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From Mike Nadel's "Give 'em Hell," Fall '95 From Mike Nadel's "Give 'em Hell," Fall '95The following is a true story. The words below are not my own; they belong to Reuven Bell, a College junior. I have edited them only for style and grammar. Went to the Offspring concert tonight. Looked like it would be fun. They're not my favorite band, but hell-- it's a concert. With midterms coming up, I could use the release. Couldn't really enjoy the show, though. In between acts, when the house lights went on, I was looking around the crowd to size it up. In the audience, there were the teenagers who were out to see something they'd seen in a magazine, the typical punks with whom I've done a thousand concerts, and the posers out for a night of punching up. Among them, I noticed a guy with a shaven head, a mustache and a tattoo on his chest. In the center of the tattoo was a crucifixion scene with ornately scrolled letters spelling something out in German (forgive me if I didn't get close enough to read the actual inscription). Above it, along the line between his nipples and his neck, were six tattooed faces: Two stormtroopers, two SS agents, a Nazi whose face I did not recognize and Adolf Hitler. His buddy next to him was wearing a shirt with SS symbols as a major part of the design. I turned to my roommate after seeing these two and said, "I want# to move to the other side of the stage. If I get into this particular pit I'm gonna be too tempted to inflict real damage." We moved to the other side. I spent the beginning of the concert a bit out of it, thinking on the concept of hate in general. I really don't comprehend it. It bugged me to think that these guys define themselves through hate. I believe I was closer to tears at some points during that show than I've been in years. Picture this. A rocking, stomping punk show, and a Jew standing there -- somewhat near to the stage, utterly motionless, almost crying. I always wear my yarmulke -- or kippah -- to these events. I'm a Jew. I'm# a proud Jew. For me to deny or hide my religion –– or even be perceived as hiding it –– is completely against all my personal morals. However, after I nearly lost a kippah at a Ramones concert last year, I've taken up the practice of putting it in my pocket only when the moshing has gotten fierce enough to make losing it a genuine worry. Tonight, I had it in my pocket after the second or third song. Near the beginning of the show, there was a longer-than-usual pause in between songs. In what I can only guess was their version of an impatient cheer, fifteen or so people to my right started chanting "Sieg Heil!" At that moment, I realized that this was absolutely the worst place (in principle -- I'm not saying anything about practical safety) to have removed my kippah. I put it back on, refusing to remove it no matter how frenzied things got. The rest of the show went on pretty much as normal –– if you can forget about the periodic "Sieg Heils!" from the peanut gallery. Make no mistake: I'm not incriminating the entire place. I'm certainly not incriminating the band. There was a group of assholes there. All blame is theirs. But then the show the show ended. The band left the stage. The house lights went up for a second, then went down again. As they went down, I felt a grab at the top of my head. I whirled to see a rather large guy -- not one of the crowd that had so upset me originally -- walking away quickly with what could only have been my kippah in his hand. I followed him for a second. And then he turned around and hit me in the face screaming "Goddamn Jew!" The next couple of seconds/minutes (you can't really tell when you're in the middle of it) were kind of blurry. A bunch of this gentleman's buddies joined in; I thought it was five in all. One of the guys who walked me to my car later reported the number as eight. (Look, assholes, I'm a big guy, but it really shouldn't take eight of you to take me down.) I don't remember how many times I was hit. I don't remember how many times I was kicked. I remember three things clearly: First, at no point was I down. Maybe it's a macho thing, maybe it's a pride thing. I'm rather pleased with the fact that they were unable to put me down to the ground for a moment. Second, I did not even make the attempt to hit back. That's not the way I work. For those of you who call that a crazy act of not defending myself, think of it this way: There are between five and eight guys. None of them are particularly small. What's gonna happen if I haul off and hit one of them? I consider it more a point of immense pride that I held in my anger and didn't lower myself to the level of violence. I've always spoken against violence and always wondered if I could stick to my principles in an actual violent situation. I did. And third, the guy who initially hit me really fronted the entire thing. The other guys pretty much ran and got in their punches when they had a chance. This was the guy who was really into it. I recall one especially vicious punch straight to the face. I think that was the one that opened the cut over my eye causing the blood to flow and sending my face into the wonderful state of swollenness it's in now. I blinked and faced him. Just staring at him. With a look of absolute hatred he said, "50 years later. It's you and me." Finally, three other guys jumped to my side, screaming at my newfound friends to "get the fuck away from him!" At that moment the houselights came full up and I found myself without an enemy. They had melted into the crowd. The guys who came to my aid wanted to chase after them and "get 'em." I held them back. They escorted me out to my car. I think the most interesting moment of all came when I asked my escort to stop for a minute so I could talk to security. I went over to the security guard and said, "Look, do me a favor. The next time somebody tries to come into a show and he has Hitler tattooed on his chest, please don't let him in. I don't fucking need to get the shit kicked out of me because I'm Jewish." She was rather upset and immediately acted as I was blaming her personally. I explained that I wasn't, but that I was understandably upset about the whole event. That was when she gave me what I think is quite possibly the most brilliant piece of crap I've ever heard. "Look," she said, "you can't hold us responsible for this. You have to realize that as you go through life these things are going to happen." I have nothing more to say on that issue. My only question is "Why?" Will someone please explain to me what it is in our lives that can possibly make people hate so much and for such a reason? I've never comprehended hate at all. This doesn't help me any. But my question won't. I really wish someone could answer it. Think about Reuven's story before you go to bed tonight. And before you drop off to sleep, ask yourself: Could that happen to one of my friends? Could that happen to me? Pleasant dreams.

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