Nicholas Croce's Blog

  By Nicholas Croce, September 6, 2021   On this Labor Day, a call to academics studying work… to get to work.   After taking a break from doctoral studies four months ago, I’ve come to the conclusion that academics, specifically those interested in the workforce, labor, and precarity, need to get to work. And no, I am not implying that academics aren’t working hard enough: for sure, keeping university classes going during this pandemic is a herculean labor. Nor do I mean to say that professors and social science researchers should drop their academic jobs and get into other segments of the workforce, per se.  After four months of precarious work arrangements, tedious and dehumanizing interactions with welfare, and dealing with the psychosocial impacts of socioeconomic precarity, I am moved to write—no, I am moved to scream, to shout it from the ground up into the heights of academe—that anyone studying modern work needs to get out and experience it, today.  ...

I sit down to write as someone different. Four years ago, in April 2013, I left Tel Aviv - Yafo to return back to the United States. At the time, I was not feeling well. I came down with a bad case of something — the doctor in Jerusalem said laryngitis. I was living in a small apartment off Sderot Yerushalayim in Yafo. Life was good despite that nasty bout of laryngitis, living in a dark and damp studio apartment, and being detached from that City — Jerusalem — which had intrigued and sustained and nudged my soul since that first night on the Mount of Olives. How could I have realized it then, but I was on the cusp of a major shift in my life; isn't it funny how we are so bad at noticing times of transition? The years that followed my return to the United States have been the quickest and fullest so far in my twenty-five years doing this thing we call "life." Here I sit in Jerusalem, in what feels like forever and just a minute all at once, trying to see if I have gaine...

Let us pause for a moment to reflect on what we have heard and what we have felt today...  There have been many Prophets of Peace – Gandhi, Dorothy Day, and King Jr. (just to name a few). All of these people have advocated for Peace and Justice, and each one’s teaching influenced the other. It must be noted, though, that rarely does a person come along as a 'drum major for justice' and call for things to stay the way they are. Love is revolutionary in a world full of vanity. To be a drum major goes against the grain in a world of standardization, where, the perversion of the drum major instinct reigns supreme. The Drum major instinct is amoral. It can be used as an individual’s way to ignite a fire amongst others for peace, or it can be a weapon of tyrannical injustice. Mother Teresa acknowledged the best of her ‘instinct’ and served the poor. Dictators like Saddam Hussein had just as strong a drum major instinct, yet he was driven by that instinct to commit crimes agains...

Dear Self, I am writing to Self from the University College London Main Library. More specifically, the Public Policy, Human Rights, et al. Reading Room. It's a lovely place, certainly. Just today, as I walked to this particular room, to sit down at this particular desk [ad infinitum] to write this little note-to-self, the scent of the library — mmm — I am distracted. I am rambling. What was I talking about? Right, the scent of the library. Mmmmm. To a scholar, the scent of a library excites, but also serves as a monotonous drone  — right. There are a bunch of fellows here, thumbing through the books and trying to look academic, and such. I am quick to judge them as a bunch of tossers, twats, nincompoops, whatever. They are most certainly loud-mouthed people who fail miserably (and in a distracting fashion) at whispering. There, too, is a nice sir sitting diagonal from me. When I sneeze, he says "bless you". Well, bless him — how kind. It is the first time anyon...

It's 4:00 P.M. Five o'clock, quickly approaching. It's the winding down of a typical work-day. Today, though, the end of the day proved to be the beginning of one of the most interesting activist experiences I've ever been around. My friend and co-worker, Ben, and I decided to take a walk down to Levinsky Park. Located right near the Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv, Levinsky Park has become a meeting place of sorts, and for some, a home, for many Sudanese and Eritrean refugees in Israel. Today wasn't a normal day, this was not a normal 'tiyul' through the city, no. Ben had heard that the Minister of Interior, Gideon Sa'ar, would be visiting the park and the surrounding Neve Sha'anan neighborhood. With the newly-formed Netanyahu coalition, Sa'ar became the newest minister of interior, leaving his post as the minister of education. I was glad Ben wanted to go. Not to be confused, I was not there as a representative of anyone or anything but...

WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED? It started with the haircut. No, it started before that, it was not getting any sleep two nights ago. Wait, no, it wasn't then either, it started with the 'Yom Tov' (literally, good day , a religious holiday where, for the purposes of this writing, buses don't run). Wait, but not even, it was going to see someone I met at an Amnesty event in Jerusalem, yeah that was it. Like this, I could go back, and back, and back, to who the hell knows what, ad infinitum. In that case, a twenty-year story short: I figured it was a time for a haircut. So did all of the little kids at the Passover seder. Don't get me wrong, they loved that I was there and all. Justin Bieber had never been to Zikhron Yakov! From Biebs to a monk I went. Again, please don't get me wrong — the haircut was wonderful —— the experience of getting a haircut. What care, what precision, what speed! This guy was really something else. When my friend suggested the fifteen sheq...

The couch is full of matzah crumbs, yom tov has arrived. Can't go back to Tel Aviv until tomorrow evening, camping out in the kitchen of the apartment whose owners went camping. Probably going to eat more matzah. Maybe with salt. I hope they don't mind me eating their matzah. Maybe I can make matzah toast, with, cheese, and salt. The combinations are really endless. The Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library sent me a package just recently. I had written to them about my failure at finding any good Vonnegut literature over here. Sure enough, they provided. "Poo-tee-weet" My belly is full of matzah. There is a can of Nutella next to the matzah. There are macaroons next to the Nutella. There is matzah next to the Nutella. This is a dangerous scenario. The Nutella would most certainly give some uumph to those, most definitely. There are innumerable risks, though, my friends. Let me try to numerate the innumerable. First, the problem of hametz. Once a year, this menace com...

While I've been here, I've developed a major problem, and I thought it was time to tell all of you... I have been, well, it's hard to put it — how do I put it? To put it plainly (the only way to ever put anything), folks: I have a book-buying problem. When my mother came to visit me in Jerusalem back in January, we were fairly certain I would be coming home with her. Of course, neither of us expected the last-minute phone call from Amnesty International Israel. So, I recall, our last day or two, composed mainly of shipping books back to either my grandmother or to my mom's house. Oh, and no, no no, when we talk about shipping books, we are most definitely not talking about throwing them in a box and slapping some tape on the seam, no no no. Optimally, to ship a book, books should be protected with cardboard on the front and back, overlapping the sides. Then, the book should be placed into a bubble-envelope, sealed using the self-seal tab, and why not, some extra...

I haven't written anything, on here, for quite a while. The public space is always an interesting one to interact in, yet there are times where a more private and intimate space are desired, in which to discuss and be with one's own feelings and experiences. Living here in Yafo/Yaffa, Tel Aviv has been a mixed-bag. Every morning, a bit after 5 A.M, the voice of the minaret, the azan, Calls me to Prayer, even though getting back to sleep is a much more interesting prospect. Besides a mitigated yet ongoing mold problem, my accommodations here in the Ajami neighborhood have served me well. All the amenities, too! Hot water, a gas range, two desks. If only you can look past the thirty-minute-plus water-heating time, it's practically the Garden of Eden, right? Amnesty International Israel and the Occupied Territories has been an extremely intriguing experience. My two main responsibilities, working on grantmaker research and "Resolution Consolidation" can get a bit...

Tomorrow is Halloween. Since I was a child, I have always loved Halloween. Every year, I would prepare for weeks in advance for the night. Our home on South Lincoln Road would be covered with all kinds of decorations, and the lawn full of all kinds of ghouls and 'spirits'. My grandmother bought me one of those lawn inflatables that are many feet tall: I remember it, a large pumpkin with three ghosts flying out of it. It was a lot of fun, and when the night finally came, the lawn of my house filled with neat decorations was such a happy sight.  Perhaps the height of my decorating career was harkened by the arrival of the police. You see, one autumn, my mother bought me a new fog machine, a special  fog machine. Unlike the other ones that could only run in intervals, this one could run continuously. So, when Halloween came, a thick mist hung over not only our home's front yard, but over the street as well. Of course, the source of this manmade weather manipulation was ...

September 26, 2012 The reaction makes it all worthwhile.

Before I post something from what I wrote during the journey back to Jerusalem, please enjoy: So, our quaint little apartment here in Jerusalem — 5 P.M or so. We are all sitting in our rooms, listening to music, simply relaxing. Suddenly... An odd sound fills the air, something like a chime, definitely meant to capture one's attention. I run out of my room, thinking, 'Oh no, here we go! Code red!' Thankfully, it wasn't that, but... A voice appears, and I open the door to the hallway, looking for the voice's source. Finding it not in the hallway, my attention is directed back towards a speaker in our apartment. Unrecognized until this moment by any of us, it appears to be some kind of intercom system. The voice is now speaking in very fast Hebrew, too fast for any of us to make much of anything out of it. Then... There is a pause. The voice says something like this: '... Attention... Attention... Beginning at 9 P.M to 5 A.M, there will be... ... The...

Had a chance to write a few things here in the airport. Finally! Will post when I arrive in Tel Aviv. הרבה שלום לך...

I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center. —Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

I know I should be writing more here. There really is so much to tell, so much to share, I could write all day, but no one would read it, and, it would get boring fast, as I would have no time to go out there . This experience is so rich. Part of the reason why I am finding it so difficult to write about it is because it's just so overwhelming. I really wish there was a way to tell you, so that you could see what I see, feel what I feel, hear what I hear, ad infinitum. Even staying in this walled-off 'Student Village' on French Hill, the ground which my feet stand upon immerses me... I am no longer an observer, far away, watching the world unfold through a LCD screen, no, now, I am a witness. But really, what does it all mean? I can see professor Michael Dobkowski saying this, holding his hand much like italians do when they don't understand — but what does it mean ? Anyone who is certain they understand this place, this land, of them I am quite skeptical. Layers ...

Just a quick note:  Yesterday, after Ulpan, I got a ride back to the Kfar Studentim (Student Village) from one of my friends from class. Wow! Let me tell you, New York City driving has nothing on this...! I'd write more, but I have to go back to the Kfar and slee, I mean study.  Lehitraot! Or, for you non-Hebrew speakers, later ! שלום

Here's a picture of the gathering I wrote about in my last post.

Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem! My apologies for taking so long to write. The internet situation has been challenging, and along with the needs to settle-in, absorb and listen, as well as study and have fun – there just hasn't been the time. Now, though, I believe I must sit down and write. As my ulpan teacher (morah) is always saying, 'cotvim! cotvim!', 'write! write!' First, here are the highlights so far: Arrival in Tel Aviv. Boarded sherut (shared taxi) for 62 sheckels. While I waited, I was greeted by a young lady from Jerusalem who, upon seeing me said, "Wow, well, you're sure happy to be here." She read it on my face! Also, upon boarding the sherut, the driver began yelling in Hebrew because he wanted me to move to the back of the sherut in order to give my seat up to a young lady who did not want to sit between the two Jews in the back. Even though I didn't understand what he was saying, when he boarded the sherut and started yel...

(the numbering went wrong; I trust that the reader can discern which caption belongs where!) Photo #1: My grandmother checking out my luggage back at home. Photo #2: My great friend, Josh Best, the night before I left for this 'adventure'. Photo #3: Deb, the dear waitress from Jay's Diner. She noticed this in the newspaper and advised I ride one. Photo #4: Some sheqalim! Photo #5: A very dirty Pennsylvania Hotel. Note the horrendous mold growth on the curtain. Photo #6: Stained glass from the offices of Hebrew University, Battery Park Plaza, NYC. I'm really at a loss for words at this point. The man from El Al that screened me at the check-in desk was very kind, courteous, and polite. Besides the intimidation innate in being screened, it was a pleasant experience. Plus, the questions weren't too prying — hallelujah! More later. Thanks to everyone who has sent me beautiful emails and posted kind comments on Facebook. I will be reading these as I trav...