Tag: violence

Sentencing

June 17th, 2026

I’m tired and I should be asleep right now, but obviously I’m not. I went to court yesterday and I’m still wound tight. I am replaying the events of the hearing in my head over and over, hoping for some clarity and closure. So far, I’ve had no luck with that. Maybe by writing about the episode, I can sort things out. It’s got to be better than lying in bed and staring at the skylight for the next several hours.

This about the sentencing of a young woman, a person who is dear to me. It’s been a long time coming. The woman was in court yesterday for two felony convictions: battery on a police officer and her 5th drunk driving charge. The arrest for battery occurred about 2 1/2 years ago. The OWI (Operating While intoxicated) charge is 17 months old. Finally, after numerous delays, the two cases have been resolved. The young woman dragged her feet in the judicial process in hopes of avoiding prison (she has done time before). At one point, she wanted to go to trial for the OWI charge. She eventually changed her mind, bowed to the inevitable outcome, and pleaded guilty. Things wrapped up at yesterday’s hearing.

A sentencing is like an inverted graduation ceremony. It’s a milestone in a person’s life. You just don’t get a diploma.

The young woman wanted me to be there for her sentencing. I’m not quite sure why she wanted that, especially since I was instrumental in getting her in that courtroom to begin with. I turned her in for drunk driving because I thought she was going to hurt or kill somebody. I called the cops just prior to the battery incident because she was drunk and angry, and I have learned the hard way that I should not interact with her when she is in that condition. When the woman is drunk, I let the police handle her. They get paid to do that sort of thing.

In any case, I was there for the hearing at 10:00 in the morning. The courtroom is nothing fancy. It’s a cramped, claustrophobic space with a small gallery for visitors. A courtroom, any courtroom, is an uninviting place. Nobody really wants to be there. Like a hospital ER, a courtroom is somewhere you have to go because you or someone you know is in trouble. In an ER it’s for a medical issue. In a courtroom you are there for a different kind of trouble.

The woman’s hearing was scheduled for 10:00, but it didn’t start until almost noon. That’s typical. These things seldom start on time. While I was sitting in the gallery, I got to watch the warmup act. A young Black man was pleading guilty to armed robbery and fleeing an officer, and then getting sentenced for those crimes. The prosecution, in its effort to get the guy four years in prison, presented a dashcam video of the high-speed chase through a residential area of the northside of Milwaukee. The police were following the defendant’s car through this maze of side streets at 70 miles an hour. If nothing else, the video showed that the young man had demonstrated exceedingly poor judgment. The young man had friends and/or family in the gallery who got to watch the show. I wondered what they were thinking.

Dashcam and bodycam videos are commonplace tools for the prosecution. A picture is worth a thousand words in many cases. A video is worth even more.

When the young woman finally arrived, she was shackled, which is common practice when a defendant is in custody. The public defender made a point of telling the judge that I was in the gallery to show support for the woman. The prosecution talked about the plea agreement (three years inside and three out), and then she wanted to show bodycam footage of the battery of the police officer incident to give the judge a sense what the young woman was like when intoxicated. Oh yeah…

It should be noted that I was physically present for all of that mayhem. I have vivid memories of that day. The bodycam recorded all of it, albeit from a different angle. I quickly realized as I watched the show that I was in the video. I was an unwilling participant in the action. That still feels utterly surreal. At one point I am in the background, observing the chaos. There is also a brief a close up of one of three cops giving me the keys to the young woman’s car. It was reality show that was actually real.

So, what happened during the few minutes of the video? It was action packed. The young woman had backed her car into a ditch. She was drunk (BAL of .20). In Wisconsin the legal blood alcohol level is .08, so she was almost three times over the limit. The three cops tried to coax her out of the car. They were remarkably polite and patient with her. She was belligerent. They finally got her out her vehicle and cuffed her. At this point she screamed,

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Okay. Then a female officer began to escort the young woman across the street to a squad car. The young woman kicked the cop, knocked her over, and they won’t down hard on the pavement. Two of the three police officers got the woman back on her feet and the female officer limped slowly away to lean heavily on the hood of another squad car. The officer was clearly in pain.

The young woman once again screamed, “I will fucking kill you!”

Then she gave a wild laugh like Bellatrix Lestrange from Harry Potter as they pushed her into a squad car.

It was really quiet in the courtroom for a few moments. The judge looked at the young woman (and at me) and said,

“That was a sad video.”

Sad? I could think of other far more descriptive adjectives for that shitshow, but the judge was a professional and a master of understatement. He went on to tell the defendant that the police had been patient, and even kind to her. He described her own behavior as “ridiculous”. Once again, I can think of other adjectives for her actions.

On the plus side, the judge noted that the young woman has made repeated artempts to get into recovery and stay sober. He mentioned a letter I had written to him where I had said the woman never gives up. That is true. She never quits. She is strong and resilient. She sincerely wants to get healthy and stay that way.

The prosecution, public defender, and the judge all focused on the defendant’s mental health and addiction issues. The plan was her to get enrolled the substance abuse program (SAP) as soon as possible once she gets to Taycheedah (a prison near Fond du Lac, WI). The judge decided to give her 18 months inside for the battery charge and two years for the drunk driving. The sentences are to run concurrently. If she successfully completes the SAP, then she can qualify for the Early Release Program at 14 months. She estimates that she can be out in 18 months. That sounds about right.

The young woman called me from jail later yesterday to explain more of what will happen to her. I told her that all I want is for her to get healthy and be able to care fulltime for her little boy. Maybe that is a big ask. I don’t know.

That’s the story, thus far.

I hope I didn’t bore you.

Haifa Republic

March 3rd, 2026

There is war again in the Middle East, which at this point in history feels almost normal. Israel is fighting with Hezbollah in Lebanon as well as attacking targets in Iran. Iran is returning the favor by striking Israeli sites. The odd thing is that all this mayhem is shifting the focus away from the endless violence in Palestine. The conflict between Palestinians and Israelis is suddenly second page news. That’s too bad because the violence between Jews and Arabs is not going away. In fact, it just seems to get worse.

A friend of mine from our old synagogue lent me a book a few days ago. It is Haifa Republic, written by Omri Boehm. It was published in 2022, a year before the Attack in Israel by Hamas. The author argues for fundamental changes in the politics of Israel, actually in the very nature of Israel, in order to resolve the festering hatred in the Land between the River and the Sea. It’s a tall order.

Boehm argues that Israel cannot be both a Jewish state and a liberal democracy. Israel can’t have it both ways. There is a tension that will eventually tear the country apart. It is a country where some people are more equal than others. Boehm sees this situation as being unsustainable.

A central theme in this book is that both Jews and Arabs must “remember to forget”. That sounds like an oxymoron, but perhaps it isn’t. He argues that the memories of the Holocaust and the Nakba trap Jews and Arabs in the past. Trauma does that. Anybody who has experienced intense trauma in his or her life know how hard it is to move forward, to start life again. Remembering to forget is not about erasing the past and pretending that nothing happened. It is about accepting and learning from that past trauma and then using the lessons to build a better future. Memories can be a prison. Forgetting can be a release.

Boehm writes, “If the establishment of a Jewish state is part of the Holocaust’s history- this is a fact that no Israeli would deny- then the history of the Nakba is an inseparable from the Holocaust’s history.”

It’s a package deal.

So, what to do? Boehm suggests the founding of a Jewish/Arab federation in Palestine. It would be a place where all people are citizens with equal rights and responsibilities. Jews and Arabs would have autonomous communities within the framework of this federation. Boehm notes that the early Zionists proposed just such a federation. Also, Menachem Begin, of all people, drafted a plan for a similar federation in 1977 while negotiating a peace treaty with Egypt. It’s not a new idea.

Today, this plan seems almost absurd. Since October 7th, 2023, things have gotten much worse. Boehm’s book is in many ways outdated. However, what are the other options? More ethnic cleansing? More terrorism? More hate?

Peace always seems like a pipe dream. Until it happens.

Civil Disobedience

January 16th, 2026

Have you ever been to a protest demonstration? Have you ever been arrested at a demonstration? Did you ever go to jail for civil disobedience?

Some of you reading this article can answer yes to all of those questions. Well, so can I. However, I cannot say that I was ever teargassed or knocked to the ground by a law enforcement officer. I am sure that some folks reading my words have been exposed to that kind of violence at demonstrations. My experience with civil disobedience is limited to one specific event. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it changed my life.

I participated in a week-long protest at Creech AFB in Nevada in the spring of 2017. Our group of protesters were demonstrating against drone warfare, and Creech AFB personnel were involved in that type of operation. One morning, a smaller subset of our team decided to engage in civil disobedience. All of us planned to block the entrance of the Air Force base during the change of shifts. Most of us were going to vacate the road after five minutes (the police made it clear that anybody still impeding traffic after that time would be arrested). A few of the protesters intended to remain the street and get busted. I had no desire to be part of that select population.

As it turned, I became part of that small group of malcontents. I stayed with them in the road and was arrested along with the other six people. Did I allow myself to be incarcerated because of a deep commitment to our cause? Hmmm, no, not really. I had been standing next to an older veteran, Ray, and he had put his hand on my shoulder and told me how glad he was that I was standing with him. The stone-cold truth is that I remained with him out of friendship and solidarity. As somebody told me later, I made a “game time decision”. My choice to get arrested was not terribly rational, however it was right. I have no regrets. Oddly enough, of the seven people arrested, five of us were vets. That probably doesn’t really matter, but I found it interesting.

The Clark County cops held us for about fourteen hours and then released us. That was the first time in my life that I had ever been arrested, and it made an impression. The police were professional about the intake process. It was a relatively painless experience, but it was still scary, at least it was for me. I learned a lot rather quickly. It reminded me a lot of my basic training in the Army. The one rule was “shut up and do as you’re told”. I have experience with that sort of thing, so it wasn’t too hard for me to adapt to the jail environment.

The reason that I am writing about a this is because of the current violence and chaos in Minnesota. My experience is vastly different to what is happening there, but I still have some thoughts.

When I got busted, both the protesters and the law enforcement officials made efforts to maintain a nonviolent interaction. The police made it crystal clear to us what they wanted us to do and what the consequences would be if we chose not to follow their instructions. For our part, we did not verbally abuse or harass the cops. This sort of protest had occurred at Creech AFB repeatedly in the past, so almost everyone knew the rules of the game. That was a very good thing. It is unwise to surprise a guy carrying a loaded Glock. When people get scared, they do stupid things.

I believe that a person in the United States has the right (or perhaps an obligation) to break a law that goes against their conscience. I also believe that when a person does disobey that law, they should be ready to accept the consequences of their actions. Nothing is for free. Valor has a price tag. A person should stand up for what is right, but they have to understand the potential costs involved with their decisions.

The goal is not to be a martyr. History is full of the names of people who died for their beliefs: Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Now there is Renee Good.

How do we work for justice without getting people killed?

Carrie

October 19th, 2025

Carrie Zettel is dead.

On October 12th, Carrie was killed by her daughter. The young woman bludgeoned her mother to death with a rock in the backyard of their home. The killing was all over the news, probably because of its particularly gruesome nature. My wife, Karin, and I didn’t know about Carrie’s murder until a couple days later. The funeral was yesterday, Saturday the 18th. Karin attended the service. She went there because, years ago, we knew that family quite well.

Two of our children attended Tamarack Waldorf School with Carrie’s two kids. She had a son and a daughter. Her son was in a class with our youngest boy. Both of our families lived in the southern part of Milwaukee County, which is far away from the Waldorf school, so we carpooled to school nearly every day. We did that until our son and her son graduated from Tamarack in 2008. After that, our paths diverged, and we lost contact with each other.

Every death is a tragedy, but some deaths defy understanding. Apparently, Carrie’s daughter has a long history of mental illness, so perhaps the killing was not completely unexpected. But still, how does a person wrap their head around this kind of violence? How does Carrie’s son deal with this? Is it even possible to come to terms with trauma like this?

I don’t know. I have never dealt with a death of this sort. The closest I’ve come is when our oldest son went to war in Iraq. He killed people there, and I have had difficulty accepting that reality. However, my experience is like nothing compared to what Carrie’s son has to process.

My wife told me that the funeral service was well done. The son gave an eloquent eulogy about Carrie. Another person mentioned to me that the son “stood tall and spoke well of the new commandment” (“Love one another” from John 13:34). I thought that maybe I should’ve gone there with Karin.

I had another place to be when the funeral was in progress. My friend from the synagogue, Ken, had invited me a couple days before the funeral to come to his home for kiddush, seeing as it was Shabbat, and his wife was out of town. I had already told Ken that I would come to share the meal he had prepared for us before I knew anything about the time and date of the funeral. It was impossible for me to tell Ken that I had a funeral to attend. Since he is an observant Jew, he does not communicate electronically at all on the sabbath: no phone calls, no texts, no emails, nothing. I couldn’t just not show up. So, I went to Ken’s home and kept him company for two hours. I needed to do that. We ate, we talked and enjoyed each other’s company. Shabbat is a gift from God, a day for rest, prayer, and friendship. Nobody should be alone on Shabbat.

I told Ken about Carrie, and we talked about her at length. I am sure that Ken prayed for her. Even if I wasn’t at the funeral, I remembered her.

She was good woman. I grieve for her. I grieve for her children.

A Hero of War

August 3rd, 2025

He said “Son, have you seen the world?
Well, what would you say if I said that you could?
“Just carry this gun, you’ll even get paid”
I said “That sounds pretty good”

Black leather boots
Spit-shined so bright
They cut off my hair but it looked alright
We marched and we sang
We all became friends
As we learned how to fight

A hero of war
Yeah, that’s what I’ll be
And when I come home
They’ll be damn proud of me
I’ll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
‘Cause it’s a flag that I love
And a flag that I trust

I kicked in the door
I yelled my commands
The children, they cried
But I got my man
We took him away
A bag over his face
From his family and his friends

They took off his clothes
They pissed in his hands
I told them to stop
But then I joined in
We beat him with guns
And batons not just once
But again and again

A hero of war
Yeah that’s what I’ll be
And when I come home
They’ll be damn proud of me
I’ll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
‘Cause it’s a flag that I love
And a flag that I trust

She walked through bullets and haze
I asked her to stop
I begged her to stay
But she pressed on
So I lifted my gun
And I fired away

And the shells jumped through the smoke
And into the sand
That the blood now had soaked
She collapsed with a flag in her hand
A flag white as snow

A hero of war
Is that what they see
Just medals and scars
So damn proud of me
And I brought home that flag
Now it gathers dust
But it’s a flag that I love
It’s the only flag I trust

He said, “Son, have you seen the world?
Well what would you say, if I said that you could?”

Lyrics to Hero of War from the band, “Rise Against”. Released in 2008.

I just played that track again on the stereo after not listening to it for a long time. I don’t particularly like the song, even though it is well done. I guess it’s because it’s just too accurate and it cuts too close to the bone. Hearing it makes my heart hurt. It really does.

I can’t listen to the lyrics without thinking about my oldest son, Hans. Hans enlisted in the Army in 2009. He knew when he enlisted that he was going to be deployed either to Iraq or Afghanistan. That was guaranteed. My wife and I did not want him to go to war, even though I am a veteran myself, or especially because I am a veteran. He joined anyway. Hans went to Iraq in 2011.

Hans did lots of things in Iraq. He went on patrols. He cleared buildings. He kicked in doors. He got wounded. He killed people. He came back different.

Hans texted a few weeks ago about his war. He said, “I’m actually grateful for my army experience.” He told me that it made him grow up in a hurry and it taught him what was important in life. I’m sure that’s true, but at what cost?

I’ve written numerous essays on this blog about Hans and things that happened to him in the Army. A few of his stories are funny, but most of them are not. The accounts of his experiences in Iraq are harrowing, at least they are to me. There are things that a father probably does not need to hear, although I am grateful that Hans trusted me enough to tell me.

If you’re curious, you can look up my essays about his war. It’s all here in the blog.

Hans was a hero of war, whatever that means.