A friend of mine asked me today about moral complexity here, and I wound up writing a little incident about my afternoon:

 Today the elevator in our building got stuck (it’s been stuck almost 20 times in the past month).  One of the Arab girls who lives here rang our doorbell to tell us that a tenant, a Holocaust survivor, was inside.  Ezi managed to pry open the door and get her out, but it took more than a quarter of an hour, and the woman was white we she emerged.  The company did not want to come to repair it until the morning, but the new widow upstairs complained that there are mostly very old people in this house and they can’t always walk the five floors.  What the underlying problem with the elevator company is that most of the repairmen have been in the reserves for the past year, so they are operating on an emergency basis.  

Complexity is part of our lives.