Last Friday one of two things indisputably happened. Either a dozen senior Congress members and several well-known expert witnesses went certifiably and collectively insane, or charges of the most extreme executive abuses of power ever heard in the history of this nation were backed up by overwhelming evidence during a six-hour hearing of the House Judiciary Committee focused on the possible need to impeach the President and the Vice President. Either way, a nation with a public communications system worthy of a democracy would have learned the news.

In 2001, Michael L. Connell of GovTech Solutions, L.L.C., a notoriously partisan GOP operative and Bush family confidant, was selected to re-organize the Capitol Hill IT network. Under the guise of selecting a female-owned IT company (Connell’s wife Heather is listed as the owner), former Congressman and convicted felon Bob Ney reportedly arranged for Connell to be the man behind the firewall for the U.S. House of Representatives. Connell’s role and activities need to be investigated by putting Connell under oath and examining how arguably one of the country’s most zealously partisan IT specialists managed to land the contract and be allowed access to this electronic communication system.

Since I’m usually one of the last people in the country to get my copy of the New Yorker (well, it sure seems like it), I’m aware of any excitement or controversy the new issue has generated long before the magazine actually lands in my mailbox.

So I was hardly shocked at the cover of the July 21 New Yorker when I finally saw it — Barack, Michelle, Osama, the burning flag, the AK-47. Of course it’s satire, as editor David Remnick has been forced to explain a few times since the issue whacked America in the face. I also saw the problem with it. Satire normally creates acute discomfort for those it is targeting, but this cover managed to wound only those who had already been wounded.

I want to begin this column with one of my all-time favorite quotes. It comes from the great German reformer Martin Luther. He said, "If I profess with the loudest voice and clearest exposition every portion of the truth of God except precisely that little point which the world and the devil are at that moment attacking, I am not confessing Christ, however boldly I may be professing Christ. Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved; and to be steady on all the battlefield besides is mere flight and disgrace if he flinches at that point."

Luther's trenchant statement reminds us that today's Christians, especially our Christian leaders, are conspicuously absent from the field of battle. Oh, they may host large crowds in their gatherings; they may deposit multiplied millions of dollars in their financial accounts; they may receive thunderous applause from politicians, but they have fled the battlefield at the point of attack.

For the record, the real battlefield today is not abortion. It is not homosexual marriage. It is not Social Security. It is not al Qaeda. It is

For some folks interested in genealogy, tracing one's roots is a stimulating activity. It's immensely interesting and meaningful to learn where one's life started. DNA testing has made it possible to trace one's roots back many generations and there are even free web sites that can help users trace their family history based on a few simple clues.

Recent findings in my own personal history have been interesting indeed. The present task of tracing my family roots was inspired by a book project with Pluto Press, narrating the story of my father, as once a fighter from Gaza who died recently under tragic circumstances in the same refugee camp to which he was expelled, along with his family sixty years ago.

Just weeks into my research, I found myself stumbling into the details of a massacre, one that is conveniently overshadowed by the dust of the battle, the rigidity of academic research and the lack of media access of those who have survived.

And now, what started as a mere phase of my father's torn childhood in Palestine has morphed into being the core of my book's narrative.