“Words, words, words”

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“…Wisdom is better than strength: nevertheless the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard.”
- Ecclesiastes 9:16

Last week, right before Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year, I was sequestered with my wife, Dahlia, and her parents in Radisson hotel near the Rochester Airport for 4 days.

We’ve all had our parents jabber on and on, oblivious to our lack of interest. That’s what family get-togethers are all about!
I remember, on several occasions, my father and mother ending a conversation with the following exchange:

Dad: “Okay, that’s enough.”
Mom: “Hey, I’m talking!”
Dad: “Yeah, but you’re not SAYING anything!”

Frustrating… and yet, sometimes, it’s those pointless discussions that can often be the highlight of a day’s discourse.

Here is a brief conversation I had with my in-laws, sitting in the gazebo outside of the aforementioned Radisson. I tried to be heard, but I was ignored… thank God. We were discussing first names:

Mom-in-law: Sometimes men have women’s names, too.
Dad-in-law: That’s right, like John Wayne. Didn’t he have a woman’s name?
Me: Marion.
Mom-in-law: Yes, he did. What was it?
Me: Marion.
Dad-in-law: I don’t know.
Me: It was Marion.
Mom-in-law: Some men are named Leslie.
Dad-in-law: That’s true.
Me: It was Marion.
Mom-in-law: My old high school principal was named Leslie
Dad-in-law: Maybe John Wayne was a Leslie.
Me: He was Marion.
Mom-in-law: No he was my vice principal… Leslie.
Dad-in-law: Yes, vice principal Leslie.
Mom-in-law: When men are named Leslie they usually go by “Les.”
Me: When men are named Marion they usually go by “John Wayne.”

Feels like family.

“What’s in a name? If you call a rose a turd, that don’t make it smell like shit.”
- Shakespeare… more or less

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Knockin' on Heaven's Door

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“…Therefore shall ye lay up these my words in your heart and in your soul… And thou shalt write them upon the door posts of thine house, and upon thy gates”
-- Deuteronomy 11:18,20

This week, my wife and I affixed a mezuzah to our doorpost.
Kind of a big deal.
For those less informed—a mezuzah is a small rectangle box, usually one inch wide, 3 inches long. Inside the box is a piece of parchment that includes several verses from the Torah, including the above verses, and others that praise God's oneness, like the Sh'mah prayer (Deuteronomy 6:4-9, 11:13-21).
Jews nail a mezuzah to the doorpost of their house.

Why?
So they can ward off evil spirits!
And solicitors.

Actually, that’s not far off. It reminds us of the final of the Ten Plagues that God sent to punish the ancient Egyptians for enslaving my ancestors! Yay! In this biblical equation, the Jews are Whitney Houston and God is Kevin Costner.
“And I… ee-I… ee-I… will always love Jews.”

So, Moses instructed the Israelites—take a lamb, kill it, and rub its blood on the doorposts of their house.
Why?
And the blood shall be to you for a token upon the houses where ye are: and when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and the plague shall not be upon you to destroy you, when I smite the land of Egypt. (Exodus 12:13)

So God can magically turn water into blood, send frogs everywhere, and kill people—but can’t tell the circumcised slaves from the wealthy, cat-worshipping Egyptians.
TMBS!
(This Movie’s Bull Shit).
Okay, so NOW I’m taking umbrage with the veracity of the Bible (i.e., ‘dis here book ain’t the truth).


Anyway, it’s a nice tradition nowadays—Jews can tell the house of another Jew (for when we’re lost in a new neighborhood; or if we’re trick-or-treating and don’t want any candy with gelatin in it).

But affixing a mezuzah to one’s doorpost is a big deal—there’s a special blessing for it. It tells the world—this is my home, and it will be for… at least a while.
This is the first place that my wife and I can truly call home. That is why, the day we moved in—I carried her over the threshold—I have the hernia to prove it!... a hernia of love!
But I like a mezuzah because, like wearing a kippah (yarmulke, head-covering) it forces me to fight my inner demons—namely, I am self-conscious… about everything-- including my religion. I don’t like being loud on the street, arguing on the subway, dressing in “loud” colors or Public Displays of Affection (now, if you removed the “L” from the first word, then we could talk).

Well, Judaism says, “Screw you, Aaron, screw you and your hang-ups and insecurities. Wear that kippah in public, nail that mezuzah to your door—say it loud, you’re a Jew and you’re proud!” (God knows we’re a loud people… literally, God KNOWS it:
“And God heard their groaning…” (Exodus 2:24)
“And the LORD said, I have … heard their cry” (Ex 3:7)
“I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel” (Ex 16:12)
And now, a kinky one!
“And I have also heard the groaning of the children of Israel, whom the Egyptians keep in bondage... (Ex 6:5)

Ha!
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It happens

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" Judge not, that ye be not judged."
- Matthew 7:1

As I was jogging near Grant's Tomb this morning, through the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a thought crossed my mind. It is a thought that weighs upon every New Yorker throughout the summer.

Namely-- "What the hell is that SMELL?!"

As it turns out-- it was poop.

The odor was fierce-- New Yorkers are tough and in your face... and so is their waste matter.

Next to Grant's Tomb on 122nd and Riverside Drive-- I spied a porta-potty, and a few feet away there was a parked sanitation truck labeled "Johnny on the Spot." Coming out of the truck was a long, thick hose and a gentleman was holding it firmly as it sucked the horror that lies on the bottom of your friendly, neighborhood, portable toilet.
My heart went out to the hose gentleman.

After all, this was before 7 am on a Monday morning!
Imagine how much worse this guy's week can get!

To each his own.

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."
- Aristotle

In other words-- be nice and decent to everyone.
As Leviticus 19:18 teaches-
"Love thy neighbour as thyself," because you never know if your neighbor started his day by using a gigantic hose to suck up shit from a porta potty.
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Impressing the Ladies!

Remember-

In the book of Genesis, Jacob tricks his bleary-eyed pop and steals his brother's blessing and his inheritance.
(in Jacob's defense...um... his brother was hairy?)

So Jacob did what any of us would do... he ran!



He comes to a new land and sees some shepherds chillin' around a giant stone, as shepherds are wont to do (those that don't chat with flaming shrubbery).

The shepherds roll the "great stone" away, and below it is a well; their sheep drink from the well, then they roll the stone back (Gen. 29:2-3)

Wow.

Being a shepherd: non-stop thrill ride.

But check it--

Then, my man Jacob sees Rachel coming over with her dad's sheep, and you know happens ...

"When Jacob saw Rachel... and the sheep... Jacob went near and rolled the stone from the well's mouth and watered the flock" (Gen. 29:15).

Damn!

My King James version calls it "a feat of unusual strength." This ain't no Festivus. This is Jacob whippin' it out and showin' Rachel what he's made of.

And you know what... that's the smartest thing Jacob has done.


"And this takes us to the second rule of Being Steve: You have to do something excellent in her presence, thus demonstrating your sexual worthiness."

-- Rule #2, "Tao of Steve", written by Duncan North


This makes TOTAL sense! Ya gotta do something to make 'em go "Wow." Ya gotta impress the ladies (as my pal Malcolm X would say) by any means necessary!

It doesn't matter what you do to impress them... as long as you're good at it!

Everybody can do something!

Jacob could roll a bolder and give water to sheep. My buddy Frank can karaoke-sing to MeatLoaf's "I Would Do Anything For Love" better than anybody. Claire Standish can apply her lipstick simply by placing it in her cleavage, looking down and moving her head back and forth (and became queen of the Breakfast Club).
(Don't you... forget about me)

And I...


I can juggle.
(sigh)


And write immature poetry.

Back in college, when I was courting my now-wife, I was taking a Poetry class. So I read her the following poem, to show her... how sensitive I was?

I guess it worked. And the rest, as they say, is hysterectomy.

Enjoy.



The Love Poem To End All Love Poems



Love thy neighbor, wherever you roam.

Just you make sure her husband’s not home.

Love inspires poets to create works of art.

They say it’s like a red, red rose,
... or an Achy Breaky Heart.

What is love? Is it Attraction? Allure?

Baby, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me, no more. (What is love?)

They say love is blind, so it’s no great leap

To condone love with all: man, woman or sheep.

Love can be tricky, with one who is chaste.

But it certainly helps if you’re both shit-faced.

Affection’s elusive with a girl who is moral.

She might give you love, but she won’t give you… the time of day.

“At the touch of love, we all become poets.”

Plato said that. Boy, don’t I know it.

(ahem)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art sweaty and thou dost attract mosquitoes.
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Men's Priorities

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Remember-

Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, God explains (through Moses) the rules and laws the Israelites are supposed to follow.

Chapter 20 deals with military service.

Who is temporarily exempt from military duty? (besides Klinger-- section 8!)

Check out verse 5:

"What man is there that hath built a new house, and hath not dedicated it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man dedicate it."

Verse 6, The same formula-- but for wine:

"What manjavascript:void(0)... planted a vineyard, and hath not yet eaten of it? ... let him also go... lest he die in the battle, and another man eat of it."

And, naturally, verse 7:

"What man is... betrothed to a wife and hath not taken her?... Let him go... lest he die in the battle, and another man take her."

BAM!

Here we see the three priorities in a man's life: Shelter, Booze, and Dames!

It's a natural progression: a place to sleep, something to eat/drink, and someone to share it with-- to eat, drink and be "merry"... unless she has a headache.

That sure would stink-- you go to all the trouble of building a house, or planting crops, or wooing a lady... and you die before you can enjoy any of it! Some OTHER guy is in YOUR bed, drinking YOUR wine, and being "merry" all over YOUR woman!

Now THAT'S getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop!

Unfair!

And God knew this.
Hence-- this very sensible rule.

How refreshing.
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Swallow your ... (ahem) pride

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“Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.”

- Proverbs 16:19


I am a sports counselor at a Jewish summer camp.

And no, “sports” and “jewish summer camp” are not oxymorons.
We play plenty of sports…
Well… a lot of chess.

Sports with all Jews?
What is it, a camp full of team managers? Just hundreds of kids carrying water jugs and clipboards?
Actually, we’re not training them to be sports stars, but rather, sports agents.
“Let’s do ten jumping jacks and five contract negotiations.”
Forget color wars, we have bidding wars.

Ha ha… that is just awful.

Okay, we got that out of our systems.

Truthfully, we play every sports you can think of.
I was teaching softball today and it was rough.
But I was forced to swallow my pride.

As soon as the kids’ regular counselor signaled the end of the perek (or “period”) I said, “Oh praise Jesus!”

“Jesus? Here? It’s a Jewish summer camp.”
Trying to be funny, I dug deeper. “No, not THAT Jesus. I’m talking about Jesus, the guy who cleans my floors.”

There were a few kids around us, but I was saying it for the amusement of myself and the counselor.

A minute later, when it was just the two of us, he said,
“Dude, ‘Lo mateem.’” In Jewish camp-speak that means “Not appropriate.”
He elaborated. “There were kids around and what you said was kinda racist. Besides, they don’t know you’re joking.”

Now, I didn’t really like this counselor. He was a jock… and not just in terms of a Jewish summer camp (A jewish jock? What, can he field a groundball without dropping his inhaler?).
So I resented this guy. I REALLY didn’t want to admit he was right.
But… we was right.
“Okay, you got a point” I conceded, nodding my head. “You got a point.”

He WAS right… and my Jesus comment was more racist than funny, anyway.

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"To weep is to make less the depth of grief." - William Shakespeare

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“The LORD, The LORD God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth, Keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin,

-- Exodus 34:6-7

The above passage is recited on most Jewish fast days.

It’s also known as the 13 attributes of God, repeated on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.

It’s also what I recited for an hour the night before climbing Massada 10 years ago, as I stood alone in the darkness of the desert, repeating these words as a mantra, meditating/praying/just immersed in a religious kind of zone.

It’s also the first prayer that leapt to mind 6 days ago when I experienced turbulence at 30,000 feet (who needs a gremlin on the wing, just a little shaking is scary enough).

Flying from New York to California was a bit… terrifying!
… for 30 seconds.

And those are the words that came to me, possibly because the first two words (in Hebrew) are “GOD! GOD!”



Okay, it’s been a few weeks since I last wrote.

In the words of Steve Martin: well, excuuuuuuuuse me!

Good, now moving on…

A lot has changed since my last entry. I am no longer living in Jerusalem, but rather, New York… so the Jew quotient is about the same.
I am working at a Jewish summer camp with the missus.
A few days ago I got to see my parents and brothers together for the first time since last summer.
I visited California for a wedding.

I saw Toy Story 3.

… Also, my grandma died.

What’s that you say?

Oh, yes, the movie was amazing…

Sigh.


Okay, let’s get into it.

Why am I compelled to write at this juncture?
Is there something wrong with me… simply because I shed more tears over the potential demise of the animated Buzz and Woody (and all the other toys!)… than I did over the actual demise over my own flesh and blood?

Perhaps.
But the older I get, the more cynical I get, and the only times I tend to allow true fear and sadness to take me over is in a darkened room, surrounded by strangers (plus my wife) when I can escape reality through some fictional folks on the big screen.

“Lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, blah blah whatever…”
-- Eminem, “One shot”

"Let your tears come. Let them water your soul." - Eileen Mayhew

“Field of Dreams,” “Finding Nemo,” even parts of "The Blind Side" (embarrassing, though true)… they’ve made me cry.

Yes, I have cried.
So what?
I’m still a man.
I could shoot a gun, or kill an elk or throw a football…
… or go to a heavily-wooded area, find an elk, then throw a football that has a gun duct-taped to it, which I have somehow rigged to shoot at just the right moment while the football is in mid-air, thereby killing said elk.

But I don’t have any duct tape… so scratch that idea.

But those forms of entertainment make me cry, whereas deaths, familial strife and turmoil, operations and surgeries… no tears.

Toy Story 3 is all about trying to cling to the past while moving on, growing up, and losing the things and people that we love…
And that’s something EVERYONE has to deal… sometimes in one weeknd.

This past weekend was a complicated time for my family.
We flew out to California on Thursday for a wedding on Saturday,
On Sunday they took my grandma off the breathing machine.
On Monday she died.

She was 83.
We called her Bubby (rhymes with “hubby”, not “could be”).

I was thinking about her yesterday, Tuesday. It was a minor fast day for observant Jews (the 17th day of the Hebrew month of Tammuz, commemorating the Romans breaching the walls of Jerusalem before the destruction of the 2nd Temple in 70 CE… so no eating, of course!... sometimes it feels like Jews LOOK for reasons not to eat—“Oh, this is the day when Moses found a hair in his soup… we should skip lunch”).

But if there was one thing my Bubby loved to do it was feed her family. Tons of food… obscene amounts of food… “For me, please. Eat, eat, please.” And she wasn’t some babushka-wearing immigrant… maybe it’s a grandmother thing, or for people who lived through the great Depression… but in her eyes, you could never eat enough. If you visited, you were leaving with a loosened belt and an ulcer.

Most of it was not kosher, since my Bubby was a devout atheist, and it really upset her when my brothers and I reached high school age and began following stricter Jewish dietary laws—it meant we would no longer eat her food. No bacon-wrapped shrimp for us!
(Not kidding… cooked shrimp wrapped in fried bacon… kinda like kryptonite to us Jews… but it was a specialty of hers… and I hear it was a-MAZING… to each their own).
She gave out so much candy to trick-or-treaters each Halloween… I’m sure childhood diabetes has increased because of her turgid Ziploc bags literally bursting with full-size Snickers and Milky Ways… it was awesome.

“… come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price… eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.”
-Isaiah 55:1-2

So… juxtaposition.
A family reunion, a wedding, a hospital, a death, a fast… then Toy Story 3.

Why not?

Sadness is just as much a part of living as joy…

You can’t have one without the other.
Joy is a feeling, and so is sadness, which makes way for eventual acceptance and happiness once again.

Peaks and valleys.
Rain can cause flooding and destruction… but it also helps everything grow again.

The following is read on all Jewish Fast Days (besides Yom Kippur):

“For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater…For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace:

- Isaiah 55:10, 12


“Oh come on, that's funny….You laugh. I'm not saying I don't cry, but in between I laugh.”
-- “Garden State,” 2004, screenplay by Zach Braff
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Home

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“Behold, God will not cast away a perfect man… till he fill thy mouth with laughing, and thy lips with rejoicing.”

- Job 8:20-21

Well, this will be my final entry from the Promised Land.
The wife and I pack up and head home to New York tomorrow.
Yes, Israel is still our homeland… but New York is our home.

Well, actually no… As my wife has said many times this week—
“You’re home, where you are—that’s my home.”

Awwwwww.

This reminds me of two of my favorite movies and their best lines:

“I’m 50 years old… there’s only one place I call home and it’s because you’re there.”
-- Armand to Albert in “The Birdcage”

“Please don't go away. Please? No one's ever stuck with me for so long before… I just, I remember things better with you… because when I look at you, I can feel it. And- and I look at you, and I... I'm home.”
-- Dory to Marlin in “Finding Nemo”


But back to Israel…

(sigh)

So many memories.
I made two more today.

And YES, they both involved me trying to speak Hebrew and then being emasculated in front of Israeli shop owners!

Naturally.

I picked up my wife’s tallit from the dry cleaners today.
I must’ve been holding close, clutching it and … petting it. Because the two old ladies standing behind the counter both asked, “Why are [verb]-ing the tallit in that way?”
I think she said “touching”… but it could’ve been “skeet-shooting,” for all I know.

I paused and I all I could say was “It’s not mine!”

Reverting back to primal… pre-adolescent instincts.
Then I added—“it’s my wife’s tallit.”
They both nodded their heads.
“Ohhhhhh.”

Right on! My wife wears a tallit!
Deal with it.
Actually, they did… that cleared it all up.

Then I went into the Old City of Jerusalem, to buy jewelery and t-shirts (naturally, just like my ancestors 2,000 years ago—Coca-Cola brand in Hebrew).
I started talking with a young man selling me a necklace. We chatted about the difference between Israelis and Americans.
I said Americans were fat.
He replied, “But you’re not fat—you exercise?”
“I do, I run. I ran the Tel Aviv marathon last month.”
“Oh, why!” (not a question—instead of “wow”, Israelis say “Why”… it’s still weird to hear… like a Spanish rooster says “koo-koo-ree-koo” instead of “cock-a-doodle-doo,” and instead of “meow” a Russian cat will say, “meow- where’s- my- vodka?”)

The shop owner was impressed.
“Good job! Very hard.”
“So I ran a marathon” I continued, “but the guy who finished right in front of me was 69 years old.”
That’s true!
“It was only one marathon…” I am not sure what I meant by this… my Hebrew is limited… but I know the words “only” and “one.”

My wife overheard our conversation and interjected—
“He is humble,” she talked about me like I wasn’t two feet away from her.
“He ran a marathon. He did big thing, but he does not think it big thing.”

I saw an opportunity!
“Yes, everything with me is big thing! Of course in my pants!”

The store owner laughed…
Trust me, it sounded funnier in Hebrew.

Connections!

Between me, my wife… and the patient store owners throughout Israel, who’ve listened to me butcher their language in many attempts to make sexual innuendos... and I finally did one!
Yes!

Oh, I was also able to give a truck driver directions in Hebrew yesterday!
Sure, he wanted directions to MY street, and he was one block away when he asked… but I still gave it to him!

Connections!

I’ll miss this place.
It's been my home for the last 9 months

But home is where the heart is.
And my heart belongs to my wife.

I hope that you figure out where your heart is.

So Shalom ... for now.

I'm going home.
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Outside the Boxes

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“And I will betroth thee unto me for ever; yea, I will betroth thee unto me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies.
I will even betroth thee unto me in faithfulness: and thou shalt know the LORD.”

-Hosea 2:19-20

The above passage is recited while wrapping the leather phylacteries around the middle finger of the left hand, by traditional, observant Jewish men …

And my wife.

Last week I went to get my wife’s tallit dry cleaned and have her phylacteries fitted for boxes.

You know, a typical Friday in Jerusalem.

Well… not typical, exactly.
Not for Jerusalem… nor anywhere else.

You’d think— Hey, Jewish errands to run and you’re in Jerusalem, more Jews per square inch than anywhere else in the world (besides at a… make your own Jew joke—sale at Costco, Jackie Mason show, Herring & White Fish convention… it COULD exist).

And you’d be right, there a ton of Jews here… but like they say—for every 2 Jews, there are 3 opinions.

Or, as the Notorious B.I.G. put it, “Mo’ Jews, Mo’ Problems.”

(maybe that was the Notorious Bet-Aleph-Gimmel)

Modern, religious, free-thinking Jewish women don’t have it so easy here.

Kahl v’khomair, female rabbinical students!

First, some definitions:

Kahla v;khomair: A Talmudic phrase meaning “all the more so” (also sounds like an ancient Yiddish vaudeville duo)

Tallit: Hebrew for a prayer shawl, traditionally worn by Jews over 13 years of age in morning services, weekdays and on the Sabbath.

Phylacteries: the English word for “tefillin,” two leather straps connected to two small leather boxes containing parchment with verses from the Torah (incl. Ex.13:1-10 and Deut. 6:4-9), that observant Jews wear on their arm and head during morning prayers.

Brief sidebar: apparently “phylactery” has another meaning, according to wikipedia:
A lich, a type of undead creature in fantasy fiction can “achieve immortality by placing its soul in a phylactery” (i.e., a small box).

I know, I know—you were just about to say that!

Now a lot of Jews, the more traditional and close-minded variety, believe that women are not obligated and therefore SHOULD NOT wear a tallit or tefillin or even pray every morning.
Clearly these Jews have never seen the Will Ferrell film “Anchorman” (from 2004, screenplay by Adam McKay and Ferrell).
In the film, a bartender (played by Danny Trejo) says the following to Ferrell’s Ron Burgundy:
“You know, times are changing. Ladies can do stuff now and you're going to learn how to deal with it.”
To which Burgundy responds, “What? Were you saying something? Look, I don't speak Spanish.”

Amen, sir.

So I went to fit my wife’s phylacteries for some protective boxes at the local Judaica shop… I showed the tefillin to the store owner, a tender, matronly woman.
She made a “tsk” sound and said (in Hebrew), “Oh, so small. What small tefillin!”
I did not respond.
“Very very small.”
Now, if she spoke English, I had a plethora of witty retorts I could’ve dished out… all centered around the inferior size of my junk.
But in Hebrew it’s harder (zing! Y’see?!).
I have been burned in previous exchanged with store owner, explaining that my wife has all the power in our marriage and holds my “eggs” in her “arm,” so I have no use for “my underneath spots.”

Then I thought of simply telling her the truth—this could also get messy:
“I swear, they’re not mine! They’re… They’re my wife’s! Yeah! These are a WOMAN’S phylacteries!”
Even if she isn’t traditionally minded-- Oh god, she’ll think I’m a tefillin transvestite (Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s original song title)!”
But I didn’t say any of that… I just nodded, thanked them, and went on my merry way.

Living in Jerualem has made me appreciate America—not for the food, or the people…
But the space! America is HUGE! And size matters! (Y’see! It’s so easy in English! Like shooting fish in a barrel… then having sex with them).

I remember a scene in the 2008 film “Milk”, (written by Dustin Lance Black and starring Sean Penn, both won Academy Awards for this), about California’s first openly gay elected official. A gay teenager named Paul calls Harvey and they have the following exchange:

Paul: I'm sorry, sir. I read about you in the paper.
Harvey Milk: I'm sorry, I can't talk right now.
Paul: Sir, I think I'm gonna kill myself.
Harvey Milk: … No, you don't want to do that. Where are you calling from?
Paul: Minnesota.
Harvey Milk: You saw my picture in the paper in Minnesota? How did I look?
Paul: My folks are gonna take me to this place tomorrow. A hospital. To fix me.
Harvey Milk: There's nothing wrong with you - listen to me: You just get on a bus, to the nearest big city, to Los Angeles or New York or San Fransisco, it doesn't matter, you just leave. You are not sick, and you are not wrong and God does not hate you. Just leave.


Go watch the film, the scene only gets better.

The point is—America is ENORMOUS! It’s hard to comprehend—bigger than Europe.
Bigger than… Broadway!
(Sugar, nothin’s bigger than Broadway)

In Israel… there aren’t as many places to go if you’re a minority… an Arab, a Christian, a Muslim, a gay person… a strong, willful, independent woman.

There’s Tel Aviv… but that’s kinda all there is!

Israel is roughly the size of New Jersey. Not a lot of elbow room, so close-minded jerks keep poking you in the ribs if you think outside the box… the Tefillin Box!

I’m friends with some Israelis who are homosexual, but can’t come out because their family and friends would ostracize them.

And now I will list those people in alphabetical order:

No no, I am kidding.

Because I have no tact!

But really—

“Ah-rone” is the Hebrew word for closet… it’s also Hebrew for the ark of the Covenant (where the ten commandments were kept while the Israelites wandered the desert) and where we keep the Torah in synagogues today— an ark (not Noah’s kind).
And while an “ah-rone” might be lovely and useful and important… the Torah can’t be read and actually put to USE unless you remove it from the "ah-rone!"

Kahl v’khomair, with people.
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Road Rage

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“Judge not lest ye be judged”
-- Matthew 7:1

As I walked through the streets of Jerusalem’s German Colony (neighborhood motto: “Irony personified”), I saw something unusual:

A line of cars, Israeli drivers stopped… mid-traffic… in silence.

Y’see, on the corner of Ha’ish and Ha-Lam-ed Hey there was a student driver (with the big blue and white “lah-med” on the roof of the car). The driver was scared to make a right turn down the hill, and the instructor was… well, instructing!

The three cars idling behind this student… waited patiently! Two words that are usually not used to describe Israelis (can you blame ‘em? After 40 years wandering through the desert and 2,000 years in exile, they want to be on their way).
But these cars waited. No honking, no yelling, no hand gestures of any kind. I was amazed.
Why? Why were they so patient? Perhaps they recalled the words from Matthew 7:1… Or, more likely, they remembered how nervous THEY were when THEY were learning to drive.

An important life lesson—putting yourself in someone else’s shoes.

At some point in our young lives, our world opens up. At some point we get a glimpse of the adult world and we are unsettled. Not shocked, just... askew.

For me, it was in 1992. I was 10. A friend’s dad was driving me to school. Carpool, a staple for any suburban child. It gave way to buses a few years later, like innocence of child being pushed aside by gawky adolescence— bussing to high school.

My friend’s dad was also a rabbi.
We were driving along and suddenly a minivan cut in front of us, nearly running us off the road, and my friend’ dad let loose two words that were burned into my brain forever…
“clucking grass bowl.”

Okay, those weren’t the exact words, I cleaned ‘em up for you. But you get the idea.

I immediately judged the rabbi—using such foul language, for shame! I disapproved.

… for 6 years, until I started driving. Then I understood.

Driving can be tough.
Sometimes you’re the person who honks, the honker, and other times… you’re the honkee (or “cracker”).

Well, Sam Elliot said it better:

“Sometimes you eat the bar and sometimes, well, he eats you.”
-- “The Big Lebowski,” Joel & Ethan Coen


So…
We’re all human.
We all make mistakes.
Say it with me, once again:
Pobody’s nerfect.

“Everybody hurts… sometimes”
-- R.E.M.


So don’t judge someone until you’ve been in their situation…

Face-to-face with a “clucking grass bowl.”


And remember:
Drive safely.

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"Baby you can drive my car" -- The Beatles

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“He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.”
- Job 39:7

The drivers of Jerusalem are often given a bum rap. Well…

Jerusalem at dawn— a beautiful thing (also, I woke up at 6 AM anc couldn’t fall back asleep).
So I went running this morning and I negotiated the streets of The Holy City with some of the worst drivers in the world.
Translation of “negotiated”—tried not to get run over.
And you know what I’ve learned here?
Ironic—the “best” drivers are actually the STUDENT drivers!

Let me explain—this town was not built for the horseless carriage, Henry Ford’s metal contraption known “a car.” Like Boston, with its cobblestone pathways, the narrow, winding streets hearken back to simpler times of John Adams and King David (portrayed on screen by William Daniels and Richard Gere, respectively).

So taxi drivers that would normally seem merely “Manhattan-crazy” are exponentially more terrifying in the nooks and crannies of Jerusalem.

But not student drivers! The roofs of their cars are clearly marked with a white sign displaying a big blue “lah-med” (Hebrew equivalent of “L”), signifying “Lomed” or “learning.” And they are the only defensive drivers in this city. They are cautious and courteous and… usually women.
And 9 times out of 10, when I jog past a student driver, I see a lady behind the wheel, wearing a concentrated, slightly nervous expression and a head-covering. Sometimes it’s a sheitel (for Jewish women) and sometimes it’s a hijab (for Muslim ladies). Women driving cars. Religious women.

Even though there is a lot of old-school, backwards thinking in this part of the world, fundamentalism on all sides of the Torah, New Testament, and Qur’an—people living as they did 1,2 even 3 thousand years ago and thinking everyone else should do the same—we are moving forward, advancing into the 21st century… one green light at a time.
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Keep on Keepin' on

“And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold a man running alone.”
-- 2nd Samuel 18:24

“My body’s sayin’ let’s go… but my heart is saying no.”

The first quotation is from the Bible… big whoop.

The second quote was made famous in the song “Genie in a bottle” by Christian Aguilera, arguably the most gifted bible scholar of our time (actually she married a Jewish boy in 2008—check it out on wikipedia).

The song (penned by David Frank, Steve Kipner, and Pamela Sheyne) was HUGE the last time I was in Israel, starting the summer of 1999 till February 2000.
And its message, like that from the second book of Samuel, has withstood the test of time.

Well, running a marathon is essentially the opposite.
Your brain tells you, “Keep going! Come on!”
And your body says, “Check, please!”

You want to follow the advice of Dory in “Finding Nemo”—

“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”
Metaphorical for us, literal for her. Well, around kilometer 34 (or mile 21), my legs informed me, “Ahem, excuse us… Brain, I think you should be sitting somewhere right about now, eating a sandwich, watching clips on youtube, and not sweating anymore.”

My body was the minivan driving a cross-country road trip:
Legs= kids : “We’re hungry, we’re thirsty, we gotta use the toilet!”
Brain= parents: Damn it! Would you shut up! Do some Mad Libs or something!”

It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in over 15 months… when I got contact lenses. Talk about frustrating! It was like Algebra and juggling combined. My brain said, “Put it in!” And my eye said, “What, are you nuts? Nothing goes IN me! Stuff only comes OUT… like tears at the end of ‘Field of Dreams’ or an exceptionally moving episode of Two and A Half Men!’ ”

But my then- fiancée informed me that I was being a … less than masculine individual. That I should “grow a pair” (I assume she meant eyes… y’know, for the contacts… what else could she have been referring to?)

But I kept at it… and eventually conquered my contacts… and the marathon (nearly 4 hours after beginning) and that’s what we all have to do in our lives. I am sure it’s what Moses told the Israelites during those 40 years wandering through the desert.
(well, that and “No, I told you yesterday, we’re not stopping at Denny’s!”)

The same message the Brady Bunch taught us:
“We're gonna keep on, keep on , keep on movin’…”

Or…

“And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”
-- The final words of Tom Hanks’ character in “Cast Away,” screenplay by William Broyles, Jr.

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Sweet Sassy Molassy!

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“And he was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water. And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.”

- Ex. 34:28

Tonight is Shavuot, which almost literally means the "Feast of Weeks"—because we count 7 weeks from the second night of Passover… 49 days until Shavuot, supposedly marking the moment of Revelation at Sinai (i.e., Moses receiving the ten commandments/Torah... or absolutely nothing, depending on who you ask).

Shavuot is often overlooked in the Hebrew School circuit because it occurs in late May, close to the summer, when Hebrew School is already over. Also, it doesn’t have the cachet of the more famous holidays: The piety of Yom Kippur, the commercial appeal of Hanukkah, the ritual of Passover or dancing of Simchat Torah.

But what food do we eat on Shavuot?
Well, you could argue that we should fast, just like Moses did, for 40 days.
But Jews (like most people) prefer eating TOO much, rather than NOT ENOUGH.
So we consume obscene amounts of Dairy! Hooray!
It's symbolic. Like eating bitter herbs on Passover because Pharaoh made the lives of the Israelites bitter.
On Shavuot we eat dairy, especially cheesecake! Because being slaves made the lives of the Israelites... lactose intolerant!
No, actually there is a teaching that God had not yet informed the Israelites which animals were kosher, and which were unkosher, so to play it safe—no meat (albatross? Camel? Y’know what, let’s just eat some goat cheese”)

So Dairy foods and receiving the Torah/Ten Commandments—there is also a tradition to stay up all night!
Woo-hoo!
Doing what?
Studying!!!
Yeah, Jews know how to party! Yay! Gemara and Gas!

Okay—to sum up:
Cheesecake and Ten Commandments.
Both good, plus staying up all night!
All these qualities SHOULD make Shavuot very popular.

And yet, it has fallen through the holiday cracks, even though it fills a seasonal holiday gap—

Fall:
Apples, honey… then no eating.

Winter:
Presents and chocolates and potato pancakes.

Spring:
Matzah and Seder and ten plagues


Today I went grocery shopping, then stopped by a bakery and purchased a cheesecake for the festivities.

I returned home and my beloved wife asked me where the mushrooms and pretzels were.

They were gone!

I sprinted back to the bakery and inquired—
“Sorry, I was here early today, had a bag with food. Will you have seen it?”

“Oh, the bag with pretzels and mushrooms?”
He produced my bag of groceries from behind the counter
I thanked him, “Yes, that is the bag! Thanks to you. If I went back to house with no mushrooms, my wife would take away MY mushrooms?”

“What?”

“Forget it.”


Israel has that type of hospitality and neighborliness—when I go running Friday afternoons, I usually pick up a bouquet of flowers for my wife (I’m not THAT great a guy-- I’m lazy, they sell ‘em right on the corner. Maybe back in Manhattan I’ll pick her up some crack).
Two Fridays ago I picked out some roses, then realized I didn’t have enough money.
“It’s okay,” the young flower dude told me, “you’ll pay me next week. Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t believe it.

Israelis really can be quite sweet—no wonder they call this place the land flowing with Milk and Honey (which sounds awesome… unless you’re a vegan).


“And it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give he shall eat butter: for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land.”

- Isaiah 7:22 (one of 22 instances in the Bible where Israel is referred to as the land of “milk and honey”)


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(Don't) Look Back In Anger

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"We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves."

- Romans 15:1

“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.”
- Mel Brooks


People are selfish.

“How dare he cut me off!”
“They shot at us!”

Don’t take everything so personally!

Right?

…Ahem. Let me explain (no, there is too much, let me sum up…)

We all think that everything is personally directed at US!

It’s not about YOU!

… it’s about ME!

Irony! Because people are selfish, they aren’t intentionally being jerks to YOU, per se (oooh, French!)! They’re not TRYING to piss you off, in fact, they’re not even THINKING about you—they are selfish, they’re thinking about THEMSELVES!
They just HAPPEN to be pissing you off indirectly.
I say “they,” but I am just as guilty as the next guy… not that I care who he is, because I am selfish!

Last week I was training for the marathon—which I ran this past Friday in Tel Aviv (I finished! Yeah! And… avoided vomiting!). Whilst I ran on the sidewalks of Jerusalem I would get easily frustrated when some random person would walk in front of me. I was keeping my steady pace, training diligently, then some putz would just walk in front of me… as if he owned the place! He didn’t realize that I was the center of the universe and that he should be walking backwards, so he could see me coming from behind and get out of my way!
God! The nerve!
I was thinking this last week, just as I ran past Derekh Beyt Lekhem (Way of the Bread House). Then I turned onto Emek Refa’im (literally “Valley of the Ghosts”… spooky), and I was tuning out the traffic, listening to my iPod, then I randomly glanced behind me. There was a middle-aged fellow on his bicycle, riding about 3 mph (or 5 km/h, which is 16 yen/millisecond, or 800 CCs/wingspan of an Australian condor).
And he wasn’t pissed off, or bitter, or hinting for me to move my butt. He was just calmly riding his bike very slowly, patiently waiting for me to move.
I nodded apologetically (you know the move, when you run into oncoming traffic, “oops, my bad”). He smiled and shook his head, as if to say, “You’re mother’s a whore.” No, not really, he was saying, “Don’t worry about it.”
And that’s when it occurred to me—Everybody takes turns being the person in the way.
Everybody is a pain in somebody’s ass. So really, we shouldn’t be so mean and impatient—because it won’t be too long before you’re in someone else’s way.

“Lean on me, when you're not strong and I'll be your friend/
I'll help you carry on, for it won't be long 'til I'm gonna need somebody
to lean on”
- Bill Withers, “Lean on Me”


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Prickly on the outside

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“And the LORD said unto Moses, ‘Depart,… unto the land which I sware unto Abraham… Unto a land flowing with milk and honey: for I will not go up in the midst of thee; for thou art a stiffnecked people.”

- Exodus 33:1-3

My last entry mentioned stubbornness, particularly that of “the children of Israel.” Those of you who’ve spent time in Israel know what I’m talking about will understand why I focus on that aspect of the Israeli persona.
The past 8 months have been great. I have loved my time living in the Holy Land. But sometimes I think the full title could be the (Ass)Holey Land. Israelis are a gruff bunch. During my first Hebrew class here, my very sweet teacher explained, rather apologetically, the term Sabra to our class. A native Israeli is called a “sabra,” which is Hebrew for “cactus.” Why? Because they are prickly on the outside, and sweet on the inside. Well, I’m not a surgeon, so I don’t know what’s on their insides, but many Israelis sure put the “prick” in “prickly.”
Truth be told, New Yorkers are the same way—brusque, loud, smelly… but really decent and helpful once you get to know them.
An “oleh” (someone who moves to Israel from elsewhere, usually the USA) explained that the biggest fear of Israelis is not war, bombs or terrorism… it’s being suckered by someone—jilted, cheated, taken advantage of. The fear of being a “friar” (not Tuck-- pronounced “fry-ah,”), or “chump” is the chief motivator behind much of Israeli rudeness—aggressive driving, aggressive price-haggling, an aggressive attitude towards… pretty much everything (including religion and land). I guess because Jews have gotten the fuzzy end of history’s lollipop for so long, Israelis are intent on not tolerating it anymore. NO more playing the victim. Makes sense—the were formed by the survivors of the Holocaust, and became a world power by the subsequent generation. Maybe that’s why the country’s military is so kick-ass—the attitude being “Maybe the world walked all over our ancestors and beat the crap out of them, but NOT US!”

I witness the “Sabra”-ness of Israelis totally, from 2 separate instances, within 30 minutes of each other.
Last Tuesday I went to return some headphones I purchased for my iPod. I had purchased them two days earlier. They cost 18 shekels… which is less than $5. I thought I was getting a great deal! Well, within a few hours, the left earpiece stopped working and started coming apart… not surprisingly. The lesson—you get what you pay for. I tried to return the headphones, at least for store credit.
Here’s how the store owner explained it to me:

“No return. You pay 18 shekels, of course they did break. Of course”
I complained. His response:
“This isn’t America.”

How did he KNOW I wasn’t a Sabra?
After that I wanted to say, “No, if this were America you’d be a deceitful contractor and I’d have you deported.”
But my Hebrew isn’t that good. So I just said,
“Is there no mercy in you?”
“What mercy? It’s 18 shekels. No mercy for 18 shekels.”
“But me buy these before 2 days ago from now!”
“So? What do you want me to do?”
“Me want new headphones.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can be fair!”
“ ‘Fair?’ What is this, ‘fair?’”
“Not you!”
“What can I do?”
(and because I ran out of ideas…)
“You can give me your pants!”
“I don’t have any.”

Liar! I looked over the counter (curios, I suppose)—he TOTALLY had pants!
What a douche.

From there, I angrily went to the open-air market: The Shuk. Shouting, haggling, money changing hands, fish heads on display, it’s exactly like the movie “Aladdin” when Jasmine starts slumming it outside the palace walls:
Big hairy guys screaming at you—“Sugar dates! Sugar dates and figs… and pistachios!” “Fresh Fish!!”
But all in Hebrew.
“Hello! Hello! Hello! Strawberries, 10 shekels!”
“Get Hummus! Felafel! Cheap and Good!”

I actually purchased two containers of hummus, 6 shekels each (good deal, believe me). I gave the vendor what I thought was a 50 shekel note. My change would be… (come on, SAT-time)… 38 shekels. And yet-- he gave me back 88 shekels!
“No no,” I tried to hand him back a 50 shekel note, “I gave YOU 50 shekels, this 50 is yours. I only get 38 back, not 88.”
The guy paused, thought, then said, “No, you gave me 100. That’s why I was confused before, so much money for just 12 shekels of hummus.”
“No no, I gave you—”
But he drowned me out, “No, no, you gave me 100, trust me. Take 88.”

I was speechless. I gave him 3 opportunities to steal from me. And he didn’t.
What the hell is WRONG with him?

The Hebrew word for “righteous person”, tzaddik, comes from the word for “right” or “correct”—“tzodek.” This man was both.

Just when you lose faith in people… a hummus vendor can restore it.
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Very Mature

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“And the LORD said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people.”

- Exodus 32:9


For the longest time, as far as I was concerned, the holiday of Yom Kippur was essentially one prayer-- the Vidui (pronounced Vee-Doo-ee)—literally, “Confession” (makes sense, since that’s kinda what the day is all about).
Everyone recites the Vidui prayer together, lightly beating their hearts with the left hand each time another sin is read, through all 22 phrases, a list of sins that we confesses to, in the order of the Hebrew “Aleph-bet.” It is a symbolic means of self-flagellation. The idea is that obviously not EVERYONE committed each of these sins, but we don’t want people to feel singled out so everyone stands and recites them all together.
I wish I could say the prayer jumped off the page for some profound reason—that all people should be responsible for one another, or that everyone is guilty of doing SOMEthing wrong (both noble and terrific idea)… but the truth is… it was because it made me think of erections.
I know! Me! What are the odds?!

“How?” I hear you ask rhetorically, with your eyes.
Well, Number 19 on the list of things we’ve done wrong in the past year is “kee-shee-noo Oh-ref”—literally translated: “We were stiff-necked.” It means being stubborn, something all of us have been guilty of doing. But I didn’t know that, I’d never seen that word before. I’d never seen “neck” used as a past-tense verb, either, so I thought it was pronounced “nekkid.”
“Stiff” and “nekkid.”
See where I’m headed?
I thought, “Well, if you’re gonna be stiff, you WANT it to happen when you’re nekkid.”
And then I LOL-ed. Guffawed, really, in the middle of synagogue... On the holiest day of the year… during one of the quiet parts.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned towards me. I couldn’t tell anyone what I found so funny, so I faked stomach pains and left the sanctuary.

Repentance is some serious stuff.
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Mr. Fix-It

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“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary…”

- Mark 6:3


“You're about to witness the most heterosexual moment of my life."

I spoke these words to my lovely bride two weeks ago, as I sat on the kitchen floor, preparing to screw...
... a wooden chair leg into the base with a screwdriver and screws I purchased at the Shuk.

(ahem)

Have you ever been to a hardware store in Jerusalem?
No. Y'know why? Half of 'em don't carry screws or nails!
It’s all electrical adapters and cholent pots. I’m not kidding.


Flanking our kitchen table, we have to two white, wooden folding chairs-- bulky, ancient, like little picnic tables.
And the seat of one chair was unstable because a washer bent and broke and the screw fell out.
Technical stuff, I know.
So I needed a new screw and nut.

Okay, I can’t go any further without addressing the propensity of woodshop terms to serve as sexual innuendos:

For starters: Wood, Screw, Nut, Nailed, and “Righty tightey, Lefty Loosey”
(ambidextrous erotica?)

So I ventured into the Shuk, Jerusalem's open-air market, in search of ... a screw (I thought they just sold produce and rugelech there).

I finally found a decent hardware store.
And then it hit me: I don't know ANY hardware terms in Hebrew.

This was the broken exchange:

Me: I need a small thing... to put in... a place... I want to move it...and go around and around... it is iron or silver?

Israeli: You mean you want "skroo"?

Me: (Ahem)... Yes, yes, that is it. Me want skroo.

(I sounded like a Frankenstein prostitute)

(oooh, I smell a sitcom!)

(... and it smells like crap)

Why would Israel have anything to do with carpentry?
It’s not like there was a famous carpenter who… wait… a… minute!

Bob Vila!
(Dated reference? Shall I say Ty Pennington? Hey, what about Norm Abram?)

Actually, we don’t know anything about Jesus’ carpentry skills… I’m guessing he wasn’t that good… since he didn’t stick with it. Did he just walk on water because he knew his boat would be shoddy and poorly-constructed? We hear about loaves and fishes, but nothing about bureaus or cabinets! Coincidence? Hardly!

And while we’re on the subject-- were the Romans just being super cruel and ironic when they killed Jesus, a carpenter, by nailing him to some pieces wood?
(“Here ya’ go, Jesus! How much would you charge for… yourself?”)

Like a Mexican chef being drowned in a vat of gazpacho… yeah.
Or if the Marx Brothers died of laughter.
Or if Beethoven died by getting a piano dropped on his head.

(sorry, I just watched “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”… Shave and a haircut...)


“Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark…”
- God to Noah, Genesis 6:14

“Noah… how long can you tread water?”
- God to Noah, acc. to Bill Cosby
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In- Laws

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“And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee,… for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
- Ruth 1:16

Ruth, the most impressive daughter-in-law of all-time… simply makes the rest of us look bad.
Following the death of Ruth’s husband and her dead husband’s brother and father, Ruth is left alone… along with the wives of the other two dead dudes.
Once the three miserable widows arrive in the land of Moab,
Naomi, Ruth’s widowed mother-in-law, tells Ruth and the other widowed broad (Orpah… so I guess her dead husband was Stedman”) they should go find other husbands and make some babies.
Ruth sticks by Naomi and says those famous words mentioned above.



I spoke with my wife’s parents last night. They are warm, sweet, and thoughtful.

I met my wife’s parents six years ago, on the island of Manhattan (so there was no escapre).
I was 21 years old— I had no direction in life, no future, no anything (so much has changed).

I had to win over my (then) girlfriend’s folks with something! What to do?

I simply reverted to the same trick I use in most social situations, pleasant or uncomfortable…
I quote stuff!

“So, Aaron,” they asked, as they drove their youngest daughter and the guy she’d been smooching to a nearby kosher restaurant on the Upper West Side, “What are you interested in, career-wise?”

I paused, swallowed the lump in my throat… then blurted out, “Plastics?!”

There was a beat, I glanced at my girlfriend, who looked at me quizzically, then…
Raucous laughter from the front seat.
“Oh, delightful.”
Phew!
Sigh of relief.

Our relationship would grow from there… one quote at a time… then we advanced to jokes.

“What do you call a dog with silver testicles and no hind legs?”

“Sparky.”

Zing!
The in-laws loved it!
And it’s been a steady climb towards the summit of me-worshipping ever since.

There have been ups and downs, especially with my “sense of humor.”

They saw me sweat out the longest 22 minutes of my life—at a Long Island synagogue, doing stand-up for 120 old Jews (average age 72) one Sunday evening, who thoroughly drowned out my yammering while eating their dinner and discussing episodes of “Monk.” It was rough. One valiant congregant actually stood up in the middle, grabbed the mike and defended my honor (“This young man is trying to entertain us, show him some respect!”… it didn’t work).
But then there was last Shavuout, when I won over their congregation with a winning D’var Torah, an interpretation of the holiday and that week’s portion from the Bible (why do Jews traditionally eat cheesecake on Shavuot? To remember that freedom from slavery is sweet… and goes straight to my thighs… it’s funnier in a synagogue).

Now, the in-laws are two of my biggest fans, and we have a wonderful relationship.
They’ve even let me drive their cars!

And to think, it all started with plastics.

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“Life is what happens when you’re making other plans” - John Lennon

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“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not…”
Isaiah 35:3-4

Last Wednesday I was lost in the West Bank with my wife and two friends. We left the area without incident. Honestly, I didn’t even know we were IN the West Bank till afterwards. All I knew was that we had not reached our destination (Tiberias) and all the billboards and store signs were written in Arabic. Not a big deal, after all- over half a billion people speak it as a first or second language (thank you, Wikipedia).

But when we finally got back on track and reached a security check point run by a dozen Israeli soldiers, my companions were all relieved… quite literally, since we had to pull to the side of the road so we could all go #1 in some shrubbery.
Anyway, after returning to the highway, we had about twenty minutes of giddy relief, which we filled by playing a rousing alphabet game.

Some of the highlights of “I’m going to the West Bank and I’m gonna bring...” :

A my Ass handed to me (a constant fear of what fate had in store)
E Elderly Toyota Driver (we followed his rusted pick-up, which appeared to be from 1986, out of a small Arab village, finally bidding him farewell with the Arabic version of “Thanks”— “Shook-rahn,” and the classic “Salaam Aleikhem.”)

F Fear, blinding fear
G Guts
J Jews, on the D.L.
L Lost and Helpless look on my face
N No clue
P Pissing behind a tree
Q Quotes from “Indiana Jones” (esp. from “The Last Crusade,” spoken by Sean Connery—“We are pilgrims in an unholy land.”)
R Regrets… so many regrets
S Stories to tell
U Uncomfortable conversations with Arab men
V Voices in my head, telling me “Go back!”
W Westward the wagons… to safety
X Xenophobia

The West Bank is a huge chunk of land. Not like the Gaza Strip. But the people we met didn’t look any different than Israelis.
And the experience brought me and my wife and our friends closer than any trek up Massada or trip to the Western Wall ever could.
Not that I would recommend it.
But remember—
Nothing in life goes “according to plan.”

Always bring an extra pair of underwear... just in case there's no shrubbery.
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"Go West (Bank), young men!"

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"And now, behold, the LORD hath kept me alive... while the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness"
-Joshua 14:10

My wife and I were just in the West Bank

... not on purpose.

We were driving in a rental car with some friends and got lost.
Yeesh.

There are no athiests in a rental car that's lost in a DMZ.
You want to see some tense Jews?

I've said it before, and I will repeat it now, because it's so true: IT'S ALL RELATIVE!
I feel lost in Jerusalem, understanding about 70% of what I hear and read, unsure if the label on the can of chickpeas means "On Sale" or "Rat Poison."
Watching TV, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu says, "For all of our problems there are solutions." I think he says, "For all of our problems there are mushrooms."

But in the West Bank, around Jenen and Nazareth... Farsi and Arabic? Squiggly lines and dots. The only familiar logo was Coca-Cola. I was lost!

After driving around aimlessly for two hours, we passed a military check point. We should've asked for directions from the Israeli soldiers who were stationed there.
We did not.
We drove for 2 more hours and asked directions from three separate gas stations, and finally we pulled into an Arab gas station, where 3 hairy, husky fellas were standing.
I got out of the car and my wife remained inside... just in case her short sleeves offended the men we didn't want them to, y'know... murder us.

In my broken Hebrew I asked if anyone spoke Hebrew or English.
Arabs and Israelis give directions in the same exact way-- they call over 5 friends and ask them, and when they don't know, they bring over the oldest guy with the fewest teeth. As it turns out, HE spoke Hebrew.
"What happened?" he asked.
I answered: "We go, for long time, but not know where are we. We go around around, but no find city by name Netanya. Can you help to me?"

"Oh, very easy. Go straight, straight, then right."
No matter where you are going in Israel, the directions always start "Straight, straight" -- "Ya-shar, Ya-shar."
The old guy was correct. We were on our way.
A little later we passed a second military checkpoint, this time we asked for directions from the Israeli soldiers. One guy didn't know, he called over two other officers, they called over two more.
Then their senior officer shouted from from twenty feet away, "It's easy. Go straight, straight.."

Arabs and Israelis, so similar...


So we made it out of there, no harm done.

But we learned an important lesson: always ask for directions.


"Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. Selah."
- Ps. 55:7

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." - Dory, from "Finding Nemo"
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“Say my name, say my name” -- Destiny’s Child

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“And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.”
-- Genesis 1:5


The importance of names are reiterated time and again-- including in the first day of Creation.

Ancient Egyptian texts, Nahum Sarna, 20th century biblical scholar (Understanding Genesis,1966) and Rumplestiltskin.
Giving something a name identifies it!

One more reason why the Nazis tattooed numbers on the Jews’ arms.


“Just give me a number instead of my name/ Forget all about me and let me decay”
– “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” Tim Rice, Andrew Lloyd Weber

Have you ever met someone and then see them again and they say, “Hi, nice to meet you.” Arrrgghh!
Compare that to someone who remembers your name, looks you in the eye, shakes your hand… now THAT is a politician I would vote for.

Having said that, Israelis have some crazy names!
I’m not even talking about Noah’s grandson Nimrod (Gen. 10:8)


Israelis name their kids some awful names: Ifat, Osnot, Soggy, Moran, Dudu.
I think it’s an insurance policy, to ensure that their kids never leave Israel (called “Yerida”). These kids aren’t going anywhere.
Any playground in the Western Hemisphere would eat them alive.


“And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads. The name of the first is Pison…”
-- Genesis 2:10-11

When I last lived in Israel, I stayed for two weeks in a suburb of Tel Aviv, Ra’anana. The street?
Pines. Pronounced “Pee-ness”… named after Shlomo Pines, best known for his English translation of Maimonides’ “Guide to the Perplexed.”
But I’m sure you already knew that.

I know the importance of names. As an identical twin, I was often confused and my identity in question. My brother went to school in Boston. I was in New York… Even in Brooklyn and in Jerusalem I hear people shout at me, “Hey, Zack!”
Nope.

“Who am I? I’m Jean Val Jean!”
-- Les Miserables, lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer

A rose by any other name might smell as sweet… unless you called it a fart flower.
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Everybody's crazy

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4/25/10

“The word of the LORD which came to Jeremiah the prophet against the Gentiles;”

- Jeremiah 46:1

I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher yesterday.
Yes, like any good Jew in Israel, I went to church.
My non-Jewish friends from New York are in town this week, so my wife and I showed them around Jerusalem… and the coolest play that’s also free and open on Saturday and interesting to Gentiles—a church!
They’d already seen the Western Wall…

First of all—The Church of the Holy Sepulcher covers the spots where (get ready): Jesus was crucified, removed from the cross and placed on a slab and prepared for burial (called the Stone of Unction… what’s your function?), the cave in which his body was placed, and of course… the place from which he ascended to heaven.

Wow! That’s a lot of stuff for one spot! I’ve said it before: It’s a microcosm of Jerusalem. There are literally thousands of miles of dirt on this planet, why did three major religions have to choose ONE CITY for their most important events!
Thank you, Hindus, for keeping clear of the Middle East.
One less head ache.
Okay, so we explored the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
First thing I noticed—in the wooden frame surrounding the cave in which Jesus purportedly (great word) disappeared and then rose to heaven… in that wooden frame—people have stuffed notes and bits of paper. I assume they are prayers. Which tickles me to no end!
I mean… they are CLEARLY ripping off the mystique of the Western Wall! But we Jews are CLEARLY smarter. I mean, if a big, bad wolf comes along and huffs and puffs… the Jews’ notes will stay put in the Western Wall, but the Christians’ notes’ will be blown down in the wooden surroundings in the Church of the Holy (as one dumb American tourist I heard called it) “Spectacle.”
But we did get to watch a traditional Christian ceremony… I couldn’t tell you what it was, maybe Greek Orthodox or Armenian… but they bowed all the way to the ground… which reminded me of my tour guide in Cairo, Egypt. I told him that several men had dirt on their forehead. He said, “It’s because they are muslim and pray five times a day, and when they pray they bow their heads to the ground, so it’s a way of showing people how religious and pious they are.”
Interesting.
Reminded me of high school—I attended an all Jewish high school, most of the boys wore kippot all day long, and once a year a few Catholic teachers came to school with “shmutz” on their foreheads… for Ash Wednesday. People like to declare their religious beliefs.
Everywhere. Regardless of religion. People are proud of what they believe. As well they should be. But we get into trouble when we start saying, “EVERYONE should believe what I believe!”
But, as a Swedish tourist told my wife in a youth hostel in Eilat last month, “If you think what you believe is right, wouldn’t you want EVERYONE to believe the same thing, too?”
Touché, Swedish tourist.
But that is one of the best things about the United States:
Everyone is allowed to believe whatever they want, as long as they don’t infringe on anyone else to believe their own crazy ideas.
A dude was nailed to some wood and then rose from the dead and so we eat crackers and wine … and THAT’S religion????
A dude received a couple pieces of stone on a mountain and thousands wandered the desert, then settled in the Middle East … and THAT’S a religion????
Vishnu has six arms and an elephant head… and THAT’S a religion?
Mormonism???

It’s all nuts! But guess what… that’s OUR PEROGATIVE!
Leave everyone to his/her own devices, and as long as they don’t bother anyone else, so be it!
And if they HELP other people, THAT is the best thing about religion.

“Come on People now, Smile on your brother, Everybody get together and love one another right now”
-The Youngbloods, 1967
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Bad apples and sour grapes

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"And I brought you into a plentiful country, to eat the fruit thereof and the goodness thereof; but when ye entered, ye defiled my land, and made mine heritage an abomination."

- Jeremiah 2:7

Whenever friends ask me what I miss about the U.S. while I am in Israel, I always answer the same thing:

"Dun' tawk to me, you stoopeed Amereekin! I am Issrellee now! Gimme money, but I resent you for it!"

I tell people that everything in Israel is more expensive than it is in America.
Especially my biggest vice... Twizzlers! (which are TWICE as expensive here)

Save the following-- bus fare, flowers, wine, and... produce!

You can buy 4 oranges for one dollar!
What a country... citrus, public transportation and perpetual religious strife... it all balances out!

I must admit, I tend to vilify Israelis... how loud they are, the way they recklessly drive and park on the sidewalk (yes, I wrote that correctly)-- every American I know who is living here as nearly been hit by at least one car in the last 6 months.
But people think of New Yorkers in exactly the same way.

So I should feel at home.

Another ironic frustration-- my pals and I refer to Ultra Orthodox (Haredi) Jews as "black hats" with the derision we might use for any minority back in America... casual bigotry, but bigotry nonetheless.
Y'know, they shirk their societal duty (in this case, mandatory army service), they have too many kids that they can't support because they don't work, they dress differently than I do, I feel them judging me and my wife... but mostly I feel insecure/self-conscious when I compare myself to them-- I see what I most resent about my religion (and pretty much any religion): fear of change and modernity, strict adherence to archaic ways of life, close-mindedness.

It's not easy, nor should it be, to see aspects of one's own religion in Red State terms.
There are Jews who oppose abortion, gay rights, gender equality, freedom of religion... basically, there are people who believe everyone should be exactly like them-- dress, talk, and think the way they do.

Bu then... aren't I saying a similar thing by pointing my finger at those people?

Woooo, it's a very sticky wicket.
After walking through the Church of the Holy Sepulcher yesterday in Jerusalem's Old City, which houses 5 different sects of Christianity in one small church, bustling priests of different denominations... it's tense, crowded, confusing... but at least they're making it work.

Easier said than done.
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What a dump

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“Thy holy cities are a wilderness, Zion is a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation.”
-- Isaiah 64:10



“Jerusalem is mournful and dreary and lifeless. I would not desire to live here.”

-- Mark Twain, ch. 53 of “Innocents Abroad”, 1867


When I was last in Israel, ten years ago, I vividly remember reading these disparaging remarks made by one of America’s greatest writers, which were prominently displayed on posters in Israel’s Diaspora Museum.

Naturally, I was defensive.
Who the hell is Mark Twain to diss Israel?

After having lived in Jerusalem for nearly 8 months, I can honestly say… I see where he was coming from.

“It is a hopeless, dreary, heart-broken land" (ch.56)

First of all, when he visited the Holy Land, it WAS all of those things. Swamps, desert, miserable, etc.
Very different from Israel of today.

… But not ALL that different:

Close to truth:
“To reproduce a Jerusalem street, it would be necessary to up-end a chicken coop and hang it in an alley of American houses.”

And
“The streets are roughly and badly paved with stone… such streets are too narrow for carriages.” (ch. 53)

Ha!
The more things change… but then again, the Middle East has never been big on change.

There are homeless people here in Jerusalem, and thousands of amorous stray cats, and condemned buildings… but it’s kinda like Manhattan—from a distance, over a bridge, at sunset, there’s no other place quite like it.

It feels... special. It feels important. It feels like home.
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Walls

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"Even unto them will I give in mine house and within my walls a place and a name... that shall not be cut off."

- Isaiah 56:5

My brother came to visit me here in Jerusalem on Tuesday.
On Wednesday our itinerary was as follows:

Visit the Old City in the morning.
Go to the Conservative Yeshiva at noon.
Visit the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum in the afternoon.

In the morning we stood at the Western Wall (ha-kotel ha-ma'aravi), touched the ancient ashlars (giant square stones) that have stood for over two thousand years, the oldest remnants of the Holy Temple. As I felt the smooth stone beneath my fingers, I saw the notes scribbled and stuffed between the blocks, prayers to God.
The ancient past of Judaism.

Then we went to CY, and Egalitarian (men and women studying together) yeshiva where the future rabbis of America study (with me).
We ate lunch and went to the bathroom.
I will not go into explicit detail, but I stood in the religious restroom, at a yeshiva urinal, facing a wall of a different kind, but a feeling of calm came over me.
No, it wasn't my bladder, it was my heart.. the feeling of completeness.
The present and future of Judaism

Then we walked through the harrowing, heart-wrenching Holocaust Museum-- with walls inside to simulate the Warsaw ghetto.

Yad Vashem was named after the verse from Isaiah, "a memorial (lit. place) and a name... that shall not be cut off."
And my brother recalled the words of George Santayana:
"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it."


That's Israel:
ancient memories of glory and God, recent wounds of destruction and death, but sandwiched in the middle-- learning, education... questions.
An oreo cookie of conundrums: Pride, Pain and Pedagogue.

Old Dog

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“Thou shalt rise up… and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the LORD.”
-- Leviticus 19:32

Part of this verse hangs on signs in Israeli public buses.
I rarely approve of the mixing of Church (or Synagogue) and State… but that’s a really nice rule.

Walking through Jerusalem, you can’t go more than 10 minutes without seeing repeated images: cats in the dumpsters; Orthodox Jews dressed in black, walking briskly… somewhere; honking, hairy cab drivers, and elderly people being pushed in wheelchairs by Filipino nurses.
In the last 20 years there has been a huge influx of Filipinos into Israel. They are the prime employees in the assisted living job market. Filipino men and women helping elderly Jews… why not?
The only other Asians I have seen in this country have worked in sushi restaurants (honestly). The more, the mellier!

Now, back to geezers:
In January of 1990, when I was 7 ½ years old, my family got a dog. A beagle. We named her Peanut. She was adorable, quiet, and we all took turns walking her and carrying her crap in little sandwich bags. It was a full life (and a full sandwich bag).
She lived a long, fat, happy life.
But the last couple of years were rough on my parents. Peanut had trouble walking, she couldn’t get to the front door in time to… fill a sandwich bag. So my parents bought “doggie diapers,” which are exactly what they sound like… just like human diapers except with a hole for the dog’s tail. Sad, quite sad.

When has a pet lived long enough? Who can say?
Most veterinarians agree that an animal is certainly “ready to die” when it stops eating—that’s a sign that its body is literally shutting down.
Well, Peanut didn’t stop eating! Hence, the doggie diapers. Watching her waddle into the kitchen for dinner every night was a sad, pathetic, and hilarious sight.
We often called her our R.O.U.S., an allusion to the Rodents of Unusual Size from “The Princess Bride,” because of the way she waddled and wheezed on her way to her dinner bowl.
But then, she finally did stop eating.
Peanut shuffled off her puppy coil in 2007, just short of her 18th birthday.
Damn!
After she died, my dad was filled with remorse.

“Maybe we should’ve, y’know… put her down. Ended her misery sooner.”

I related to him the following passage I found in Joseph Telushkin’s book, “Jewish Wisdom”:

“Show respect to an old man who has forgotten his learning through no fault of his own, for we have learned that the fragments of the old tablets [of the Ten Commandments which Moses shattered] were kept alongside the new tablets in the Ark of the Covenant.”
-- Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 8b

Even when tablets are broken, we still carry them around.


Scotty: A century out of date. It's just... obsolete! ...
Geordi: Just because something's old doesn't mean you throw it away.

-- (Star Trek: TNG, Season 6, ep.4, written by Ronald D. Moore)

This historic exchange between the engineers from the original Star Trek series and the updated series (respectively) was quite poignant, indeed.
Especially considering the history of Scotty, portrayed by the amicable James Doohan.

Doohan suffered from Parkinson's disease, diabetes and pulmonary fibrosis in later life. In 2004, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. He died in 2005 (BBC News).

I saw the 1997 documentary Trekkies, and Doohan relayed the following, beautiful story:
“I got a fan letter from a young lady. It was a suicide note. So I called her and told her I’m doing a convention in Indianapolis, I wanna see you there. I saw her… she was definitely suicidal… I said, ‘I;m doing a convention two weeks in St. Louis, then in another two weeks… she came to new york… that went on for two or three years, maybe 18 times. And all I did was talk positive things to her. And then, all of a sudden—nothing. I didn’t hear anything. I had no idea what was happening to her.
Eight years later I get a letter from her: ‘I want to thank you so much for what you did for me, because I just got my master’s degree in Electronic Engineering’… and that’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. And it brings tears to my eyes…”

Old or young, we can all do something kind for someone else.


Damn.
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"Hello, Clarice"

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“Thou shalt not see thy brother’s ass or his ox fall down by the way, and hide thyself from them: thou shalt surely help him to lift them up again.”
-- Deuteronomy 22:4

At the end of Passover, the people of Jerusalem scurry to their local pizza shops and gorge on bread—wonderful bread! Like flies to feces!
Well, a week ago I WAS one of those flies.
My wife and I ventured nearly 3 blocks from our apartment to the nearest pizza eatery, enjoying the finest Italian cuisine Jews could offer.
Just as we finished our repast, an old woman (at least 75) approached our table.
“Excuse me, blah blah blah,” she started saying something in Hebrew.
Now, I have lived in New York City for the past 8 years, so when a stranger approaches me my natural reaction is to back away with one hand on my wallet, saying, “Sorry, buddy, I got no change.”
Well, that’s what I did when this old lady started talkin’ all Jew-talk on me. But my wife translated.
“Aaron, she says her car is parked around the corner and she needs help taking a wheelchair out of the back seat.”
Oh!
Why didn’t ya say so!
Well, that’s a Jew of a different color!

(Literally translated, the lady asked us, “Sorry, my husband had troubles, back aches, would you able to pick up chair of rolling from my automobile’s backside? Kind requesting.”)

My wife volunteered to accompany me, as we walked the half a block, to the lady’s car.
Her husband was in the front seat, a big, bulky wheelchair was in the back.
We took it out, she thanked us, wished us a pleasant week and my wife and I walked away.
“Y’know why I came with you?” my wife asked me.
“Because you speak Hebrew better than me?”
“No.”
“You wanted to help me lift the wheelchair and get credit for the good deed?”
“No.”
I shrugged.
My wife explained, simply by adopting the creepy Buffalo Bill voice from “Silence of the Lambs”: “Would you help me put this sofa in the back of my van?”
I was shocked.

“You thought that old, feeble, Israeli lady was a serial killer?”
My wife shrugged and simply said, “ ‘It rubs the lotion on its skin—”

To which I responded, “‘…or else it gets the hose again!’”

And we kissed.

What we were really saying is, “I love you.”
To each his own.


Hannibal Lecter: Now then, tell me. What did Miggs say to you? Multiple Miggs in the next cell. He hissed at you. What did he say?
Clarice Starling: He said, "I can smell your [scent]."
Hannibal Lecter: I see. I myself cannot. You use Evian skin cream, and sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps, but not today.

-- TBS version of “Silence of the Lambs,” screenplay by Ted Tally, novel by Thomas Harris
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“Food, Glorious Food!”—Oliver!

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My wonderful wife made an interesting argument today.
Still recovering from Passover, I shared my thoughts from my blog (“It could always be worse”)—
how abstaining from bread consumption reminds us, “At least we’re not slaves like we used to be!”

My wife corrected me… as she tends to do because she tends to be correct most of the time… (she also tends to read this blog).

“But if that’s the case, we’re simply reliving our slavery for the duration of the holiday. Passover and eating matzah becomes the slavery and not the celebration of our freedom.”

Good point.

They say religion should be a blessing, not a burden.

… Shyeah right.

And your ex meant it when s/he said, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

B.S.

But my wife put it in terms I could understand: Food.

“We are still slaves. Everyone is a slave to something.
And most of us are slaves to food/beverage some of the time.”

My wife is a proud member of Weight Watchers, and a success story (she’s married to me, after all). She lost nearly 30% of her body weight in high school and is smokin’ hot! She is the second hottest Yeshiva student I know (first, naturally, is Yentl).
So she knows a thing or two about food and its tight grip around our gastronomical short and curlies (great name for a Jewish restaurant, btw).

“Y’see,” my wife explains, “people often turn to food to satisfy an emotional need. Many of us eat this or that because it ‘makes us feel better.’ But that is dangerous.”

True—those of us who aren’t addicted to drugs, pills, booze… we’re still addicted to SOMETHING!
Chocolate, coffee, etc.

My name is Aaron… and I am addicted to Twizzlers. They’re awesome!
I’ve also eaten a whole Entenmann’s cake in one evening, by myself (no worries, my tears landed safely on my gut). (really, did I need to add “by myself?” Once you start a sentence with “I ate a whole cake…)


(and meth).

And to quote Star Trek’s Deanna Troi, explaining the concept of “dessert” to an alien:

“It's something we eat after the main course. It's usually very sweet, it's usually very bad for you... We eat it purely for pleasure. If you ask me, it's the best part of any meal.”

- (TNG, season 7, ep.2 -“Liaisons,” teleplay by Jeanne Carrigan Fauci & Lisa Rich)

Amen, nerds, Amen.


The mere CONCEPT of dessert—ridiculous!

After a full, satisfying meal, that’s what we need—cake!

“What Passover does,” my wife says, “Passover reminds us that we don’t have to be slaves to food!”
Zing!
Good point—I mean what are we ACTUALLY slaves to in this day and age?
Food has power over us (where’s that dessert cart? “I have no willpower”), food can make us do things we don’t want to do (like go through the dumpster), and can make us feel crappy (like any fast food).
Food is like the ultimate manipulative girlfriend: you spend a night ravaging that pie… next morning you look in the mirror—“What … did you… do?!”
The evidence is strewn about the kitchen.
“I sicken myself.”

Wife:
“So Passover reminds us that we can control what goes into our bodies. (behave)
We don’t NEED to eat bread. We’re not slaves to our stomachs.”

It’s a good point, yet another reason why I like the idea of keeping Kosher or being a vegetarian.
We are not animals.
We do more than eat, sleep and hump (although that sounds like the perfect evening).
We have the ability to think and consider what we consume and why.

Free your mind… and your stomach will follow.
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It could always be worse

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We're gonna start with bodily functions, end up at mortality. Hang on.


“Then thou shalt say unto thy son, We were Pharaoh’s bondmen in Egypt; and the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand.”
-- Deuteronomy 6:21

“My poop is brown. I know, most people’s poop is brown. But I mean… mine is REALLY brown.”
-- ?
First of all, I can’t tell WHO said this last quote, because this person would kill me.

But my initial question: how does this anonymous person know the color of MOST people’s poop? Sure, we can speculate and assume… what, does s/he do when no one is watching? Whom does s/he watch defecate? And why isn’t it me?

Thank you, Passover! For making a certain gentleman/lady’s fecal matter darker than Satan’s soul!


Why? Why, for 7/8 days each year, do Jews put themselves in constipatorial jeopardy (Take that, Trebek! Answer in the form of a BM)?
(or… worse John Grisham novel ever)

Why?

And in an inordinate percentage!

Strictly observant Jews do not work, go to school or carry out any business on the first and last day(s) of Passover … however, only about 10% of the American Jewish population observes this rule strictly. (jewfaq.com)

According to an article by Shmuel Rosner found on slate.com from April 17, 2008, 65% of intermarried Jews and 90% of in-married Jews attend a Passover seder.

Damn!
That’s a lot!

Why? What’s your take on it—why do so many Jews go to a Passover seder each year?


Why?
What is it about a seder that encourages Jews to be Jews?

Well, for one thing—it’s dinner. Who refuses dinner?

Secondly, it’s interactive! There’s singing, choreography, it’s a big production… and Jews love Broadway!
Musicals!
Fabulous!

Also, it reminds people that it could always be worse. So what if your life sucks—at least you’re not a slave… like you used to be.

And that’s yet another reason African-Americans and Jewish-Americans should be BFF.
(The first reason… naturally, both our people are exceptional rappers, basketball players and kugel-makers).

AND another reason many Jews marched for Civil Rights in the South in the 1960s… most notably Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel with Dr. Martin Luther King in Alabama.
(http://www.flickr.com/photos/eliyahu5733/87450235/)

My father just informed me of the following hilarious/harrowing ordeal:
The 17 year old Lincoln Continental he inherited from my grandpa is… no more.
Now—like a Mastercard commercial:
It passed inspection that this past Friday: $157
The new owner's card was ordered on Saturday: $36.50
and an hour before he drove it, he had filled the tank: $45 worth of gas
Watching (from a safe distance) as it catches on fire and burns to a crisp in the parking lot of a …(wait for it) cemetery! … priceless.

For everything else… there’s Irony.

Yes, my parents went to a funeral yesterday.
That’s not funny.
But the fact that their 20 year old car, in which they had just invested $240, burst into flames at the funeral… that’s funny.

But to quote my dad, “It just doesn't matter. If it was going to blow up anyway, thank God it did where and when it did. It could have been so much worse; on a road, in a parking garage, near a house or kids. Baruch HaShem [Thank God]”

Amen, Pop.
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Two Twins and a Lie

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“And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering. But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth…;” (Genesis 4:4-5).


“And the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?”
(Genesis 4:9)


Okay, time for some brutal honesty:

When I was 5 years old I … repeated kindergarten.
But I was not alone—my twin brother also repeated kindergarten.

(sigh)

Oh, sweet Lord forgive me!
That paste was so tasty I had to eat it for another year!

(ahem)

Naturally, after that I developed soul-crushing self-doubts about my intelligence, which is toetully ridikooluss.

(Me likey skissors)

No no. Actually, these doubts were all in my head and completely unfounded.
I was always among the top 30 in my class (And the lady in the trailer on cinder blocks said I read super good, long time).

All that being said— when I turned 13, something changed.
I had my Bar-Mitzvah ceremony, a Jewish rite of passage. So that Friday, the day before my big BM (what?), my father took me aside and quietly said, “Aaron, you’re old enough now to know the truth. When you and your brother finished your first year of kindergarten, the teachers told us that one of you could possibly move on to 1st grade, but the other kid definitely needed to repeat kindergarten… Aaron, YOU were the kid who could’ve moved on to 1st grade.”
I couldn’t believe it.
My father continued, “But we felt it would’ve damaged the relationship between you and your brother, being identical twins and all. And we were told it was better for you to stay behind at the age of 5, rather than struggle to catch up for the rest of elementary school.”
I was shocked.
“But don’t tell your brother, it’ll just make him upset. You can be the bigger man, can’t you, Aaron?”
I assured my father that I could be the bigger man.
And I was.
… for a few hours.
Then my brother and I started arguing over which songs the DJ would play at our Bar Mitzvah party/record hop/ice cream buffet, which would occur the next evening.
My Brother: “That song from ‘Grease’ sucks!”
Me: “Y’know what—YOU suck!”
Brother: “Oh, brilliant comeback.”
Me: “Ha! What do YOU know about brilliant—YOU were the reason we repeated kindergarten!”
My brother looked confused. I felt bad, but I also really wanted the DJ to play ‘Summer Lovin’”—so I continued.
“Yeah, Dad told me that I could’ve gone to 1st grade, but you HAD to be held back, so they held BOTH of us back.”
Then there was a pause, my brother’s eyes got wide and suddenly he shouted, “Dad told ME that YOU had to be held back and that I was the one who could’ve gone to 1st grade!”

What????

Son of a bee sting!

The old man had done it again.

To this day we don’t know which one of us HAD to be held back for that second year of kindergarten… maybe both… maybe neither.

But we do know one thing—
our father
… is a liar.
And blood is thicker than paste.

“For I say,… to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think. …”

-- Romans 12:3
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Cave of wonders

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"And Moses lifted up his hand, and with his rod he smote the rock twice: and the water came out abundantly, and the congregation drank, and their beasts also."
--Numbers 20:10

I have been away from my computer for a few days.
Why?
I was in Petra, Jordan.

What a ride.

What's there to see in Petra?

Well, if you've seen the end of "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade", you know.
There is a monastery (technically dubbed "Treasury") carved into the side of a mountain.
The exterior is used in Indy 3.
It's where Indy found the holy grail!
("We named the DOG 'Indiana'"
"You were named after the dog?! Ha ha ha!")


But apparently it's more than just a set piece. It's real!

And that's only a small part of what they have in Petra.
There are also camels! and donkeys! and loud hairy men trying to sell crappy jewelery and small, annoying children trying to sell postcards.
A magical place.

My wife bought a blue topaz necklace from one fellow. It was only 1 dinar (or $1.50)! What a deal!
Last night she was wearing it as we walked through the streets of Jerusalem. After 15 minutes I noticed something odd.
"Um, honey," I said. "You're bosoms are blue."
Sure enough, he perspiration had caused the blue coloring from the super cheap necklace to rub off onto her chest, giving her a medical condition I dubbed "Avatartits." She thought it looked like Papa Smurf had done something disgusting on her.
My wife! So traveler tip: don't buy jewelery for less than 2 bucks in Petra.

Anyway, we explored the caves of Jordan and learned stuff, too.
And the sandstone rocks in Petra contain zinc oxide, so the ancient Nabataeans (who lived there) would use it as rouge, eye shadow, as well as antibiotic ointment-- all good for the skin.
Cool!

Experts also say Petra was inhabited as far back as 1500 BCE!
Why?

Well, according to Wikipedia (my exhaustive dedication to research is unparalleled), "the Nabataeans controlled flash floods by the use of dams, cisterns and water conduits. These innovations stored water for prolonged periods of drought, and enabled the city to prosper from its sale."
The flash floods came from Wadi Musa, which translated to mean "The Valley of Moses."

Y'see, tradition says that Petra was the site for Moses' impatient rock-hitting, which ticked off God, who then forbade Moses from entering the Promised Land.

"...therefore ye shall not bring this congregation into the land which I have given them"
-- Numbers 20:12

Bummer.

Physical violence isn't the answer.
Whether you're throwing chairs at women praying by the Western Wall, or punching your brother in the nose because you feel guilty about the genocide in Rwanda, or if you're Moses and God tells you "speak ye unto the rock before their eyes; and it shall give forth his water"
(Numbers 20:8).

Use your words!

Even if those words are, "Hey, rock! Gimme some water!"

It's an important lesson-- the most advanced creation by humans is language. And when you stop using language... you stop... y'know... doin' stuff... that is good... to do.

Yup.

"Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent."
-- Isaac Asimov, from his novel "Federation"
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Passover Mobile-- the flat bread truck

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"And ye shall observe the feast of unleavened bread; for in this selfsame day have I brought your armies out of the land of Egypt: therefore shall ye observe this day in your generations by an ordinance for ever."

- Exodus 12:17

"And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body."
- Matthew 26:26

Wow, Jesus. You taste kinda bland.
Could we get a mesquite-flavored lord?

If a communion wafer reminds anyone of matzah, that makes sense, since the Last Supper took place during Passover.

"Now the first day of the feast of unleavened bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying unto him, Where wilt thou that we prepare for thee to eat the passover?"
- Matthew 26:17

Of course, Da Vinci painted bread on the table... yet another mistake of his (the other two: the Vetruvian man actually was wearing a banana hammock and Mona Lisa had six-fingered on her left hand... and killed Inigo Montoya's dad... that bitch).


In America, you folks pay about 75 cents a box. They GIVE away 5 pound boxes at the supermarket.
Ironically, in Israel this is not the case.
$5.75 for a pound of matzah.

I know.

So-- Christians and Jews, connected through stale flatbread.

And yet-- whenever Jews bring in a box of matzah to their places of business, their non-Jewish co-workers go wild.
Why?
Why do non-Jews love matzah so much?

My theory—
Christians have their little Jesus cracker, little sip of wine (we Jews have similar nosh, we just save ours till after services, but tomato-potato).

Christians must see matzah and go, “Damn! Look at the size of that thing. Your god must be HUGE!”
The body of Jesus and all they get is a little saltine?
They’re still paying retail when it comes to religious snack food.

We Jews have the Costco version of the communion wafer.
They have cracker envy, plain and simple.
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