doctors in danger
The first thing you get when you “in-process” into the Army — at least the first thing I got — was dog tags. I had to decide if I wanted my religion on my dog tags, and tell the lady at the typewriter what kind of funeral I wanted. For all my ups and downs, I decided I would die Jewish, and get a traditional funeral, and make the Army find a rabbi. I could put that on them with no thought of guilt. I had the option of putting my faith on my dog tags. I was warned, in the most dispassionate possible way, that some enemies of the United States of America would kill me if it said “Jewish.” I chose a resolution some co-religionaries had chosen in World War II. I chose “Hebrew,” feeling more in common with the ancient faith than with the heavily politicized modern tripartite (Orthodox, Conservative and Reformed) ways of filling congregations.
Then I got my “Geneva Convention” card – Lavender and black and white, it said in 22 languages, roughly the equivalent “Don’t kill me. I’m a doctor.”