Category Archives: Westerns

In my early years in the rabbinate, fresh out of rabbinical school, I tended to view Reform and Conservative Jews as the enemy of my pristine Orthodox ideology. When I saw a newspaper article that expressed what I felt to be erroneous ideology, I wrote to the letter’s author criticizing his remarks and informing him of my correct view of things. My behavior in retrospect was childish, and fortunately was corrected after a few months of immature and insensitive venting.

What changed? I asked myself: did my letters accomplish anything? The answer: Nothing, except create more ill will between people. The ability to let go of anger and begin a relationship anew is at the core of Hostiles, a western throwback to the John Wayne classic, The Searchers.

The story takes place in 1892. After years of fighting the Apache, Cheyenne, and Comanche Indians, the United States embarks upon a strategy of relocating the Indians to their ancestral home in Montana. Joseph Blocker, a war hero and US Calvary Captain, is ordered to escort Yellow Hawk, an Indian who has taken the lives of many white men and who is now suffering from cancer, to Montana. This is no easy task because Blocker despises Yellow Hawk. It is only when Colonel Biggs, Blocker’s superior, threatens him with the possible loss of his pension that Blocker agrees to escort Yellow Hawk and his family.

Along the way, they encounter Rosalie Quaid, who has just witnessed the death of her husband and her three children at the hands of savage Indians. Without a protector, Blocker decides to take her with his group. In the evening, the Indian women in the entourage, in a gesture of compassion for her loss, offer clean garments to her since Rosalie’s clothes are stained with the blood of her children.

Yellow Hawk warns Blocker that the Comanches will attack them, white and Indian alike, and it would be wise to unchain him and his son so they can help fight them. His warning is at first unheeded and when the Comanches attack later that day, several soldiers are killed. When Yellow Hawk and his family fight off some of the attackers, Blocker’s view of Yellow Hawk begins to change. He unchains Yellow Hawk and his son so they can help ward off future attacks.

As they continue on their journey, more raids come; and with each raid the white soldiers and their Indian charges rely more and more upon one another for safety. Slowly their ingrained hate for one another lessens, and they begin to understand that past hatred will get them nowhere.

After arriving in Montana, they are confronted by white men who do not want Indians on their land. That confrontation makes Blocker and Yellow Hawk realize their common humanity.

Jewish tradition encourages us to abandon our propensity to hate those who do us wrong. When people do us wrong, it is hurtful, but we do not always have to respond in kind. We should not allow hatred to determine our future actions.

Aaron, the brother of Moses is the archetypal model of good interpersonal behavior. In The Ethics of the Fathers, a classic of Jewish wisdom literature, Aaron is described as a lover and pursuer of peace. When he saw people responding to one another with ill will, he would be proactive and speak to each of the feuding parties, telling each that the other party was remorseful over the breakdown in communication with the other. His intervention in the service of peace was successful. The people loved his peacemaking efforts, and the Bible records that the children of Israel mourned more for Aaron than they did for Moses.

Blocker and Yellow Hawk ultimately understand that hate only breeds more hate. They arrive at this epiphany late in their lives, but this wisdom remains with them for the rest of their lives.

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I have been having a problem finding films to review that by any definition I can call “kosher.” So much of what is on the screen today is full of unsavory behaviors that I have difficulty recommending them. Indeed, I rarely go to the cinema in Israel. I order movies on Amazon when they become reasonably priced and then send them to my daughter in Lakewood, New Jersey. When I visit the US, I then pick them up and bring them back to Israel where I can watch them at home.

One staple of my reviews is the Western genre. The stories may not be very original, but there is comfort in watching a familiar genre film done well. Such is the case with Forsaken.

The story is simple. John Henry Clayton has returned to his hometown after a ten-year absence, during which he fought in the Civil War and became a gunfighter with a fierce reputation. He hopes to repair his relationship with his father, a preacher at the local church.

When he arrives to the surprise of the townspeople and his father, he learns that his mother has recently died, and his gun-toting ways are an anathema to his dad who sees his son as an embarrassment. There is great misunderstanding between the two and it takes time for each one to overcome his judgmental attitude toward the other.

In his hometown, he finds that a corrupt banker, James McCurdy, is forcing farmers to sell their land so that he can make a profit when the railroad is built. His thugs are vicious, and they are ready to kill anyone who stands in their way. Tensions escalate and good people die until John Henry decides that he must act to stop the villains from terrorizing the town. It is a bloody and satisfying conclusion in which good triumphs over evil.

The triumph of good over evil is characteristic of Jewish history. When confronted with evil, we must act. Rabbi Steven Weil summarizes the approach of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, a great theologian of the twentieth century, to the problem of evil and how we should respond to it. We should “never passively accept evil and suffering; we must fight against it. God endowed man with intellect and resources that should be used to actively and aggressively battle evil or, even better, seek to prevent suffering. Thus, we are obligated to research cures for diseases, build Iron Domes and David’s Slings and heed warnings to get out of harm’s way if all else fails and we are unable to thwart the evil. Passive resistance is not the Jewish way; sanctity and preservation of life is.”

John Henry initially wants to leave his violent ways behind him. Knowing that his father disapproves, he wants to be a good son and follow his father’s instruction and example, but it is challenging to do so when he daily witnesses the cruelty of James McCurdy and his henchmen.

His father, a man of the church, tries his best to remain stoic in the face of constant threats of violence and actual violence. He never changes his moral stance, even when his own life is hanging in the balance. However, he finally understands that his son’s perception of the reality of evil may be correct and he does not stand in his way when John Henry decides to act to protect the innocent townspeople.

Forsaken is a throwback to the westerns of the 1950s, when the bad guys dressed in black and the good guys in white. The lines between good and evil were clearly drawn. Going to watch a western where the good guys triumphed was a cathartic experience in which one left the theatre knowing that good will always prevail, a comforting thought to a person confronted with the existence of evil.

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My parents were not social butterflies. They had many friends because they were good friends to others. They were people who always kept their word and always were there to help relatives and friends during the hard times. For me, they were role models of reliability and champions of kindness. They were the friends upon whom you could count, and that notion of friendship was absorbed by me.

I remember one particular incident when I was in my teens that reflected my view of friendship. The rabbi of our local synagogue in Mt. Vernon, New York, would regularly invite people to his home for Friday night dinner and Torah study. We looked forward to it because we enjoyed the learning and the great meal that the rabbi’s wife prepared for us, especially the tasty desserts.

I made up with a friend of mine who lived in a different section of the city to meet him at a specific street and then we would walk together to the rabbi’s house. Early Friday evening it began to snow. I paid no attention to it because I was focused on meeting my friend. When I arrived at the designated meeting point, my friend was not there. I waited an hour for him expecting him to appear, but he didn’t. I eventually went to the rabbi’s home alone. It never occurred to me that the inclement weather would keep my friend away from dinner with the rabbi.

After the Sabbath, I contacted my friend and found out that he assumed that the bad weather meant our meeting was off. I told him that bad weather never influenced me to break my word to a friend. In a short time, I got over my disappointment and I understood my friend’s perspective. Our friendship survived this bump in the road. The incident, however, did reveal to me that people often have different definitions of friendship.

In Tombstone, there is a powerful example of a solid friendship in the relationship between lawman Wyatt Earp and his friend, Doc Holliday. The story begins after Wyatt has successfully cleaned up Dodge City and has relocated to Tombstone, Arizona, to quietly live as a regular citizen. However, a gang of outlaws, known as “the cowboys,” is terrorizing the community with random acts of violence. This eventually leads to the famous gunfight at the OK Corral. Doc Holliday joins Wyatt in the fight because Wyatt is his friend.

The gunfight on the OK Corral does not end the tyranny of the “cowboys.” There are more shoot-outs to come; and at each one, Doc stands by his friend Wyatt. Wyatt’s ultimate challenge comes from gunslinger Johnny Ringo who is faster on the draw than Wyatt. Here again, it is Doc Holliday who places himself in harm’s way to rescue his friend.

In Doc’s conversation with a friend, Jack Johnson, Jack wonders why Doc puts his own life on the line for Wyatt. Doc responds: “Wyatt Earp is my friend.” Jack then remarks:” Hell, I got lots of friends,” to which Doc answers: “I don’t.” Although this interchange reveals the existential loneliness of Holliday and his desire of human connection, the dialogue always indicates a Talmudic idea of friendship.

The Sages in The Ethics of the Fathers, a classic work of Jewish wisdom literature, tell us to “acquire a friend.” The commentators understand this to mean that we should acquire a friend by helping him, by doing things that make him feel indebted to us. It is not something based only on emotion. We should think of ways to concretize the friendship by doing things for one another that obligate one to the other.

On a purely visceral level, Tombstone is a violent example of the western movie genre. More important, through its depiction of the relationship of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, it provides an example of deep friendship, an illustration of how far friends should go to help one another.

Relatives recently visited us in Israel. While here, we visited the celebrated Museum of the Blind, which is part of the Israel Children’s Museum in Holon. The exhibit is called Dialogue With the Blind, which offers an hour experiencing the world of the blind with a sightless guide.

Besides giving me an experiential understanding of the plight of the blind and making me feel so thankful for the gift of sight, I was reminded of how important it is to help our fellow human beings who are going through tough and challenging times. As I wandered in the dark and occasionally lost my footing, the blind guide helped me get back to a stable surface by getting my attention with his friendly and supportive voice and then grabbing my hand to point me in the right direction. He reminded me of how meaningful it is to know that you have a friend who will support you in moments of crisis, who will prevent you from falling. It is comforting when you know that friends are thinking about you and feeling responsible for your welfare.

Feeling responsible for other people is a narrative crux of Hombre, a revisionist Western that hinges on whether someone will step forward and deal with calamities when others cannot. The central character is John “Hombre” Russell, a white man raised as an Indian, who is the object of racial prejudice and alienated from the white man’s culture.

When Russell’s white stepfather dies, he inherits a boarding house owned by him. After inspecting the boarding house, he decides to sell it and return home. He and several other passengers take the stagecoach to Bisbee. The passengers include Jessie, the landlady of the boarding house, Audra Favor and her husband Alex, an administrator of Indian lands and, sadly, an embezzler of Indian reparation funds, and Cicero Grimes, a coarse bully with an agenda of his own.

Grimes’ agenda becomes clear when his cohorts show up to rob the stagecoach. Specifically, they want the embezzled funds carried by Alex Favor. In the ensuing melee, Grimes kidnaps Audra. As they ride away, Russell shoots two of the robbers and recovers the saddlebag of cash. To avoid pursuit by the outlaws, they head through the mountains and stop at an abandoned mining camp.

It is there that a moral dilemma emerges. When Grimes and his crew catch up with Russell and the other travelers on the stagecoach, Grimes offers to trade Audra for cash. To encourage a response, he ties up Audra in the hot sun, knowing that she will die if no one comes to aid her. Alex, Audra’s husband, does not want to risk his life to save his wife. Only Jessie expresses a willingness to help. At that moment, Russell steps forward, knowing that he is the only one who can save Audra and stop Grimes.

Jewish tradition clearly states: “we are all responsible for one another.” The Talmud suggests that this mantra of being responsible for one another means providing for the basic needs of another such us food, shelter, and physical safety. When we see someone in trouble, we need to act to help that person. We cannot simply turn our eyes away and mistakenly think that things will get better on their own.

Hombre is the story of one man who decides to risk his own life in order to help those in trouble. It is not an easy decision for John Russell, who has been exploited as an Indian for many years. However, his essential humanity prevails in a moment of crisis where only he can enable the others to survive.

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Courtship is a sub-topic in the picturesque and violent western Open Range. As a volunteer matchmaker on an Internet website, I have some idea of what makes for compatibility between people. Most of all, it involves common goals and dreams. When two people share the same understanding of the future, then the present is much easier to negotiate. Charley Waite and Sue Barlow intuitively grasp this truth and it helps them to decide to marry.

The film opens as Bud “Boss” Spearman and Charley Waite, together with hired hands Mose and Button, are bringing cattle to market. As they travel, accepted convention allows their cattle to feed on grass in the open range. All seems to be going fine until they enter the vicinity of Harmonville, a town controlled by Denton Baxter, a money-hungry Irish immigrant who sees free-grazers as usurpers of other people’s property.

Boss sends Mose to town to get supplies, but his innocent encounter with the locals leads to Mose being beaten and thrown into jail. When Boss and Charley go to town to release him from jail, they are given a warning that free-grazers are not welcome there. To get medical help for Mose, they go to Doc Barlow whose sister Sue assists him in his work. Charley finds her attractive, but does not pursue her because he thinks that Sue is the doctor’s wife, not his sister.

After returning to their camp, Mose and Button are attacked in the middle of the night when Boss and Charley are not around. When Mose dies and Button is seriously injured, Boss and Charley decide to take revenge.

After a tense confrontation between Boss and Charley and Baxter and his cohorts, bullets fly and casualties mount. When the dust settles, Charley and Sue discuss their respective futures. She confesses her love for him and Charley, after some deliberation, proposes marriage to Sue. Sue understands Charley’s complicated past life in which he committed terrible things that still haunt him, and she encourages him to focus on the time ahead and not permit his past life to determine his future: “I don’t have the answers, Charley. But I know that people get confused in this life about what they want, and what they’ve done, and what they think they should’ve because of it. Everything they think they are or did, takes hold so hard that it won’t let them see what they can be.” Sue has a mature perspective on life, realizing that the past does not determine the future.

Rabbi Dov Heller insightfully lists ten questions to ask before getting married, many of which are answered in the affirmative by Sue and Charley as they navigate their relationship. Here are some of them: (1) Do we care about each other as good friends? (2) Are we emotionally honest and vulnerable with one another? (3) Do we take care of each other’s needs? (4) Do we admire and respect each other? (4) Do I trust this person completely? (5) Do we want the same things out of life? (6) Do I have peace of mind about this decision? Sue and Charlie implicitly say yes to all of these questions.

Open Range is a very good example of the western genre that catapults the viewer to the beauty of wide-open spaces and depicts the classic confrontation between good and evil. It resonates, however, on the human level in its honest depiction of people working hard to make ends meet, yet who have hopes and dreams beyond what preoccupies them in the moment.

The portrayal of an older couple trying to find happiness reminds us that it is never to late to find love and meaning in life if, as the great English poet Matthew Arnold writes, one sees life steadily and sees it whole. Viewing things in this way gives one a perspective on all of life’s challenges and possible rewards.

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Every once in a while, movies can instantly transport you to another place and another time in an instant of cinematic magic. There is a scene at the beginning of Dances With Wolves that does that for me.

The Civil War is raging and there is stalemate between the Union and the Confederate armies, positioned on opposite sides of a field. Lieutenant John J. Dunbar, whose leg is badly injured, realizes that his leg will be amputated, and so he attempts to end his life nobly by riding his horse in front of the Confederate lines where he will be an easy target. Contrary to his expectation, they shoot at him but do not hit him. It is a poetic scene of transcendent beauty as he rides his horse with his arms flying outwards facing possible death.

Dunbar’s brave act rallies the Union troops who storm the Confederate line of defense. His heroism gets the attention of a general who dispatches his personal surgeon to tend to Dunbar and save his leg. As a reward for his service, he is given Cisco, the horse that he rode in battle, and his choice of a new post. Dunbar chooses to serve on the barren frontier, and so begins his odyssey of personal discovery far away from the fields of war.

Dunbar’s new post is desolate, but he relishes the beauty and quiet of his new home. He begins to repair it and waits for reinforcements to arrive. In truth, his whereabouts are unknown, and in time he is discovered by a tribe of Sioux Indians who are camped nearby. He forms a friendship with Kicking Bird, the tribe’s medicine man, and gradually gains acceptance by the Indians who appreciate his help in finding buffalo for them to hunt for food and clothing.

As I watched the film, which is epic in visual proportion and in theme, I thought about what it takes to become part of a new society. If you want to be welcome, you have to go out of your way to meet people, to share in their pain and in their joy, and you have to learn their language. Realizing that his life of isolation is going nowhere, Dunbar decides to leave his post to get to know the Indians. He does not wait for them to come to him. Once in their environment, he accepts the Indians’ initial suspicion of him, and tries sincerely to understand their way of life. It is only when he masters their language that he becomes fully integrated with them.

Reflecting on my own experience as a new immigrant, Dunbar’s journey provides a good model of adjustment to a new world. I recall an Israeli telling me when I first arrived to introduce myself to my neighbors. Don’t be reclusive and stay home or only associate with Anglos. Such a path is insular and will not connect you with Israeli society. Rabbi Ezra Bick, quoting the great medieval sage Maimonides, observes that the person who separates himself from the community, no matter how great his personal qualities, has cut himself off from the “fullness of the image of God,” for it is only within the community that man can realize his true spiritual potential. Maimonides writes: “One who divorces himself from the ways of the community, even though he has not transgressed transgressions, but is only separated from the congregation of Israel, and does not perform good deeds together with them nor enter into their troubles nor fast on their fast-days, but goes about his way as one of the people of the earth, and as though he were not one of them – he has no portion in the World-to-Come.”

Dances With Wolves implicitly reminds us that it is only within the community that we can truly actualize our potential. John Dunbar understands this when he identifies with the Sioux tribe that has embraced him. Together with others, he finds himself.

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