I grew up by the Gaza sea. Through my childhood, I could never quite comprehend how such a giant a body of water, which promised such endless freedom, could also border on such a tiny and cramped stretch of land - a land that was perpetually held hostage, even as it remained perpetually defiant.

From a young age, I would embark with my family on the short journey from our refugee camp to the beach. We went on a haggard cart, laboriously pulled by an equally gaunt donkey. The moment our feet touched the warm sand, the deafening screams would commence. Little feet would run faster than Olympic champions and for a few hours all our cares would dissipate. Here there was no occupation, no prison, no refugee status. Everything smelled and tasted of salt and watermelon. My mother would sit atop a torn, checkered blanket to secure it from the wild winds. She would giggle at my father's frantic calls to his sons, trying to stop them from going too deep into the water.

I would duck my own head underwater, and hear the haunting humming of the sea. Then I'd retreat, stand back and stare at the horizon.

As Planet Earth continues to hemorrhage crude oil from its wound — with a worst-case estimate of as much as 100,000 barrels a day — we grope, beyond our anger and guilt, simply to imagine what damage we have done in the pursuit of human empowerment.

This is bigger than BP, blameworthy though the company may be. This is bigger than any sort of “us vs. them” scenario we can think of. It’s a crisis of civilization, which means all of us.

If we drive, use energy, buy products wrapped in absurd, throwaway plastic — if we live at all — it cuts across our lives. The roots of this disaster, and, God help us, the ones to come, are political and corporate and governmental, and they are also intensely personal. We all collude in society’s “addiction” to oil, or what I would call its sense of entitlement: This is our planet. We’re the boss.

What we’re truly addicted to, or at least inextricably caught up in, is what my friend Jim Oberg calls “doomsday capitalism” and its need for reckless, unlimited economic growth. With this system operative, we trend toward war, empire and exploitation.

Okay, so I'm a sucker for watching two fantastically beautiful and talented women put on an impeccable show.

That would be Brenda Braxton and Bonnie Langford, the terrific co-stars of the truly wonderful CHICAGO that just opened at the Palace.

We're slated to see a similar duet when WICKED thankfully comes next month.

But from start to finish, this CHICAGO is truly special. Many of us will unavoidably compare it to the star-studded movie that got all that hype and won all those Academy Awards.

But I, for one, VASTLY prefer this one. The presentation is simple, unpretentious and both completely professional and personally engaging.

Braxton and Langford carried off their demanding, athletic and operatic leads with grace and charm. We---my 11-year-old daughter, Shoshanna, who was mesmerized for the entire performance---and I were engaged, amused, entertained and ultimately in awe.