) is still a very different physical phenomenon than white, wave-capping foam (re’ut ruah). Both, however, are transient, and together they offer an acute double metaphor of impermanence.

Of course Kohelet might very well be using the fact that in his day “foam” sounded similar to “shepherd.” His reference to fleeting foam reminds the reader of Abel’s career choice of material non-attachment, just as the reference to fleeting vapor reminds the listener of Abel’s very name. Both terms then implicitly affirm life’s meaning, though on the surface they convey the contrary sentiment. Indeed, as I point out in my article, the entire point of the book is to move the reader from the superficial reading that equates transience with worthlessness, to a deeper layer of understanding that accepts Abel’s transience as an inspiration.

Ethan Dor-Shav
Jerusalem

A Constitution for Israel

PDF Format

previous (page 3 of 3 - view all)