Posts
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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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Tuesday, March 30
Monday, March 29
Passover! Jews & Gentiles
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"And the Jews’ passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem"
-- John 2:13
What is the meaning of Passover?
Here is an exchange between a Christian and a Jewish boy, comparing their respective Spring holidays:
"We go to church... maybe."
"We go to synagogue... maybe."
"Cool. I have to wear a tie and shiny shoes."
"Me too."
"Really? We have my relatives over.
"Me too!"
"Cool! And of course, there's the bunny!"
"Me t—… Say what?"
"The Easter Bunny. The Giant Rabbit that symbolizes Easter… along with pastel eggs"
"Riiiiight."
"You don't have any animals for Passover?"
“Um… we have frogs!”
“Cool! And do they sing and play the banjo?”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Well, are they cute frogs?”
“They WOULD be… if they weren’t preceded by a river of blood and followed by 8 more plagues.”
“Any other Passover animals?”
"Well… we have a song about one little goat."
"Great! And is he a happy, healthy goat?"
"At first… but then he gets eaten by a cat”
“When does that happen in the song?”
“The second verse.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, but that's okay, because the cat that ate the goat gets bitten by a dog, and they hit the dog with a stick, and later there's a cow who is killed and a butcher who is killed and the Angel of Death… it's a song for children! Yeesh!"
"Well… my mom makes glazed ham, candied yams, delicious!”
“We eat matzah… which is like cardboard that makes you irregular.”
“We eat chocolate eggs, chocolate rabbits, chocolate candy of all kinds!”
“We eat… chocolate-covered… matzah! Jesus.”
“I’ll trade you my chocolate eggs for your matzah.”
“Really??? Sure… Wow, what a schmuck. Jesus!”
“Where?”
(The mystery isn't who hid the Afikoman or why the Christian God has a Hispanic name, it's the fact that Gentiles love matzah— go figure!)
Happy Passover!
May none of your four questions include- "Whose bra is this?"
.javascript:void(0)
"And the Jews’ passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem"
-- John 2:13
What is the meaning of Passover?
Here is an exchange between a Christian and a Jewish boy, comparing their respective Spring holidays:
"We go to church... maybe."
"We go to synagogue... maybe."
"Cool. I have to wear a tie and shiny shoes."
"Me too."
"Really? We have my relatives over.
"Me too!"
"Cool! And of course, there's the bunny!"
"Me t—… Say what?"
"The Easter Bunny. The Giant Rabbit that symbolizes Easter… along with pastel eggs"
"Riiiiight."
"You don't have any animals for Passover?"
“Um… we have frogs!”
“Cool! And do they sing and play the banjo?”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Well, are they cute frogs?”
“They WOULD be… if they weren’t preceded by a river of blood and followed by 8 more plagues.”
“Any other Passover animals?”
"Well… we have a song about one little goat."
"Great! And is he a happy, healthy goat?"
"At first… but then he gets eaten by a cat”
“When does that happen in the song?”
“The second verse.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, but that's okay, because the cat that ate the goat gets bitten by a dog, and they hit the dog with a stick, and later there's a cow who is killed and a butcher who is killed and the Angel of Death… it's a song for children! Yeesh!"
"Well… my mom makes glazed ham, candied yams, delicious!”
“We eat matzah… which is like cardboard that makes you irregular.”
“We eat chocolate eggs, chocolate rabbits, chocolate candy of all kinds!”
“We eat… chocolate-covered… matzah! Jesus.”
“I’ll trade you my chocolate eggs for your matzah.”
“Really??? Sure… Wow, what a schmuck. Jesus!”
“Where?”
(The mystery isn't who hid the Afikoman or why the Christian God has a Hispanic name, it's the fact that Gentiles love matzah— go figure!)
Happy Passover!
May none of your four questions include- "Whose bra is this?"
.javascript:void(0)
I Know You Want to Cleave Me...
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“For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife”
-- Mark 10:7 (based on Genesis 2:24)
How unique is my wife?
When I came home this afternoon, I started checking my e-mail on my wife’s computer.
Here is what I found:
In the DVD player:
“Star Trek, Next Generation, Season 6”
Google word search?
“Fluffy matzah balls”
Youtube video search?
“How to cut your man’s hair”
Moral:
My wife had two things in her hands today—
Scissors and balls.
ahem.
She boldly goes where no one has gone before
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“For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife”
-- Mark 10:7 (based on Genesis 2:24)
How unique is my wife?
When I came home this afternoon, I started checking my e-mail on my wife’s computer.
Here is what I found:
In the DVD player:
“Star Trek, Next Generation, Season 6”
Google word search?
“Fluffy matzah balls”
Youtube video search?
“How to cut your man’s hair”
Moral:
My wife had two things in her hands today—
Scissors and balls.
ahem.
She boldly goes where no one has gone before
.
Sunday, March 28
Jewman Trafficking
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“Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently… fret not… Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the LORD, they shall inherit the earth.”
-- Psalms 37:7-9
What is the worst thing about Israel?
Time’s up.
Answer:
Traffic.
I was reading last year’s Frommer’s guide, which says:
“Terrorism has become a problem everywhere in the world…. Despite the news of the past few years, the chance is actually greater that you’ll be involved in a traffic mishap while in Israel.”
--- (Robert Ullian, p.73)
Hooray!
Yahoo for school!
Yeah, that’s a relief for all you tourists, but that doesn’t bode well for me!
And trust me, I must bode well (if I bode at all, and with my sciatica, I don’t bode too frequently… is this horse dead yet?).
Jerusalem is like Time’s Square combined with Boston rush hour and y’know those crazy cab drivers in Manhattan? Well, that’s how ALL Israelis drive!
Generalization? Sure. But close to the truth.
Running through the streets of Jerusalem, I am privy to some of the most terrifying traffic known to man. Everyone feels entitled: the buses, the taxis, the pedestrians—you can see a 2 ton bus filled with 30 people brought to a stand-still when a 23-year old Orthodox mom, pushing a stroller with twins and carrying 15 pounds of rugelach, bumps into a friend and decides to catch up on old times… in the middle of the street.
You know how docile most Jews are? Well, not here! In Israel the Jews all have guns by the time they’re 18.
So most Jews opt to walk in Jerusalem.
And why not?
That's how we got here in the first place.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."
-- Psalm 23:4
(or was it Coolio?)
(or maybe Weird Al)
“Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently… fret not… Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the LORD, they shall inherit the earth.”
-- Psalms 37:7-9
What is the worst thing about Israel?
Time’s up.
Answer:
Traffic.
I was reading last year’s Frommer’s guide, which says:
“Terrorism has become a problem everywhere in the world…. Despite the news of the past few years, the chance is actually greater that you’ll be involved in a traffic mishap while in Israel.”
--- (Robert Ullian, p.73)
Hooray!
Yahoo for school!
Yeah, that’s a relief for all you tourists, but that doesn’t bode well for me!
And trust me, I must bode well (if I bode at all, and with my sciatica, I don’t bode too frequently… is this horse dead yet?).
Jerusalem is like Time’s Square combined with Boston rush hour and y’know those crazy cab drivers in Manhattan? Well, that’s how ALL Israelis drive!
Generalization? Sure. But close to the truth.
Running through the streets of Jerusalem, I am privy to some of the most terrifying traffic known to man. Everyone feels entitled: the buses, the taxis, the pedestrians—you can see a 2 ton bus filled with 30 people brought to a stand-still when a 23-year old Orthodox mom, pushing a stroller with twins and carrying 15 pounds of rugelach, bumps into a friend and decides to catch up on old times… in the middle of the street.
You know how docile most Jews are? Well, not here! In Israel the Jews all have guns by the time they’re 18.
So most Jews opt to walk in Jerusalem.
And why not?
That's how we got here in the first place.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."
-- Psalm 23:4
(or was it Coolio?)
(or maybe Weird Al)
Saturday, March 27
Bro's
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"A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."
- Proverbs 17:17
Amen, Proverbs. Amen.
I remember the summer I turned 15.
My older brother and I were swimming in the ocean off the Jersey Shore (motto: “Now with less corpses than the Hudson”).
We were splashing around, having a gay ol’ time (it was fabulous), when suddenly my brother screamed.
Don’t panic.
It wasn’t a blood-curdling scream (if his blood were yogurt, it would still be fresh). But he was definitely in pain.
He quickly swam back to shore, and I followed.
He lay on the sand and that’s when I saw his left leg— was tinted pink with red pustules.
“Jellyfish,” he said, betwixt expletives.
He winced, I fretted and began helping him walk back home from the beach.
But he was in too much pain.
Something had to be done.
And so I snapped into action.
And some of you already know what’s coming.
We had heard rumors that uric acid neutralizes the stinging of jellyfish .
Well, rumors are good enough for me!
(as it turns out, that only works for stings from sea urchins... oh well)
We climbed a dune, stood behind a bush, and I did my brotherly duty (that’s d-u-t-y… I just went #1).
Why did I do it?
Because I love my brother.
And did it help?
It helped me… I really had to go.
But that’s what brother’s do for one another.
They laugh together.
They cry together.
And when the time comes,
they piss on each other.
.
"A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."
- Proverbs 17:17
Amen, Proverbs. Amen.
I remember the summer I turned 15.
My older brother and I were swimming in the ocean off the Jersey Shore (motto: “Now with less corpses than the Hudson”).
We were splashing around, having a gay ol’ time (it was fabulous), when suddenly my brother screamed.
Don’t panic.
It wasn’t a blood-curdling scream (if his blood were yogurt, it would still be fresh). But he was definitely in pain.
He quickly swam back to shore, and I followed.
He lay on the sand and that’s when I saw his left leg— was tinted pink with red pustules.
“Jellyfish,” he said, betwixt expletives.
He winced, I fretted and began helping him walk back home from the beach.
But he was in too much pain.
Something had to be done.
And so I snapped into action.
And some of you already know what’s coming.
We had heard rumors that uric acid neutralizes the stinging of jellyfish .
Well, rumors are good enough for me!
(as it turns out, that only works for stings from sea urchins... oh well)
We climbed a dune, stood behind a bush, and I did my brotherly duty (that’s d-u-t-y… I just went #1).
Why did I do it?
Because I love my brother.
And did it help?
It helped me… I really had to go.
But that’s what brother’s do for one another.
They laugh together.
They cry together.
And when the time comes,
they piss on each other.
.
Friday, March 26
“ Don’t Stop Believin’ ”-- Journey
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Living here in Israel, my lovely wife and I get homesick for the United States.
And the best way to feel at home?
Watch DVDs! My best friends in the whole wide world!
I own many DVDs of many varieties: drama, sports, comedy, action, TV series, Pixar, home movies…
Impressed?
Of course.
My wife owns many DVDs, as well.
Eighty percent of which are “Star Trek” episodes.
Every single episode of “The Next Generation,” 129 hours, 49 DVDs.
Ahem.
But she’s a girl… so you can’t make jokes about how she’ll never get a girlfriend (ooh, that would be hot, though--- right?).
My wife often forces me to watch the intergalactic escapades of the Star Trek gang—including Geordi la Forge and Worf (the only brothers on TNG, one of them’s blind and the other has a skull shaped like the Agrocrag from Nickelodean’s “Guts”)
But here’s a gem of an exchange between the android, Data, and Lal, his “daughter,” another android:
Lal:
Then why do you still try to emulate humans? What purpose does it serve except to remind you that you are incomplete?
Lt. Cmdr. Data:
I have asked myself that many times, as I have struggled to be more human. Until I realized it is the struggle itself that is most important. We must strive to be more than we are, Lal. It does not matter that we will never reach our ultimate goal. The effort yields its own rewards.
-- (TNG, Season 3, ep. 16, "The Offspring,” written by René Echevarria)
Oh, Data, you so crazy…
That wisdom could’ve come from the mouth of Jesus, Obi wan… or a fortune cookie.
That’s good, profound stuff.
Essentially-- it’s the Journey, not the Destination.
A trite saying, but still true.
And ‘tis the season for a journey!
The holiday of Passover begins this Monday evening, commemorating the Israelites’ exodus from slavery in Egypt. Then they wandered in the desert for 40 years, finally making it to Canaan… later dubbed Israel, and all their problems came to an end.
But the Journey is more important than the destination.
Most Jews have been on a journey.
We’re a nomadic people.
Most Jews have lived OUTSIDE of Israel for most of world history, unsure where to call “home.”
Heck, it even takes the Israelites all 5 books of the Torah just to get to Israel.
And once they’re there… stuff gets complicated.
Y’see, as a nomadic people—sure life sucks, but it’s simple.
You live somewhere. The natives try to kill you… you pack up your stuff and go some place else.
Jules: I'll just walk the earth.
Vincent: What'cha mean walk the earth?
Jules: You know, walk the earth, meet people... get into adventures. Like Caine from "Kung Fu."
-- “Pulp Fiction”, 1994, screenplay by Quentin Tarantino
Amen, Jules.
It’s all about the journey.
Especially when it comes to women and romance.
A night of love starts with dinner—
Sure, dessert is the best part of the meal, but you gotta do some foreplay with the salad and soup before shoving that hot, tasty slice of cherry pie in your face, with whip cream running down your— and the pie might be too hot, you burn your tongue—oh god, the crust is in my hair…
ahem.
… and that’s not good for anybody.
Food-sex Analogy—nailed it.
But I will miss that pie (no no, literal pie) next week, when Passover starts. Observant Jews refrain from eating bread and bread products for a week. Why?
“And Moses said unto the people, Remember this day, in which ye came out from Egypt, out of the house of bondage; for by strength of hand the LORD brought you out from this place: there shall no leavened bread be eaten.”
-- Exodus 13:3
“Logic doesn’t really work with Passover.”
-- My lovely wife, earlier today
Amen, Wife.
It’s impossible to truly know what it was like to be a slave in Egypt, but we can limit our diets for one week, suffering a little bit… like slaves.
And really- is it THAT big a deal, to go all “Atkins” for a week?
… hell yes!
But it’s a journey.
A seven-day constipated journey.
.
Living here in Israel, my lovely wife and I get homesick for the United States.
And the best way to feel at home?
Watch DVDs! My best friends in the whole wide world!
I own many DVDs of many varieties: drama, sports, comedy, action, TV series, Pixar, home movies…
Impressed?
Of course.
My wife owns many DVDs, as well.
Eighty percent of which are “Star Trek” episodes.
Every single episode of “The Next Generation,” 129 hours, 49 DVDs.
Ahem.
But she’s a girl… so you can’t make jokes about how she’ll never get a girlfriend (ooh, that would be hot, though--- right?).
My wife often forces me to watch the intergalactic escapades of the Star Trek gang—including Geordi la Forge and Worf (the only brothers on TNG, one of them’s blind and the other has a skull shaped like the Agrocrag from Nickelodean’s “Guts”)
But here’s a gem of an exchange between the android, Data, and Lal, his “daughter,” another android:
Lal:
Then why do you still try to emulate humans? What purpose does it serve except to remind you that you are incomplete?
Lt. Cmdr. Data:
I have asked myself that many times, as I have struggled to be more human. Until I realized it is the struggle itself that is most important. We must strive to be more than we are, Lal. It does not matter that we will never reach our ultimate goal. The effort yields its own rewards.
-- (TNG, Season 3, ep. 16, "The Offspring,” written by René Echevarria)
Oh, Data, you so crazy…
That wisdom could’ve come from the mouth of Jesus, Obi wan… or a fortune cookie.
That’s good, profound stuff.
Essentially-- it’s the Journey, not the Destination.
A trite saying, but still true.
And ‘tis the season for a journey!
The holiday of Passover begins this Monday evening, commemorating the Israelites’ exodus from slavery in Egypt. Then they wandered in the desert for 40 years, finally making it to Canaan… later dubbed Israel, and all their problems came to an end.
But the Journey is more important than the destination.
Most Jews have been on a journey.
We’re a nomadic people.
Most Jews have lived OUTSIDE of Israel for most of world history, unsure where to call “home.”
Heck, it even takes the Israelites all 5 books of the Torah just to get to Israel.
And once they’re there… stuff gets complicated.
Y’see, as a nomadic people—sure life sucks, but it’s simple.
You live somewhere. The natives try to kill you… you pack up your stuff and go some place else.
Jules: I'll just walk the earth.
Vincent: What'cha mean walk the earth?
Jules: You know, walk the earth, meet people... get into adventures. Like Caine from "Kung Fu."
-- “Pulp Fiction”, 1994, screenplay by Quentin Tarantino
Amen, Jules.
It’s all about the journey.
Especially when it comes to women and romance.
A night of love starts with dinner—
Sure, dessert is the best part of the meal, but you gotta do some foreplay with the salad and soup before shoving that hot, tasty slice of cherry pie in your face, with whip cream running down your— and the pie might be too hot, you burn your tongue—oh god, the crust is in my hair…
ahem.
… and that’s not good for anybody.
Food-sex Analogy—nailed it.
But I will miss that pie (no no, literal pie) next week, when Passover starts. Observant Jews refrain from eating bread and bread products for a week. Why?
“And Moses said unto the people, Remember this day, in which ye came out from Egypt, out of the house of bondage; for by strength of hand the LORD brought you out from this place: there shall no leavened bread be eaten.”
-- Exodus 13:3
“Logic doesn’t really work with Passover.”
-- My lovely wife, earlier today
Amen, Wife.
It’s impossible to truly know what it was like to be a slave in Egypt, but we can limit our diets for one week, suffering a little bit… like slaves.
And really- is it THAT big a deal, to go all “Atkins” for a week?
… hell yes!
But it’s a journey.
A seven-day constipated journey.
.
Thursday, March 25
Say The Magic Word
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"A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger."
-- Proverbs 15:1
Saying the right thing at the right time, can save you.
We’ve all been in situations where we said the exact, right thing and BAM—it feels great!
Jesus did that a lot.
Abraham Lincoln always seemed to have a response.
And any character in an Aaron Sorkin show—great lines.
Cyrano de Bergerac had the right idea.
Clever quips, poignant asides, great advice in times of need—- it's what we try for.
I remember two years ago, my dad was in the hospital for some spinal surgery.
My father was a figure of power and strength for my most of my childhood— he lifted anything and everything— huge planks of wood, tons of bricks, bags of cement, and on several occasions, my brothers and myself.
Then, in 2008, he had some minor surgery on his spine and neck. Minor, sure, but it’s still surgery.
The day we took him home from the hospital (it was only overnight), he was a bit upset-- ornery, if you will. He felt weak, he felt feeble, he was in the first stages of recovery. He could barely turn his head and needed to use a cane when walking (he’s much more mobile now).
But my dad was stubborn.
“I don’t want the damn cane.”
My mother insisted (as did the physical therapist), “Take the cane.”
“No.”
Back and forth, they went.
Finally my dad, fed up, shouted, “Leave the cane!”
I quietly chimed in, “Take the cannoli.”
(à la “The Godfather”)
There was a beat.
And then… laughter.
My dad laughed.
It cut the tension into itty bitty pieces.
Was that the funniest, cleverest thing I’ve ever said.
Of course not!
I am a comedic genius! I can think of much funnier stuff at any given moment
(example: Uh… monkey?… diarrhea sandwich?... oh, to hell with it)
But saying the right thing, at the right time, diffusing a tense situation…
Priceless.
That might have been the most rewarding laugh of my life.
Of course, I learned by watching my old man.
Just one night earlier, a few hours before his surgery, my brothers and I were visiting my dad in his hospital room.
“Aaron,” he said, “Could you unplug my heating pad? It’s the blue extension chord in the wall.”
I stooped down beside the bed, there were several plugs and wires in the wall outlet, connected to his IV drip, heart/pulse monitor, etc. No life support or anything.
I double-checked the wire of the heating pad, a blue extension chord and my dad assured me (“Yeah, the blue one”).
I should’ve expected what happened next…
I yanked out the blue chord and immediately— I heard my Dad yelp, “Oh god!”
I looked up, one hand gripping his chest, the other hand flailing about.
“Jesus Christ!”
And then, immediately— laughter.
First from my father and then my brothers. Raucous, belly laughter.
Not from me, so much. But they enjoyed it.
“Oh, you should’ve seen yourself,” my dad has said many times since, laughing at my abject terror, “Oh man. All the color left your face, you thought you’d killed me. It was great.”
Timing is everything.
.
"A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger."
-- Proverbs 15:1
Saying the right thing at the right time, can save you.
We’ve all been in situations where we said the exact, right thing and BAM—it feels great!
Jesus did that a lot.
Abraham Lincoln always seemed to have a response.
And any character in an Aaron Sorkin show—great lines.
Cyrano de Bergerac had the right idea.
Clever quips, poignant asides, great advice in times of need—- it's what we try for.
I remember two years ago, my dad was in the hospital for some spinal surgery.
My father was a figure of power and strength for my most of my childhood— he lifted anything and everything— huge planks of wood, tons of bricks, bags of cement, and on several occasions, my brothers and myself.
Then, in 2008, he had some minor surgery on his spine and neck. Minor, sure, but it’s still surgery.
The day we took him home from the hospital (it was only overnight), he was a bit upset-- ornery, if you will. He felt weak, he felt feeble, he was in the first stages of recovery. He could barely turn his head and needed to use a cane when walking (he’s much more mobile now).
But my dad was stubborn.
“I don’t want the damn cane.”
My mother insisted (as did the physical therapist), “Take the cane.”
“No.”
Back and forth, they went.
Finally my dad, fed up, shouted, “Leave the cane!”
I quietly chimed in, “Take the cannoli.”
(à la “The Godfather”)
There was a beat.
And then… laughter.
My dad laughed.
It cut the tension into itty bitty pieces.
Was that the funniest, cleverest thing I’ve ever said.
Of course not!
I am a comedic genius! I can think of much funnier stuff at any given moment
(example: Uh… monkey?… diarrhea sandwich?... oh, to hell with it)
But saying the right thing, at the right time, diffusing a tense situation…
Priceless.
That might have been the most rewarding laugh of my life.
Of course, I learned by watching my old man.
Just one night earlier, a few hours before his surgery, my brothers and I were visiting my dad in his hospital room.
“Aaron,” he said, “Could you unplug my heating pad? It’s the blue extension chord in the wall.”
I stooped down beside the bed, there were several plugs and wires in the wall outlet, connected to his IV drip, heart/pulse monitor, etc. No life support or anything.
I double-checked the wire of the heating pad, a blue extension chord and my dad assured me (“Yeah, the blue one”).
I should’ve expected what happened next…
I yanked out the blue chord and immediately— I heard my Dad yelp, “Oh god!”
I looked up, one hand gripping his chest, the other hand flailing about.
“Jesus Christ!”
And then, immediately— laughter.
First from my father and then my brothers. Raucous, belly laughter.
Not from me, so much. But they enjoyed it.
“Oh, you should’ve seen yourself,” my dad has said many times since, laughing at my abject terror, “Oh man. All the color left your face, you thought you’d killed me. It was great.”
Timing is everything.
.
Wednesday, March 24
“Let he among us without sin be the first to condemn/ La vie boheme” - Rent
.
“Jesus went unto the mount of Olives….
He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”
-- John 8:1,8
I was jogging through Jerusalem, as I am wont to do (why am I wont to do something? Because I want to do it. Won’t you? … ahem… so who’s on first?).
I ran by a sign with an arrow that read “Har ha-Zeytim.”
That means, literally, “Mountain of Olives.”
Coincidence—last night I was watching the film “Cloudy With a chance of meatballs”… and here was a mountain of olives?!
Point of Fact—that film, in Israel is translated as “Rain of Falafel.”
Know your audience.
(I think "Alice in Wonderland" is called “Shiksa Trips Balls on Hashish”)
Actually, Mount Olives (located in East Jerusalem) is fairly well-known.
First mention in 2nd Samuel 15:30, when King David flees the murderous Absalom (ironic name: “Father of Peace”)
Even Jesus hung out there a lot. According to the infallible word of Wikipedia, “Jesus is said to have spent time on the mount, teaching and prophesying to his disciples.”
So if Jesus is Zack Morris, Mt. Olives is “The Max.”
Completely inoffensive analogy, right?
After all, Zack Morris WAS like Jesus ca. 1991:
Zack Morris could stop—looking at the camera and saying, “Time out!”
He didn’t cure lepers, but he could make Screech cool (I’m sure that must’ve been an episode)
He healed the sick -- helped Jessi kick that nasty caffeine pill addiction; “I’m so excited, I’m so excited, I’m so— (say it with me) SCARED.”
And Zack Morris had his own Mary Magdalane.
He turned the whorish Kelly Kopowski into… less of a whore? Right? They got married in Hawaii or something.
OKAY!
Back to Jesus!
And Mount Olives!
Why did Jesus make that famous proclamation about the person without sin can cast the first stone?
Because the people “brought unto him a woman taken in adultery.” The people point out to Jesus, “Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?”
In other words, kid to the baby-sitter: “My dad lets me eat jellybeans for dinner! He does!”
And Jesus says that oh-so-famous phrase.
The people shut up, leave the room, and leave the woman and Jesus alone. He tells her, get outta here and quite fornicatin’ with married dudes (not in so many words)
(John 8:1-11).
Amen.
So—don’t cast a stone! We’ve all made mistakes.
Say it with me:
Pobody’s Nerfect.
Michael Jordan missed shots.
Tom Hanks has made crappy movies.
Some of Hemingway’s stories sucked.
So don’t beat yourself up over everything.
But that also means you gotta cut other people some slack, too.
When you point a finger at someone... you're pointing three at yourself.
... and the thumb... well, the thumb doesn't do a damn thing.
“All of you lied. Should you have asterisks behind your names? All of you have said something wrong. All of you have dirt. When your closet’s clean, then clean somebody else’s. But clean yours first.”
-- Barry Bonds, from the 2008 documentary “Bigger, Stronger, Faster*”
“Moses was a hero, but Moses was a heel, he didn’t get into the promised land, didn’t do what God told him to do.
David was a hero, but David was heel. He chased every woman in a skirt or toga or whatever they wore back then.
Every man is fallible and even the people who were the prime examples of how to run your life in the Bible-- screwed up. They all screwed up.
People need to get off their self-righteous soap boxes and start lovin’ each other."
-- the father of the filmmaker, Chris Bell, from the same film
.
“Jesus went unto the mount of Olives….
He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”
-- John 8:1,8
I was jogging through Jerusalem, as I am wont to do (why am I wont to do something? Because I want to do it. Won’t you? … ahem… so who’s on first?).
I ran by a sign with an arrow that read “Har ha-Zeytim.”
That means, literally, “Mountain of Olives.”
Coincidence—last night I was watching the film “Cloudy With a chance of meatballs”… and here was a mountain of olives?!
Point of Fact—that film, in Israel is translated as “Rain of Falafel.”
Know your audience.
(I think "Alice in Wonderland" is called “Shiksa Trips Balls on Hashish”)
Actually, Mount Olives (located in East Jerusalem) is fairly well-known.
First mention in 2nd Samuel 15:30, when King David flees the murderous Absalom (ironic name: “Father of Peace”)
Even Jesus hung out there a lot. According to the infallible word of Wikipedia, “Jesus is said to have spent time on the mount, teaching and prophesying to his disciples.”
So if Jesus is Zack Morris, Mt. Olives is “The Max.”
Completely inoffensive analogy, right?
After all, Zack Morris WAS like Jesus ca. 1991:
Zack Morris could stop—looking at the camera and saying, “Time out!”
He didn’t cure lepers, but he could make Screech cool (I’m sure that must’ve been an episode)
He healed the sick -- helped Jessi kick that nasty caffeine pill addiction; “I’m so excited, I’m so excited, I’m so— (say it with me) SCARED.”
And Zack Morris had his own Mary Magdalane.
He turned the whorish Kelly Kopowski into… less of a whore? Right? They got married in Hawaii or something.
OKAY!
Back to Jesus!
And Mount Olives!
Why did Jesus make that famous proclamation about the person without sin can cast the first stone?
Because the people “brought unto him a woman taken in adultery.” The people point out to Jesus, “Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?”
In other words, kid to the baby-sitter: “My dad lets me eat jellybeans for dinner! He does!”
And Jesus says that oh-so-famous phrase.
The people shut up, leave the room, and leave the woman and Jesus alone. He tells her, get outta here and quite fornicatin’ with married dudes (not in so many words)
(John 8:1-11).
Amen.
So—don’t cast a stone! We’ve all made mistakes.
Say it with me:
Pobody’s Nerfect.
Michael Jordan missed shots.
Tom Hanks has made crappy movies.
Some of Hemingway’s stories sucked.
So don’t beat yourself up over everything.
But that also means you gotta cut other people some slack, too.
When you point a finger at someone... you're pointing three at yourself.
... and the thumb... well, the thumb doesn't do a damn thing.
“All of you lied. Should you have asterisks behind your names? All of you have said something wrong. All of you have dirt. When your closet’s clean, then clean somebody else’s. But clean yours first.”
-- Barry Bonds, from the 2008 documentary “Bigger, Stronger, Faster*”
“Moses was a hero, but Moses was a heel, he didn’t get into the promised land, didn’t do what God told him to do.
David was a hero, but David was heel. He chased every woman in a skirt or toga or whatever they wore back then.
Every man is fallible and even the people who were the prime examples of how to run your life in the Bible-- screwed up. They all screwed up.
People need to get off their self-righteous soap boxes and start lovin’ each other."
-- the father of the filmmaker, Chris Bell, from the same film
.
Tuesday, March 23
Brother from... the same mother
.
"And when her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold, there were twins in her womb.... And the first... and they called his name Esau. 25:26 And after that came his brother... Jacob."
-- Genesis 24:24-26
As usual I was googling homosexuals on the web.
whoa, whoa, whoa...
like you don't?
Okay, as the husband of a rabbi-in-training, when I introduce myself to people I say, "I'm married to a future rabbi... I'm not gay... but I AM open to suggestion (wink)."
Because a lot people are traditional and do not know that women can be rabbis... and I can come off as being very FABULOUS!
I was speaking with a fellow husband of a female rabbi-to-be, and-- naturally-- we were discussing homosexuals.
We arrived on the King of Kings himself...
Liberace! Whose full name was... Wladziu Valentino Liberace.
Born in ... (wait for it)... Wisconsin!
Really.
But guess what-- Liberace had a stillborn twin brother!
And I remembered, so did Elvis! (whose middle name was Aaron, btw! Rep-a-zent!)
And who else had a stillborn twin?
I almost did.
I have an older brother named Jacob.
I have an identical twin brother named Esau.
No, no-- his name is Zack.
I was born first, 15 minutes before him. So I am technically older (not that it makes a difference-- I didn't do anything constructive with the time. I didn't boil some rice or finish a Sudoku).
But y'see, my brother was coming out backwards (out my mother's ass).
He was coming out feet first. So the doctors had to do a C-section on my mom, slicing her open like a Thanksgiving turkey (except there was no stuffing... just my brother... although the amniotic fluid WAS gravy... repulsed yet?).
Actually, the doctors saved his life, because the umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck (don't know how THAT happened-- wink).
Anyhoo, I very nearly DIDN'T have a twin brother.
And that would've... sucked.
Siblings are in your life for three major reasons:
to keep you humble ("Nobel Prize, Shmobel Prize. Remember the time you barfed on grandma?")
to bond/identify with someone about relatives ("Dad thinks the mailman is stealing the newspaper again")
and to have an all-purpose confidant.
To have someone help cover up your obvious marijuana-induced high-ness before your parents see you.
To have someone help hide pornography before your parents find it ("Son, what's this 'Donkey and Co-eds' magazine?")
To have someone help you through the tough times in life.
To tell you all women are she-devils when one breaks your heart.
To tell you when you can do better.
To tell you, "Indiana... Let it go, Indiana."
And to have someone who resents the fame of Mary-Kate and Ashley as much as you do.
"Seek always to do some good, somewhere. Every man has to seek in his own way to realize his true worth. You must give some time to your fellow man. For remember, you don't live in a world all your own. Your brothers are here too."
-- Albert Schweitzer
.
"And when her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold, there were twins in her womb.... And the first... and they called his name Esau. 25:26 And after that came his brother... Jacob."
-- Genesis 24:24-26
As usual I was googling homosexuals on the web.
whoa, whoa, whoa...
like you don't?
Okay, as the husband of a rabbi-in-training, when I introduce myself to people I say, "I'm married to a future rabbi... I'm not gay... but I AM open to suggestion (wink)."
Because a lot people are traditional and do not know that women can be rabbis... and I can come off as being very FABULOUS!
I was speaking with a fellow husband of a female rabbi-to-be, and-- naturally-- we were discussing homosexuals.
We arrived on the King of Kings himself...
Liberace! Whose full name was... Wladziu Valentino Liberace.
Born in ... (wait for it)... Wisconsin!
Really.
But guess what-- Liberace had a stillborn twin brother!
And I remembered, so did Elvis! (whose middle name was Aaron, btw! Rep-a-zent!)
And who else had a stillborn twin?
I almost did.
I have an older brother named Jacob.
I have an identical twin brother named Esau.
No, no-- his name is Zack.
I was born first, 15 minutes before him. So I am technically older (not that it makes a difference-- I didn't do anything constructive with the time. I didn't boil some rice or finish a Sudoku).
But y'see, my brother was coming out backwards (out my mother's ass).
He was coming out feet first. So the doctors had to do a C-section on my mom, slicing her open like a Thanksgiving turkey (except there was no stuffing... just my brother... although the amniotic fluid WAS gravy... repulsed yet?).
Actually, the doctors saved his life, because the umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck (don't know how THAT happened-- wink).
Anyhoo, I very nearly DIDN'T have a twin brother.
And that would've... sucked.
Siblings are in your life for three major reasons:
to keep you humble ("Nobel Prize, Shmobel Prize. Remember the time you barfed on grandma?")
to bond/identify with someone about relatives ("Dad thinks the mailman is stealing the newspaper again")
and to have an all-purpose confidant.
To have someone help cover up your obvious marijuana-induced high-ness before your parents see you.
To have someone help hide pornography before your parents find it ("Son, what's this 'Donkey and Co-eds' magazine?")
To have someone help you through the tough times in life.
To tell you all women are she-devils when one breaks your heart.
To tell you when you can do better.
To tell you, "Indiana... Let it go, Indiana."
And to have someone who resents the fame of Mary-Kate and Ashley as much as you do.
"Seek always to do some good, somewhere. Every man has to seek in his own way to realize his true worth. You must give some time to your fellow man. For remember, you don't live in a world all your own. Your brothers are here too."
-- Albert Schweitzer
.
Monday, March 22
I Got 99 Problems...
.
"It is better to dwell in the wilderness, Than with a contentious and an angry woman."
- Proverbs 21:19
This also the motto of Fire Island.
Kidding!
Today I was running through Jerusalem's version of Central Park: Gan Soccer (translation: Garden... Soccer-- okay, actually "Soccer Garden"... much better). Crazy thing, though: That's only how it's pronounced. It's spelled "Gan Sacher."
It's actually named after some dude named Harry Sacher, an English zionist-- pronounced "Soccer," but people coincidentally play a lot of soccer there (or "futball", with an umlaut)!
And they wear little beanies on their heads
And they also call french fries "chips"--
What a country!
(really)
Anyhoo, I was running through "Gan Sacher", down pathways, amongst the trees and dirt, up hills I didn't recognize, and when I emerged from the wooded area-- guess what!
There was Mr. Tumnus, telling me to follow him... into the back of his van (he promised me Turkish delights. He promised... Oh god! What have I done?!).
NO, actually, I left the park and found myself one block away from my lovely wife's school!
Kismet!
I felt like those three pets returning to their masters in Homeward Bound! (also because I lick myself)
I called my wife, she came outside and we embraced, like we hadn't seen each other since ... this morning. We walked and talked. Talking of course leads to... arguing!
But that's okay.
We bickered a little, but quickly reconciled-- that's the beauty of a long-term relationship (or marriage)-- fights can escalate-- but they resolve themselves a lot faster than they used to.
Why?
Because you got each other's back. You got a permanent cheer leader. Someone in your corner. And that's the greatest.
That's love.
"Baby, you're the greatest!"
-- Ralph Kramden, to wife Alice (when he wasn't threatening her with physical violence)
Why am I telling you this?
So you resent me!
And because I just heard a D'var Torah (a sermon based on the weekly Torah portion) that advised me: Don't pass up opportunities to tell people how much they mean to you. Call a friend, relative, teacher, etc.
Let people know how you feel. What have you got to lose?
With the interwebs and cellular telephone machines, it's easier than ever to contact people. Trust me, I am incredibly lazy, so if I'M saying it... well then.
Touch base.
Reconnect.
And for god sakes-- stay out of Mr. Tumnus' van! (he made me his "Princess Caspian")
.
"It is better to dwell in the wilderness, Than with a contentious and an angry woman."
- Proverbs 21:19
This also the motto of Fire Island.
Kidding!
Today I was running through Jerusalem's version of Central Park: Gan Soccer (translation: Garden... Soccer-- okay, actually "Soccer Garden"... much better). Crazy thing, though: That's only how it's pronounced. It's spelled "Gan Sacher."
It's actually named after some dude named Harry Sacher, an English zionist-- pronounced "Soccer," but people coincidentally play a lot of soccer there (or "futball", with an umlaut)!
And they wear little beanies on their heads
And they also call french fries "chips"--
What a country!
(really)
Anyhoo, I was running through "Gan Sacher", down pathways, amongst the trees and dirt, up hills I didn't recognize, and when I emerged from the wooded area-- guess what!
There was Mr. Tumnus, telling me to follow him... into the back of his van (he promised me Turkish delights. He promised... Oh god! What have I done?!).
NO, actually, I left the park and found myself one block away from my lovely wife's school!
Kismet!
I felt like those three pets returning to their masters in Homeward Bound! (also because I lick myself)
I called my wife, she came outside and we embraced, like we hadn't seen each other since ... this morning. We walked and talked. Talking of course leads to... arguing!
But that's okay.
We bickered a little, but quickly reconciled-- that's the beauty of a long-term relationship (or marriage)-- fights can escalate-- but they resolve themselves a lot faster than they used to.
Why?
Because you got each other's back. You got a permanent cheer leader. Someone in your corner. And that's the greatest.
That's love.
"Baby, you're the greatest!"
-- Ralph Kramden, to wife Alice (when he wasn't threatening her with physical violence)
Why am I telling you this?
So you resent me!
And because I just heard a D'var Torah (a sermon based on the weekly Torah portion) that advised me: Don't pass up opportunities to tell people how much they mean to you. Call a friend, relative, teacher, etc.
Let people know how you feel. What have you got to lose?
With the interwebs and cellular telephone machines, it's easier than ever to contact people. Trust me, I am incredibly lazy, so if I'M saying it... well then.
Touch base.
Reconnect.
And for god sakes-- stay out of Mr. Tumnus' van! (he made me his "Princess Caspian")
.
Sunday, March 21
Say What???
.
“Day unto day uttereth speech…
There is no speech nor language…
Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD..."
-- Psalm 19:14
I was buying some food in the shuk last week.
“What is the shuk?” I hear you ask hypothetically!
It is an open-air market in the heart of Jerusalem.
Istanbul has one.
Cairo has one.
Many cities in the Middle East have one.
And, from my experience, they all suck!
Haggling, not a pleasant experience.
It’s like buying a car, but one egg at a time. One orange at a time. One piece of pita at a time.
It’s like trench warfare, fighting and scraping for every meter of land/shekel of food.
So, last week, in the shuk, I had gone running, even though it was quite chilly (“Grrr! Yeah! I’m like a less masculine G.I. Jane!”).
I bought some cheese and started chatting with the cheese salesman, in my mediocre Hebrew.
Here is a translation of our conversation:
“You’re wearing shorts?” he asked.
“Yes” I responded, “I run here. I go run.”
“But it’s cold!”
“Yes” I said.
“Well, good for you.”
(then I try to be funny… and something was lost in translation)
“Yes," I continue, "but I wear shorts, no matter to me, because I am groom."
[silence from the cheese salesman, so I continue]
“… I be married, so no matter to me. I do not use my body parts down there…because I married.”
“What?” asks the cheese man.
“Because I have wife, so I have nothing to do, I have no… eggs. I can’t use my eggs for I married now. My wife took them.”
“You want to buy a dozen eggs?”
“No no… An expression... I don’t have… I can’t… my wife… [sigh] It’s a joke.”
“Oh” he said… then he walked away.
And I took my cheese and ran home.
In my shorts.
With no eggs.
To my loving, patient wife.
who speaks English, thank God.
.
“Day unto day uttereth speech…
There is no speech nor language…
Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD..."
-- Psalm 19:14
I was buying some food in the shuk last week.
“What is the shuk?” I hear you ask hypothetically!
It is an open-air market in the heart of Jerusalem.
Istanbul has one.
Cairo has one.
Many cities in the Middle East have one.
And, from my experience, they all suck!
Haggling, not a pleasant experience.
It’s like buying a car, but one egg at a time. One orange at a time. One piece of pita at a time.
It’s like trench warfare, fighting and scraping for every meter of land/shekel of food.
So, last week, in the shuk, I had gone running, even though it was quite chilly (“Grrr! Yeah! I’m like a less masculine G.I. Jane!”).
I bought some cheese and started chatting with the cheese salesman, in my mediocre Hebrew.
Here is a translation of our conversation:
“You’re wearing shorts?” he asked.
“Yes” I responded, “I run here. I go run.”
“But it’s cold!”
“Yes” I said.
“Well, good for you.”
(then I try to be funny… and something was lost in translation)
“Yes," I continue, "but I wear shorts, no matter to me, because I am groom."
[silence from the cheese salesman, so I continue]
“… I be married, so no matter to me. I do not use my body parts down there…because I married.”
“What?” asks the cheese man.
“Because I have wife, so I have nothing to do, I have no… eggs. I can’t use my eggs for I married now. My wife took them.”
“You want to buy a dozen eggs?”
“No no… An expression... I don’t have… I can’t… my wife… [sigh] It’s a joke.”
“Oh” he said… then he walked away.
And I took my cheese and ran home.
In my shorts.
With no eggs.
To my loving, patient wife.
who speaks English, thank God.
.
Kindness of Strangers
.
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
-- Hebrew 13:2
Living in a foreign country has forced me to do certain things.
There are many moments in your life when you’re forced to swallow something—
Your first day in the prison laundry room,
smuggling baggies of crack in through the airport
—or living in a foreign country.
The latter has forced me to swallow my pride…
and ask for help and directions
…in a foreign language.
Last Tuesday I was meeting up with my lovely bride on Ben Yehuda Street (the Jerusalem equivalent of Times Square… but much smaller, and more… Jewey).
And BAM!
My cell phone dies!
Oh no!
And I’m supposed to meet my wife SOMEWHERE soon!
These are the only situations where I marvel at life from ten years ago, before cell phones were as ubiquitous as reality shows and … y’know… other things that are everywhere.
(sigh… analogies are not my forte)
But ten years ago—how the devil did people meet up with each other before they could call each other twelve times in a thirty-minute time span?
I was stuck in downtown Jerusalem with no phone.
And all the payphones in Jerusalem rely on phone cards.
What are those?
Who the hell knows???
Not me!
Nor do I know how to purchase one!
I asked for help at a makolet (which is Hebrew for a “bodega”)
(which is Spanish for a “Kwik-E-Mart”)
(which is “Simpsons”-ese for a “convenience store”).
I said, in broken Hebrew:
“Sorry, I have problem. My phone has no working and I need to call my girl partner. If I purchase something, may I use your telephone machine?”
The owner of the makolet responded, “Of course. But you don’t have to buy anything. What? You think you’re in America? No, this is Israel. Just use the phone.”
Hm.
That’s Israel. Hospitable and selfless when you least expect it.
But try to buy a loaf of bread for less than $5 and prepare for haggling!
Later I bothered a pet supply store owner, and she, too, let me use the phone.
Also, with an attitude of "Of course, go ahead! Don't be silly!"
Israel is a country a kind people, who will gladly lend a hand, help out a stranger… and who will run you over with their cars if you impede their journey even half-a-second.
I suppose that’s the case with most lands, most peoples.
Everybody has their moments.
“We're all heroes if you catch us at the right moment.”
-- John Bubber (Andy Garcia), “Hero”, screenplay by David Webb Peoples
.
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
-- Hebrew 13:2
Living in a foreign country has forced me to do certain things.
There are many moments in your life when you’re forced to swallow something—
Your first day in the prison laundry room,
smuggling baggies of crack in through the airport
—or living in a foreign country.
The latter has forced me to swallow my pride…
and ask for help and directions
…in a foreign language.
Last Tuesday I was meeting up with my lovely bride on Ben Yehuda Street (the Jerusalem equivalent of Times Square… but much smaller, and more… Jewey).
And BAM!
My cell phone dies!
Oh no!
And I’m supposed to meet my wife SOMEWHERE soon!
These are the only situations where I marvel at life from ten years ago, before cell phones were as ubiquitous as reality shows and … y’know… other things that are everywhere.
(sigh… analogies are not my forte)
But ten years ago—how the devil did people meet up with each other before they could call each other twelve times in a thirty-minute time span?
I was stuck in downtown Jerusalem with no phone.
And all the payphones in Jerusalem rely on phone cards.
What are those?
Who the hell knows???
Not me!
Nor do I know how to purchase one!
I asked for help at a makolet (which is Hebrew for a “bodega”)
(which is Spanish for a “Kwik-E-Mart”)
(which is “Simpsons”-ese for a “convenience store”).
I said, in broken Hebrew:
“Sorry, I have problem. My phone has no working and I need to call my girl partner. If I purchase something, may I use your telephone machine?”
The owner of the makolet responded, “Of course. But you don’t have to buy anything. What? You think you’re in America? No, this is Israel. Just use the phone.”
Hm.
That’s Israel. Hospitable and selfless when you least expect it.
But try to buy a loaf of bread for less than $5 and prepare for haggling!
Later I bothered a pet supply store owner, and she, too, let me use the phone.
Also, with an attitude of "Of course, go ahead! Don't be silly!"
Israel is a country a kind people, who will gladly lend a hand, help out a stranger… and who will run you over with their cars if you impede their journey even half-a-second.
I suppose that’s the case with most lands, most peoples.
Everybody has their moments.
“We're all heroes if you catch us at the right moment.”
-- John Bubber (Andy Garcia), “Hero”, screenplay by David Webb Peoples
.
Saturday, March 20
Wall-E (a pun! how marvelous!)
.
"And Ezra the priest brought the law before the congregation both of men and women, and all that could hear with understanding, upon the first day of the seventh month."
-- Nehemiah 8:2
This past Monday my wife prayed the Shacharit (morning) service.
So what?
She's done that literally HUNDREDS of times in her life.
Well, on Monday she did so at the Western Wall, with other female rabbinical students.
And chairs were thrown at them.
http://www.jta.org/news/article/2010/03/16/1011145/chairs-thrown-at-women-of-the-wall
Let me essplain... no, there is no time... Let me sum up:
First, a short history of The Wall (not Pink Floyd's)
The Western Wall (a.k.a., the Wailing Wall and in Hebrew dubbed simply "the wall"-- ha'Kotel) is nearly 200 feet long, located on the western side of the Temple Mount in Ancient Jerusalem... a place with NO CONTROVERSY WHATSOEVER.
It is the last remaining part of the Temple of Solomon... which it ain't. It's actually the outer wall that surrounded the Second Temple (built around 516 BCE), expanded by King Herod (around 19 BCE), which stood until the Roman Empire invaded and destroyed it (in 70 C.E.)
Above the Western Wall is the golden-domed "Dome of the Rock"-- what's that? Now it's a mosque that houses "The Foundation Stone." And what's THAT?
Oh nothing... except 3 big deals:
1-- The holiest spot in the Temple of Solomon (creatively dubbed "The Holy of Holies", where the High Priest could go only once a year, on Yom Kippur, where the Ten Commandments were kept.
2-- The spot of Mount Moriah where Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac
3-- the spot where Mohammed stepped and rose to the heavens to receive a message from Allah. It is the third-holiest place for Muslims.
Yikes! Why not spread it around?!
I had the same feeling the first time I heard about the human reproductive organs ("You mean we use the same body parts to expel waste AND make babies? Gross...")
You gotta admit, that's a lot of action in one focused area!
Why not have a temple in Lebanon! Or genitalia on your elbow!
... air-tight logic, I know.
Now whenever Jews pray anywhere in the world they face the direction of the wall.
But that's not it.
Because the ultra-Orthodox and traditional Jews pray there very frequently, they kinda call the shots, so there is a mechitzah separating the Men's side of the wall, from the women's side, since traditional Orthodox men and women pray separately.
Even so, when women DO pray and sing at the Wall many, Ortho guys get upset and... ahem... throw metal folding chairs at them.
Yup.
So, on Monday, my wife led Hallel services (special prayer recited on the first of the Month/holidays) and carried the Torah. Big honor! She did great and I am very proud of her.
Yay!
Then, once she and several other women (some who were rabbinical students, some not) went to pray by the Western Wall, on the women's side, a collection of Orthodox, irate, male Jews (like a bunch of silver back gorillas), who clearly loved God and exemplified the dictum "Love Thy Neighbor"... started throwing chairs.
In the words of Jesus, "Forgive them, God, for they are a bunch of douches."
Jesus H. Crackers!
First of all, no one was hurt and my wife and her lady prayer-group were not near the actual chairs.
But still!
What the hell??!!
Is it any wonder that peace in the Middle East eludes us... when Jews are fighting other Jews.
"And I said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, The work is great and large, and we are separated upon the wall, one far from another."
--Nehemiah 4:19
.
"And Ezra the priest brought the law before the congregation both of men and women, and all that could hear with understanding, upon the first day of the seventh month."
-- Nehemiah 8:2
This past Monday my wife prayed the Shacharit (morning) service.
So what?
She's done that literally HUNDREDS of times in her life.
Well, on Monday she did so at the Western Wall, with other female rabbinical students.
And chairs were thrown at them.
http://www.jta.org/news/article/2010/03/16/1011145/chairs-thrown-at-women-of-the-wall
Let me essplain... no, there is no time... Let me sum up:
First, a short history of The Wall (not Pink Floyd's)
The Western Wall (a.k.a., the Wailing Wall and in Hebrew dubbed simply "the wall"-- ha'Kotel) is nearly 200 feet long, located on the western side of the Temple Mount in Ancient Jerusalem... a place with NO CONTROVERSY WHATSOEVER.
It is the last remaining part of the Temple of Solomon... which it ain't. It's actually the outer wall that surrounded the Second Temple (built around 516 BCE), expanded by King Herod (around 19 BCE), which stood until the Roman Empire invaded and destroyed it (in 70 C.E.)
Above the Western Wall is the golden-domed "Dome of the Rock"-- what's that? Now it's a mosque that houses "The Foundation Stone." And what's THAT?
Oh nothing... except 3 big deals:
1-- The holiest spot in the Temple of Solomon (creatively dubbed "The Holy of Holies", where the High Priest could go only once a year, on Yom Kippur, where the Ten Commandments were kept.
2-- The spot of Mount Moriah where Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac
3-- the spot where Mohammed stepped and rose to the heavens to receive a message from Allah. It is the third-holiest place for Muslims.
Yikes! Why not spread it around?!
I had the same feeling the first time I heard about the human reproductive organs ("You mean we use the same body parts to expel waste AND make babies? Gross...")
You gotta admit, that's a lot of action in one focused area!
Why not have a temple in Lebanon! Or genitalia on your elbow!
... air-tight logic, I know.
Now whenever Jews pray anywhere in the world they face the direction of the wall.
But that's not it.
Because the ultra-Orthodox and traditional Jews pray there very frequently, they kinda call the shots, so there is a mechitzah separating the Men's side of the wall, from the women's side, since traditional Orthodox men and women pray separately.
Even so, when women DO pray and sing at the Wall many, Ortho guys get upset and... ahem... throw metal folding chairs at them.
Yup.
So, on Monday, my wife led Hallel services (special prayer recited on the first of the Month/holidays) and carried the Torah. Big honor! She did great and I am very proud of her.
Yay!
Then, once she and several other women (some who were rabbinical students, some not) went to pray by the Western Wall, on the women's side, a collection of Orthodox, irate, male Jews (like a bunch of silver back gorillas), who clearly loved God and exemplified the dictum "Love Thy Neighbor"... started throwing chairs.
In the words of Jesus, "Forgive them, God, for they are a bunch of douches."
Jesus H. Crackers!
First of all, no one was hurt and my wife and her lady prayer-group were not near the actual chairs.
But still!
What the hell??!!
Is it any wonder that peace in the Middle East eludes us... when Jews are fighting other Jews.
"And I said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, The work is great and large, and we are separated upon the wall, one far from another."
--Nehemiah 4:19
.
Thursday, March 18
Runnin' on Empty
.
"I just felt like running."
-- Forrest Gump, celebrity, legend, exemplary retard
“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.”
-- Exodus 34:28
Today I ran a half-marathon through the streets of Jerusalem.
21.1 kilometers, 13 miles, one goal: to not lose control of my bowels.
Misson accomplished.
Rabbi Yehuda haLevi, Called “Judah the Prince” because his knowledge was so reknowned, was kind of a racist.
He believed that Jews were superior to all other peoples.
And the basis for his argument?
While on Mount Sinai, getting the Ten Commandments, Moses went 40 days and 40 nights without food or water.
Has anyone else ever done that?
Nope.
Erego, Jews are the best!
The logic is air-tight.
Truth be told, Jews are superior to other nations because we are prodigious love-makers, blue jean-makers, and we can greenlight a movie faster than anyone else.
So there.
Okay, so while the Rabbi’s reasoning is highly suspect, Moses going nearly 6 weeks with no food or water… that’s impressive.
The lesson here?
… Gandhi was a wuss!
No no no.
Maybe.
The message:
Moses really dedicated himself to God, to the Law and to the Israelites, (and showed how INSANE he was).
In order to succeed at anything in life, you gotta have dedication.
I was coincidentally listening to an interview with Movie Producer Art Linson (Fight Club, Heat, Into the Wild, Fast Times at Ridgemont High)
He said:
The ones who are really gonna survive are the ones who say, ‘I don’t care what you say, I’m doing it.’…. You have to be truly, unafraid to fail.”
“Never trust anybody that didn’t walk the last 35 feet.”
-- Buddy Hackett
I forget who said it, but:
“I’m not one of the all-time greats. I may not even be one of the all-time goods. But I AM one of the all-time survivors”.
.
"I just felt like running."
-- Forrest Gump, celebrity, legend, exemplary retard
“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.”
-- Exodus 34:28
Today I ran a half-marathon through the streets of Jerusalem.
21.1 kilometers, 13 miles, one goal: to not lose control of my bowels.
Misson accomplished.
Rabbi Yehuda haLevi, Called “Judah the Prince” because his knowledge was so reknowned, was kind of a racist.
He believed that Jews were superior to all other peoples.
And the basis for his argument?
While on Mount Sinai, getting the Ten Commandments, Moses went 40 days and 40 nights without food or water.
Has anyone else ever done that?
Nope.
Erego, Jews are the best!
The logic is air-tight.
Truth be told, Jews are superior to other nations because we are prodigious love-makers, blue jean-makers, and we can greenlight a movie faster than anyone else.
So there.
Okay, so while the Rabbi’s reasoning is highly suspect, Moses going nearly 6 weeks with no food or water… that’s impressive.
The lesson here?
… Gandhi was a wuss!
No no no.
Maybe.
The message:
Moses really dedicated himself to God, to the Law and to the Israelites, (and showed how INSANE he was).
In order to succeed at anything in life, you gotta have dedication.
I was coincidentally listening to an interview with Movie Producer Art Linson (Fight Club, Heat, Into the Wild, Fast Times at Ridgemont High)
He said:
The ones who are really gonna survive are the ones who say, ‘I don’t care what you say, I’m doing it.’…. You have to be truly, unafraid to fail.”
“Never trust anybody that didn’t walk the last 35 feet.”
-- Buddy Hackett
I forget who said it, but:
“I’m not one of the all-time greats. I may not even be one of the all-time goods. But I AM one of the all-time survivors”.
.
Tuesday, March 16
This Land is Whose Land?
.
I woke up at 6:30 this morning.
Not on purpose.
But since I couldn't go back to sleep I decided to go running through the streets of Jerusalem.
I explored some areas I didn't recognize, including a very quiet, grassy hill near the Goldman Promenade: Jerusalem's Tolerance Park and Monument (a big, broken column with an olive tree in the middle).
Looking for it on Google, I found this, from yesterday on
Haaretz.com--
"Work begins on Jerusalem Museum of Tolerance, despite protests"
"The Simon Wiesenthal Center said Monday it hopes to start building its Museum of Tolerance in Jerusalem in the coming months despite a petition to the United Nations to stop construction because the site was once a medieval Muslim cemetery."
-- by the Associated Press
Irony Personified!!!
But really-- whose land is this anyway?
The idea of OWNING land is ridiculous, when you think about it.
That's why Native Americans "sold" parts of the U.S. to the white man for marbles and Bubble Yum, because they logically believed you CAN'T own land, it's the EARTH! We're just renting space.
Temporary guests.
[As a pilgrim, talking to Native Americans]
"Sorry we were so brusque when we first arrived, we didn't realize you OWN the entire country... But you have no system of ownership? Interesting. Hmmm."
-- Eddie Izzard, "Dress to Kill"
But Israel?
Jerusalem?
It belongs to the Jews, right?
It ALWAYS has?
(ahem)
Not quite.
In fact, not at all.
First, an oft-quoted verse-- but you may have overlooked the last part of it :
"And I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians, and to bring them ... unto a land flowing with milk and honey; unto the place of the Canaanites, and the Hittites, and the Amorites, and the Perizzites, and the Hivites, and the Jebusites."
- Exodus 3:8
and
"Thou art the LORD the God, who didst choose... Abraham; And foundest his heart faithful before thee, and madest a covenant with him to give the land of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, and the Perizzites, and the Jebusites, and the Girgashites, to give it, I say, to his seed, and hast performed thy words; for thou art righteous."
- Nehemiah 9:7-8
"...Which covenant he made with Abraham... and to Israel for an everlasting covenant:
Saying, Unto thee will I give the land of Canaan, the lot of your inheritance:
When they were but a few men in number..."
- Psalm 105
Wow.
The more things change... the less they change!
So the Jews are ENTITLED to the land, because God made a deal with Abraham.
I see.
(ahem)
I pity and envy those Canaanites.
They lost this swatch of sand thousands of years ago, but at least they avoided all the huge headaches that would follow.
Hm.
... still, the produce here is good.
Shalom.
I woke up at 6:30 this morning.
Not on purpose.
But since I couldn't go back to sleep I decided to go running through the streets of Jerusalem.
I explored some areas I didn't recognize, including a very quiet, grassy hill near the Goldman Promenade: Jerusalem's Tolerance Park and Monument (a big, broken column with an olive tree in the middle).
Looking for it on Google, I found this, from yesterday on
Haaretz.com--
"Work begins on Jerusalem Museum of Tolerance, despite protests"
"The Simon Wiesenthal Center said Monday it hopes to start building its Museum of Tolerance in Jerusalem in the coming months despite a petition to the United Nations to stop construction because the site was once a medieval Muslim cemetery."
-- by the Associated Press
Irony Personified!!!
But really-- whose land is this anyway?
The idea of OWNING land is ridiculous, when you think about it.
That's why Native Americans "sold" parts of the U.S. to the white man for marbles and Bubble Yum, because they logically believed you CAN'T own land, it's the EARTH! We're just renting space.
Temporary guests.
[As a pilgrim, talking to Native Americans]
"Sorry we were so brusque when we first arrived, we didn't realize you OWN the entire country... But you have no system of ownership? Interesting. Hmmm."
-- Eddie Izzard, "Dress to Kill"
But Israel?
Jerusalem?
It belongs to the Jews, right?
It ALWAYS has?
(ahem)
Not quite.
In fact, not at all.
First, an oft-quoted verse-- but you may have overlooked the last part of it :
"And I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians, and to bring them ... unto a land flowing with milk and honey; unto the place of the Canaanites, and the Hittites, and the Amorites, and the Perizzites, and the Hivites, and the Jebusites."
- Exodus 3:8
and
"Thou art the LORD the God, who didst choose... Abraham; And foundest his heart faithful before thee, and madest a covenant with him to give the land of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, and the Perizzites, and the Jebusites, and the Girgashites, to give it, I say, to his seed, and hast performed thy words; for thou art righteous."
- Nehemiah 9:7-8
"...Which covenant he made with Abraham... and to Israel for an everlasting covenant:
Saying, Unto thee will I give the land of Canaan, the lot of your inheritance:
When they were but a few men in number..."
- Psalm 105
Wow.
The more things change... the less they change!
So the Jews are ENTITLED to the land, because God made a deal with Abraham.
I see.
(ahem)
I pity and envy those Canaanites.
They lost this swatch of sand thousands of years ago, but at least they avoided all the huge headaches that would follow.
Hm.
... still, the produce here is good.
Shalom.
Turning Tricks
.
“For by means of a whorish woman a man is brought to a piece of bread.”
-- Proverbs 6:26
Last month I was in Venice for a Shabbat.
That Friday evening I ate dinner with the Chabad. This is a savvy organization comprised of traditional, black-hat-sportin’ Orthodox Jews, who try to appeal to 20-something non-Orthodox Jews. They also serve whiskey!
L’chayim!
While I was there I chatted with a fellow “non-Ortho” guy named Scott who was from Seattle. Scott informed me that he was globe-trotting and just came from Spain.
While in Spain he encountered numerous prostitutes!
L’chayim again!
Scott said that Espagna is teeming with women of ill repute, particularly in Barcelona.
(Lonely Planet… not in Barcelona, apparently)
The women would just walk up to him, put one hand on his groin and say a number.
“You mean, they ranked you, like 3 out of 4 stars?” I asked.
No, he said, they’d say a price.
“Oh, like a contractor gives you an estimate.”
Um, I guess, he said.
“In Spanish?”
Of course.
“Well… as long as the price was between 1 and 10, I would understand.”
Thank you, Sesame Street.
Speaking of which, you didn’t see many hookers strutting down Sesame Street.
“Hey sailor, that sure is a big… bird.”
i also think “C” would not be for “cookie.”
Good enough for me.
(Bert and Ernie? Something tells me they’re not interested).
.
“For by means of a whorish woman a man is brought to a piece of bread.”
-- Proverbs 6:26
Last month I was in Venice for a Shabbat.
That Friday evening I ate dinner with the Chabad. This is a savvy organization comprised of traditional, black-hat-sportin’ Orthodox Jews, who try to appeal to 20-something non-Orthodox Jews. They also serve whiskey!
L’chayim!
While I was there I chatted with a fellow “non-Ortho” guy named Scott who was from Seattle. Scott informed me that he was globe-trotting and just came from Spain.
While in Spain he encountered numerous prostitutes!
L’chayim again!
Scott said that Espagna is teeming with women of ill repute, particularly in Barcelona.
(Lonely Planet… not in Barcelona, apparently)
The women would just walk up to him, put one hand on his groin and say a number.
“You mean, they ranked you, like 3 out of 4 stars?” I asked.
No, he said, they’d say a price.
“Oh, like a contractor gives you an estimate.”
Um, I guess, he said.
“In Spanish?”
Of course.
“Well… as long as the price was between 1 and 10, I would understand.”
Thank you, Sesame Street.
Speaking of which, you didn’t see many hookers strutting down Sesame Street.
“Hey sailor, that sure is a big… bird.”
i also think “C” would not be for “cookie.”
Good enough for me.
(Bert and Ernie? Something tells me they’re not interested).
.
Monday, March 15
1,2,3
.
"and to bring them up out of that land unto a good land and a large, unto a land flowing with milk and honey..."
-- Exodus 3:8
Sitting in our apartment here in lovely Jerusalem, the wife and I celebrated the Ides of March like any happy couple: We just watched the 2009 film "The Taking of Pelham 1,2,3" with John Travolta and Denzel Washington.
The four of us had a fine time (fyi: Travolta loved Raisinets).
The film follows a several terrorists, lead by Travolta, who hijack a New York City subway train, and Denzel has to stop them.
I turned to my wife and said,
"Thank goodness we're living in a country with NO subway! That way, there are no terrorists or guns. God bless Jerusalem!"
The Land flowing with Milk and Irony!
.
"and to bring them up out of that land unto a good land and a large, unto a land flowing with milk and honey..."
-- Exodus 3:8
Sitting in our apartment here in lovely Jerusalem, the wife and I celebrated the Ides of March like any happy couple: We just watched the 2009 film "The Taking of Pelham 1,2,3" with John Travolta and Denzel Washington.
The four of us had a fine time (fyi: Travolta loved Raisinets).
The film follows a several terrorists, lead by Travolta, who hijack a New York City subway train, and Denzel has to stop them.
I turned to my wife and said,
"Thank goodness we're living in a country with NO subway! That way, there are no terrorists or guns. God bless Jerusalem!"
The Land flowing with Milk and Irony!
.
Friday, March 12
Happy Accidents
.
"... neither shalt thou stand against the blood of thy neighbour: I am the LORD."
-- Leviticus 19:16
Usually this is translated to mean "do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor."
I got married 9 months ago.
My wife and I came to live in Israel 5 months ago.
It's treacherous.
I can't walk down the street without worrying.
I am paranoid. I am neurotic.
Too much Larry David and "Final Destination" movies.
I'm afraid of traffic.
I see a cars speeding, cars backing out of a drive-way, a lady on a bike, a dad pushing a stroller, a cat underneath a parked car... like a video game of potential tragedy... so many things that can go wrong.
I know what you're thinking:
"C'mon, think of things as glass half full"
Sure, half full... of bloody, severed fingers!
... of a concert pianist!!!
Bottom line: tragedies and accidents occur all the time.
And sometimes... they don't.
I often go running through the streets of Jerusalem.
Just like dudes from the Bible: David, Solomon and Jesus did... when they were kids... probably.
Yesterday I was running along somewhere, got a phone call from my new wife, it turned into different kind of run-- errand!
Yay!
So I turned around and started heading home along Derekh Beyt Lekhem (in English: Way of Bread House... or Bethlehem).
Then I passed a gas station-- and slip!-- an old man fell down.
He slipped and landed on his side, in front of a car that was about to pull out of the station.
I moseyed on over and helped the fellow to his feet.
"Are you all right?" I asked him, but in Hebrew (so it's literally, "You in order? All good?")
He responded in English.
We returned to the sidewalk, started talking-- he's American, moved to Israel 35 years ago.
"I was just coming from a Shiva call. I usually walk on the other side of the street... now I know why."
He chuckled. I smiled.
"You never know what's gonna happen."
I agreed.
We chatted and walked together for another 10 minutes.
He told me his condensed life story-- focusing on how he met his wife.
"We've been married 54 years. I'm 82. She's 7 years younger than me. Maybe 8 years. I dunno. I think she's 75. Anyway I'll tell ya something-- she's the best looking 75-year old I've ever seen."
Once we got to Emek Refa'im, he gave me his address and told me to swing by any Shabbat afternoon.
"We're old, so if you knock and nobody answers, give it a minute. We move slow."
We shook hands and parted ways.
I called my wife, told her I was on my way.
I walked the rest of the way home.
Not worrying about traffic.
Sometimes nothing goes wrong.
.
"... neither shalt thou stand against the blood of thy neighbour: I am the LORD."
-- Leviticus 19:16
Usually this is translated to mean "do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor."
I got married 9 months ago.
My wife and I came to live in Israel 5 months ago.
It's treacherous.
I can't walk down the street without worrying.
I am paranoid. I am neurotic.
Too much Larry David and "Final Destination" movies.
I'm afraid of traffic.
I see a cars speeding, cars backing out of a drive-way, a lady on a bike, a dad pushing a stroller, a cat underneath a parked car... like a video game of potential tragedy... so many things that can go wrong.
I know what you're thinking:
"C'mon, think of things as glass half full"
Sure, half full... of bloody, severed fingers!
... of a concert pianist!!!
Bottom line: tragedies and accidents occur all the time.
And sometimes... they don't.
I often go running through the streets of Jerusalem.
Just like dudes from the Bible: David, Solomon and Jesus did... when they were kids... probably.
Yesterday I was running along somewhere, got a phone call from my new wife, it turned into different kind of run-- errand!
Yay!
So I turned around and started heading home along Derekh Beyt Lekhem (in English: Way of Bread House... or Bethlehem).
Then I passed a gas station-- and slip!-- an old man fell down.
He slipped and landed on his side, in front of a car that was about to pull out of the station.
I moseyed on over and helped the fellow to his feet.
"Are you all right?" I asked him, but in Hebrew (so it's literally, "You in order? All good?")
He responded in English.
We returned to the sidewalk, started talking-- he's American, moved to Israel 35 years ago.
"I was just coming from a Shiva call. I usually walk on the other side of the street... now I know why."
He chuckled. I smiled.
"You never know what's gonna happen."
I agreed.
We chatted and walked together for another 10 minutes.
He told me his condensed life story-- focusing on how he met his wife.
"We've been married 54 years. I'm 82. She's 7 years younger than me. Maybe 8 years. I dunno. I think she's 75. Anyway I'll tell ya something-- she's the best looking 75-year old I've ever seen."
Once we got to Emek Refa'im, he gave me his address and told me to swing by any Shabbat afternoon.
"We're old, so if you knock and nobody answers, give it a minute. We move slow."
We shook hands and parted ways.
I called my wife, told her I was on my way.
I walked the rest of the way home.
Not worrying about traffic.
Sometimes nothing goes wrong.
.
Monday, March 8
Late at Night.... The Oscars in Israel
.
“And it came to pass at midnight, that the man was afraid, and turned himself: and, behold, a woman lay at his feet. And he said, Who art thou? And she answered, I am Ruth thine handmaid…”
-- Ruth 3:8-9
A lot of surprising stuff happens late at night.
Especially here in the Middle East.
Even on TV!
Let me start by saying—I did not watch the Academy Awards last night.
I tried, oh good Lord, how I tried.
I sent out e-mails, planned a little shindig, double-checked the Israeli TV listings, set up my slingbox-link via computer.
And viola!
Nuttin’.
It just wasn’t in the proverbial cards.
Israeli TV did not broadcast it, there was a strike with New York’s ABC affiliates, so my sling box hook-up was rendered useless (until close to 5 AM, when I had given up hope and returned to bed).
And no one showed up for the shindig… which is totally understandable and VERY fortuitous, as it turns out.
But at least I had the privilege of watching an hour of Israeli TV in the middle of the night, searching for the Oscar show.
Have you ever watched Israeli television at 3 AM?
Oh, if you haven’t-- it is a sight to behold!
It’s like the Aurora borealis and the Apollo 11 moon landing combined with a big, steaming pile of crap.
Mostly just the latter.
What’s on at 3 AM in Israel INSTEAD of the Oscars?
1) Black and white footage of Israelis with afros and jean jackets playing acoustic guitar.
2) Infomercial with a British dude selling a cuisinart that can make potatoes au gratin and cheesecake in less than two minutes!
3) A couple of chubby guys playing wii tennis
4) Mike Huckabee on Fox News
5) Aerosmith music video "Livin' on the edge" from 1993
6) A French made-for-TV movie where a kid pushes an old guy off a boat.... then waves at a blimp overhead ( this officially became my new “Favorite Oscar moment”)
7) And finally (I am not kidding)… Shamwow infomercials!!
And the last thing I learned before tossing in the Oscar-watching towel an hour later:
What do Israelis watch at 4 AM?
… Reruns of "Becker"
(sigh)
I felt patriotic, in weird kinda way.
I ended up reading an Oscar play-by-play this morning on IMDB.com.
Whenever stuff like this happens I must remind myself—
“Aaron, remember… this does not affect your life whatsoever.”
“The outcome of yesterday evening will not change your day-to-day existence.”
But I usually say that when my local sports team loses, not when the underdog wins!
Last night, “The Hurt Locker” won Best Picture at the 2010 Academy Awards.
Which means “Avatar” did not!
See how that works.
And “The Hurt Locker” won 6 statues.
“Avatar” – only 3.
It’s kinda ironic, since “The Hurt Locker” was picking up speed the last month, or as movie folks are fond of saying, “gaining momentum”-- getting more positive attention and steadily becoming "the favorite."
I was not aware, since I am in Israel, where news and peace talks both crawl at an interminably slow pace-- like hummus sliding off a table top.
So maybe “The Hurt Locker” wasn’t the underdog after all… which deflates my previous entry (… still worth a read, though!).
(desperation is a stinky cologne).
.
“And it came to pass at midnight, that the man was afraid, and turned himself: and, behold, a woman lay at his feet. And he said, Who art thou? And she answered, I am Ruth thine handmaid…”
-- Ruth 3:8-9
A lot of surprising stuff happens late at night.
Especially here in the Middle East.
Even on TV!
Let me start by saying—I did not watch the Academy Awards last night.
I tried, oh good Lord, how I tried.
I sent out e-mails, planned a little shindig, double-checked the Israeli TV listings, set up my slingbox-link via computer.
And viola!
Nuttin’.
It just wasn’t in the proverbial cards.
Israeli TV did not broadcast it, there was a strike with New York’s ABC affiliates, so my sling box hook-up was rendered useless (until close to 5 AM, when I had given up hope and returned to bed).
And no one showed up for the shindig… which is totally understandable and VERY fortuitous, as it turns out.
But at least I had the privilege of watching an hour of Israeli TV in the middle of the night, searching for the Oscar show.
Have you ever watched Israeli television at 3 AM?
Oh, if you haven’t-- it is a sight to behold!
It’s like the Aurora borealis and the Apollo 11 moon landing combined with a big, steaming pile of crap.
Mostly just the latter.
What’s on at 3 AM in Israel INSTEAD of the Oscars?
1) Black and white footage of Israelis with afros and jean jackets playing acoustic guitar.
2) Infomercial with a British dude selling a cuisinart that can make potatoes au gratin and cheesecake in less than two minutes!
3) A couple of chubby guys playing wii tennis
4) Mike Huckabee on Fox News
5) Aerosmith music video "Livin' on the edge" from 1993
6) A French made-for-TV movie where a kid pushes an old guy off a boat.... then waves at a blimp overhead ( this officially became my new “Favorite Oscar moment”)
7) And finally (I am not kidding)… Shamwow infomercials!!
And the last thing I learned before tossing in the Oscar-watching towel an hour later:
What do Israelis watch at 4 AM?
… Reruns of "Becker"
(sigh)
I felt patriotic, in weird kinda way.
I ended up reading an Oscar play-by-play this morning on IMDB.com.
Whenever stuff like this happens I must remind myself—
“Aaron, remember… this does not affect your life whatsoever.”
“The outcome of yesterday evening will not change your day-to-day existence.”
But I usually say that when my local sports team loses, not when the underdog wins!
Last night, “The Hurt Locker” won Best Picture at the 2010 Academy Awards.
Which means “Avatar” did not!
See how that works.
And “The Hurt Locker” won 6 statues.
“Avatar” – only 3.
It’s kinda ironic, since “The Hurt Locker” was picking up speed the last month, or as movie folks are fond of saying, “gaining momentum”-- getting more positive attention and steadily becoming "the favorite."
I was not aware, since I am in Israel, where news and peace talks both crawl at an interminably slow pace-- like hummus sliding off a table top.
So maybe “The Hurt Locker” wasn’t the underdog after all… which deflates my previous entry (… still worth a read, though!).
(desperation is a stinky cologne).
.
Sunday, March 7
The Oscars! -- and underdogs
.
"The LORD did not set his love upon you, nor choose you, because ye were more in number than any people; for ye were the fewest of all people."
- Deuteronomy 7:7
The Underdog
The Little Engine That Could
Rocky
The 2010 Oscars are about to occur.
And yes, I will be waking up at 3 AM to watch them, here in Israel.
We all love rooting for the little guy.
That's why many of us want to see "The Hurt Locker" beat "Avatar" for Best Picture.
Sure, the former is probably the best film that's been made about America's latest ridiculous war,
and it's extremely well-acted and written...
but where the hell are the blue cat people???
Also, "The Hurt Locker" is smarter that "Avatar".
"Avatar" is a simple, predictable story
... and it made the most money ever!
To put it in perspective (in domestic dollars $$$), "The Hurt Locker" made 1.8% what "Avatar" made.
Fern Gully on acid made 59.5 times what Wartime Bomb Detonators made:
$714 million... to almost $13 million.
That's rough.
If "Hurt Locker" did win that would be a bigger upset than "Gandhi" ($53 million) defeating "E.T." ($359 million) back in 1982.
And is it all about money?
Kinda.
But not completely.
Of the 30 previous films to win Best Picture (1979-2008), only 12 were the highest grossing nominee. So there!
(thanks boxofficemojo.com)
Besides, that's why we watch.
That's why we love the Spartans in "300", the Jamaican Bobsled team in "Cool Runnings," Daniel Larusso in "Karate Kid", Sam and Frodo in "LOTR" ... or the 2004 Boston Red Sox or Spud Webb or the Israelites from the books of Exodus to Deuteronomy.
We like rooting for the little guy!
We want to see him make it to the Promised Land (i.e., the award, the big game, the girl or... well, in the case of the Israelites- literally the "promised land")
Because each of us has felt like the underdog at some point in (or for most of) our lives... we root for 'em!
We also root for William Wallace in "Braveheart" (which won the big trophy in 1996, over the higher-grossing "Apollo 13"... fyi).
(... and before Mel Gibson lost his g.d. mind)
.
"The LORD did not set his love upon you, nor choose you, because ye were more in number than any people; for ye were the fewest of all people."
- Deuteronomy 7:7
The Underdog
The Little Engine That Could
Rocky
The 2010 Oscars are about to occur.
And yes, I will be waking up at 3 AM to watch them, here in Israel.
We all love rooting for the little guy.
That's why many of us want to see "The Hurt Locker" beat "Avatar" for Best Picture.
Sure, the former is probably the best film that's been made about America's latest ridiculous war,
and it's extremely well-acted and written...
but where the hell are the blue cat people???
Also, "The Hurt Locker" is smarter that "Avatar".
"Avatar" is a simple, predictable story
... and it made the most money ever!
To put it in perspective (in domestic dollars $$$), "The Hurt Locker" made 1.8% what "Avatar" made.
Fern Gully on acid made 59.5 times what Wartime Bomb Detonators made:
$714 million... to almost $13 million.
That's rough.
If "Hurt Locker" did win that would be a bigger upset than "Gandhi" ($53 million) defeating "E.T." ($359 million) back in 1982.
And is it all about money?
Kinda.
But not completely.
Of the 30 previous films to win Best Picture (1979-2008), only 12 were the highest grossing nominee. So there!
(thanks boxofficemojo.com)
Besides, that's why we watch.
That's why we love the Spartans in "300", the Jamaican Bobsled team in "Cool Runnings," Daniel Larusso in "Karate Kid", Sam and Frodo in "LOTR" ... or the 2004 Boston Red Sox or Spud Webb or the Israelites from the books of Exodus to Deuteronomy.
We like rooting for the little guy!
We want to see him make it to the Promised Land (i.e., the award, the big game, the girl or... well, in the case of the Israelites- literally the "promised land")
Because each of us has felt like the underdog at some point in (or for most of) our lives... we root for 'em!
We also root for William Wallace in "Braveheart" (which won the big trophy in 1996, over the higher-grossing "Apollo 13"... fyi).
(... and before Mel Gibson lost his g.d. mind)
.
Friday, March 5
Clothes Make The Man
.
A couple of weeks ago I was in Venice, Italy for Shabbat.
What’s Shabbat?
It occurs every single Friday night and lasts until Saturday night at sundown… without exception.
And what else?
Take it, Coen Brothers:
Donny: What's Shabbos?
Walter Sobchak: Saturday, Donny, is Shabbos, the Jewish day of rest. That means that I don't work, I don't get in a car… I don't pick up the phone, I don't turn on the oven, and I sure as shit don't f**king roll! Shomer shabbos!
The Dude: Walter...
Walter Sobchak: Shomer f**king shabbos. “”
Okay, so that’s Shabbos (Yidddish pronunciation).
Y’see, growing up I always dressed up nicely for synagogue. It was ingrained in me—every Friday I’d go to my Jewish Day School in my Navy blue sweater vest and slacks… I would’ve gotten beaten up for sure, except all the other kids were dressed similarly.
Then, when I went to synagogue, my mom would insist I dress accordingly.
“You have to get dressed up, you’re going to synagogue.”
In fact, my brothers and I called slacks, button-down shirts and loafers “dress clothes” because we only wore them when we’d get “dressed up.”
(maybe we were all closeted trannies, secretly eager to wear dresses… either way, those slacks made my hips look big).
Anyway, I would sometimes see other kids my age dressed shabbily for Shabbat, a shame— they weren’t poor, they simply didn’t dress respectfully: T-shirt or sweatshirt and… jeans! Not even faux-nice black jeans, but blue jeans! I love blue jeans as much as the next closeted tranny (Levi Strauss, a Jew, jean pioneer!), but not to synagogue!
Also, here in Israel, where Shabbat is proudly observed each and every week (not just when a relative has a Bar/Bat-Mitzvah), kids (usually 14 or younger) also wear blue jeans to services. It takes so little effort to change into a pair of khakis, and they look nicer.
I told my wife, “When we have kids, they are not going to wear jeans to services. They are going to wear nice pants to synagogue. DRESS pants!”
(this confused her, “So you want our sons to wear a dress OVER their pants?”)
Well, two weeks ago, I hung up my “dress shirt and dress pants” in a hotel in Florence so they wouldn’t get wrinkled in my suitcase.
Then we took a train to Venice.
And I left my shirt and pants in the closet.
“Aaaarrrggghhh!”—Charlie Brown
I still had a sweater to wear to synagogue, but the only other pair of pants I had brought to Italy were (ominous music)… blue jeans!
I spent most of Friday afternoon looking around Venice for a pair of slacks my size. No dice! Nothing! Plenty of masks. Oh my god! Every other shop sold glittery, Mardi Gras, fabulous masks! But no pants.
So I had to go to a traditional, Orthodox synagogue in Venice, Italy… while wearing… jeans.
(sigh)
I felt like such a hypocrite.
But Saturday morning I was called to the Torah for an aliyah—when a congregant recites a four-line blessing before/after a section of the Torah is read. It was an honor (I know this because immediately after this, a synagogue member handed me an envelope addressed to the synagogue in which I could put a donation… nothing’s free).
I was touched
And I realized—Jesus was right about one thing (at least):
“Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment.”
-- John 7:24
My first New Testament quotation. Mazel tov!
And Shabbat Shalom!
The Dude: Will you come off it, Walter? You're not even f**king Jewish… You're … Polish Catholic.
Walter Sobchak: What the f**k are you talking about? I converted when I married Cynthia! Come on, Dude!...
The Dude: Yeah, and five f**king years ago you were divorced.
Walter Sobchak: So what are you saying? When you get divorced you turn in your library card? You get a new license? You STOP being Jewish?
The Dude: It's all a part of your sick Cynthia thing, man. Taking care of her f**king dog. Going to her f**king synagogue. You're living in the f**king past.
Walter Sobchak: Three thousand years of beautiful tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax... [shouting] You're …damn right I'm living in the f**king past!
-- “The Big Lebowski,” 1998, written by Ethan and Joel Coen
.
A couple of weeks ago I was in Venice, Italy for Shabbat.
What’s Shabbat?
It occurs every single Friday night and lasts until Saturday night at sundown… without exception.
And what else?
Take it, Coen Brothers:
Donny: What's Shabbos?
Walter Sobchak: Saturday, Donny, is Shabbos, the Jewish day of rest. That means that I don't work, I don't get in a car… I don't pick up the phone, I don't turn on the oven, and I sure as shit don't f**king roll! Shomer shabbos!
The Dude: Walter...
Walter Sobchak: Shomer f**king shabbos. “”
Okay, so that’s Shabbos (Yidddish pronunciation).
Y’see, growing up I always dressed up nicely for synagogue. It was ingrained in me—every Friday I’d go to my Jewish Day School in my Navy blue sweater vest and slacks… I would’ve gotten beaten up for sure, except all the other kids were dressed similarly.
Then, when I went to synagogue, my mom would insist I dress accordingly.
“You have to get dressed up, you’re going to synagogue.”
In fact, my brothers and I called slacks, button-down shirts and loafers “dress clothes” because we only wore them when we’d get “dressed up.”
(maybe we were all closeted trannies, secretly eager to wear dresses… either way, those slacks made my hips look big).
Anyway, I would sometimes see other kids my age dressed shabbily for Shabbat, a shame— they weren’t poor, they simply didn’t dress respectfully: T-shirt or sweatshirt and… jeans! Not even faux-nice black jeans, but blue jeans! I love blue jeans as much as the next closeted tranny (Levi Strauss, a Jew, jean pioneer!), but not to synagogue!
Also, here in Israel, where Shabbat is proudly observed each and every week (not just when a relative has a Bar/Bat-Mitzvah), kids (usually 14 or younger) also wear blue jeans to services. It takes so little effort to change into a pair of khakis, and they look nicer.
I told my wife, “When we have kids, they are not going to wear jeans to services. They are going to wear nice pants to synagogue. DRESS pants!”
(this confused her, “So you want our sons to wear a dress OVER their pants?”)
Well, two weeks ago, I hung up my “dress shirt and dress pants” in a hotel in Florence so they wouldn’t get wrinkled in my suitcase.
Then we took a train to Venice.
And I left my shirt and pants in the closet.
“Aaaarrrggghhh!”—Charlie Brown
I still had a sweater to wear to synagogue, but the only other pair of pants I had brought to Italy were (ominous music)… blue jeans!
I spent most of Friday afternoon looking around Venice for a pair of slacks my size. No dice! Nothing! Plenty of masks. Oh my god! Every other shop sold glittery, Mardi Gras, fabulous masks! But no pants.
So I had to go to a traditional, Orthodox synagogue in Venice, Italy… while wearing… jeans.
(sigh)
I felt like such a hypocrite.
But Saturday morning I was called to the Torah for an aliyah—when a congregant recites a four-line blessing before/after a section of the Torah is read. It was an honor (I know this because immediately after this, a synagogue member handed me an envelope addressed to the synagogue in which I could put a donation… nothing’s free).
I was touched
And I realized—Jesus was right about one thing (at least):
“Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment.”
-- John 7:24
My first New Testament quotation. Mazel tov!
And Shabbat Shalom!
The Dude: Will you come off it, Walter? You're not even f**king Jewish… You're … Polish Catholic.
Walter Sobchak: What the f**k are you talking about? I converted when I married Cynthia! Come on, Dude!...
The Dude: Yeah, and five f**king years ago you were divorced.
Walter Sobchak: So what are you saying? When you get divorced you turn in your library card? You get a new license? You STOP being Jewish?
The Dude: It's all a part of your sick Cynthia thing, man. Taking care of her f**king dog. Going to her f**king synagogue. You're living in the f**king past.
Walter Sobchak: Three thousand years of beautiful tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax... [shouting] You're …damn right I'm living in the f**king past!
-- “The Big Lebowski,” 1998, written by Ethan and Joel Coen
.
Wednesday, March 3
The Taking of Grecian 1,2,3
.
"And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her."
-- Gen. 29:20
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—“I love being a turtle.”
No, actually it is this:
EVERYTHING is RELATIVE.
Let me tell you a little story about subway fines and near-death experiences.
When my wife and I landed in Athens last week, we had four suitcases with us, we’d been traveling for a week, and we couldn’t remotely speak the language. At least Italian uses English letters. And Hebrew does not. But Greek is the most frustrating, because it does BOTH!
It has three normal letters, then a Tetris piece, followed by two more normal letters.
In the words of Charlie Brown—Arrrgggghhh!
So, my wife and I buy a couple subway tickets, hop on a train, and prepare for the 35 minute ride to central Athens.
Then who should come moseying down the aisle of the subway car, but three official looking subway employees, all clad in navy blue blazers and nametags.
I see the youngest of the three (the only female, about 30) checking the tickets of passengers and immediately I think, “Oh merde!” (I often confuse French and Greek curses… also those uttered by Mork from Ork… Shazbut!)
See, I remember reading in our guidebook that it’s imperative for travelers to get their tickets validated by the machines in the subway terminals, otherwise they might incur a fine. I recalled seeing some validation machines, but we were running to catch the train, so I figured (in true American fashion) “To hell with it.”
Sure enough, the lady in blue got to us, looked at our tickets and started, in the words of my ancestors, hassling us.
She said that we could’ve bought the tickets at any time and there we were subject to a fine of “up to 60 times the price of the ticket.” The tickets were 5 euros each… in other words 300 euros a person (the equivalent of about $450!!).
Hortophagus!!!!
(Greek for “vegetarian”)
We explained that we were not told about this, that we clearly just came from the airport, etc. She was as stubborn as a Grecian mule. One of the gentlemen with her, a superior, spoke to us with more civility, encouraged us to dispute the fine at the main terminal (to which we were headed anyway), and the charges would probably be dropped.
The wife and were pissed to say the least.
Once we arrived at our destination we filled out some paperwork and hoped for the best (we’d have to be updated via e-mail). We dropped off our bags at our hotel and went to see the sights.
The Acropolis was closed (after 3 PM… I guess if geezers who are over the hill go to sleep at 7 PM, then a hill that’s over 7000 years old can close at 3), so we decided to clear our minds with a healthy walk around Athens.
That’s when we were almost run over by a trolley.
Let me elaborate, because that sounds a lot stupider than I intended.
It sounds about as serious as a box of Rice-a-roni smacking me in the face, or like Mr. Roger’s puppets were ringing their little bells at me.
No.
See, it was a four lane street—two lanes in each direction. From the side we were on, all the automobile traffic was coming from the left—including a few trolleys once in a while. We looked to the left—no cars. My wife and I began to cross the intersection, the whole time looking left.
“Aaron!” my wife screamed at me (same tone she uses when I get pee on the toilet seat).
I looked to our right, there is a trolley—ahem, I mean “an above-ground metro”— barreling towards us!!! It was going FAST. Like 30 mph. That’s not SO fast… unless something is 8 feet away from you. Then it’s damn terrifying.
The wife and I flung ourselves backwards, thereby narrowly avoiding, if not certain death, than certain partial damage to our beautiful visages and behinds.
Apparently Grecian trolleys can come from either direction… and don’t honk their damn horns until they’re 6 feet from murdering pedestrians (remember, the horn didn’t stop me, my wife’s scream did).
We collected ourselves on the sidewalk, just holding each other and choking back tears. Thankfully, Greece is SWARMING with homeless dogs. Seriously. Like Jerusalem, with its cats. But the dogs aren’t mangey-looking or starving… they just wander around the streets of Athens, most of them looking downright dead, barely moving. But just as we were in shock, one friendly pooch strolled by and allowed us to pet him for several minutes, thereby teaching us an important lesson: Greek dogs are much better than Greek public transportation.
It’s all relative.
My wife and I thought potentially receiving a 300-euro subway fine was bad… then we almost got killed.
It’s all relative.
… Still, 300 euros?!
That’s bullshit.
“Ya know, Ricky, breaking up with a girlfriend can be a very painful thing. But it don't have to keep ya down for long. I've never had a regular girlfriend like you, but I did get kicked in the balls once by a mule. Now, I thought I would be hurting for the rest of my life. But you know what happened the very next week?... My momma died! … Hell, after that, I didn't care no more about my balls hurtin'. You see what I'm gettin' at?”
-- Rube Baker, “Major League II” (1994, screenplay by R.J. Stewart)
.
"And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her."
-- Gen. 29:20
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—“I love being a turtle.”
No, actually it is this:
EVERYTHING is RELATIVE.
Let me tell you a little story about subway fines and near-death experiences.
When my wife and I landed in Athens last week, we had four suitcases with us, we’d been traveling for a week, and we couldn’t remotely speak the language. At least Italian uses English letters. And Hebrew does not. But Greek is the most frustrating, because it does BOTH!
It has three normal letters, then a Tetris piece, followed by two more normal letters.
In the words of Charlie Brown—Arrrgggghhh!
So, my wife and I buy a couple subway tickets, hop on a train, and prepare for the 35 minute ride to central Athens.
Then who should come moseying down the aisle of the subway car, but three official looking subway employees, all clad in navy blue blazers and nametags.
I see the youngest of the three (the only female, about 30) checking the tickets of passengers and immediately I think, “Oh merde!” (I often confuse French and Greek curses… also those uttered by Mork from Ork… Shazbut!)
See, I remember reading in our guidebook that it’s imperative for travelers to get their tickets validated by the machines in the subway terminals, otherwise they might incur a fine. I recalled seeing some validation machines, but we were running to catch the train, so I figured (in true American fashion) “To hell with it.”
Sure enough, the lady in blue got to us, looked at our tickets and started, in the words of my ancestors, hassling us.
She said that we could’ve bought the tickets at any time and there we were subject to a fine of “up to 60 times the price of the ticket.” The tickets were 5 euros each… in other words 300 euros a person (the equivalent of about $450!!).
Hortophagus!!!!
(Greek for “vegetarian”)
We explained that we were not told about this, that we clearly just came from the airport, etc. She was as stubborn as a Grecian mule. One of the gentlemen with her, a superior, spoke to us with more civility, encouraged us to dispute the fine at the main terminal (to which we were headed anyway), and the charges would probably be dropped.
The wife and were pissed to say the least.
Once we arrived at our destination we filled out some paperwork and hoped for the best (we’d have to be updated via e-mail). We dropped off our bags at our hotel and went to see the sights.
The Acropolis was closed (after 3 PM… I guess if geezers who are over the hill go to sleep at 7 PM, then a hill that’s over 7000 years old can close at 3), so we decided to clear our minds with a healthy walk around Athens.
That’s when we were almost run over by a trolley.
Let me elaborate, because that sounds a lot stupider than I intended.
It sounds about as serious as a box of Rice-a-roni smacking me in the face, or like Mr. Roger’s puppets were ringing their little bells at me.
No.
See, it was a four lane street—two lanes in each direction. From the side we were on, all the automobile traffic was coming from the left—including a few trolleys once in a while. We looked to the left—no cars. My wife and I began to cross the intersection, the whole time looking left.
“Aaron!” my wife screamed at me (same tone she uses when I get pee on the toilet seat).
I looked to our right, there is a trolley—ahem, I mean “an above-ground metro”— barreling towards us!!! It was going FAST. Like 30 mph. That’s not SO fast… unless something is 8 feet away from you. Then it’s damn terrifying.
The wife and I flung ourselves backwards, thereby narrowly avoiding, if not certain death, than certain partial damage to our beautiful visages and behinds.
Apparently Grecian trolleys can come from either direction… and don’t honk their damn horns until they’re 6 feet from murdering pedestrians (remember, the horn didn’t stop me, my wife’s scream did).
We collected ourselves on the sidewalk, just holding each other and choking back tears. Thankfully, Greece is SWARMING with homeless dogs. Seriously. Like Jerusalem, with its cats. But the dogs aren’t mangey-looking or starving… they just wander around the streets of Athens, most of them looking downright dead, barely moving. But just as we were in shock, one friendly pooch strolled by and allowed us to pet him for several minutes, thereby teaching us an important lesson: Greek dogs are much better than Greek public transportation.
It’s all relative.
My wife and I thought potentially receiving a 300-euro subway fine was bad… then we almost got killed.
It’s all relative.
… Still, 300 euros?!
That’s bullshit.
“Ya know, Ricky, breaking up with a girlfriend can be a very painful thing. But it don't have to keep ya down for long. I've never had a regular girlfriend like you, but I did get kicked in the balls once by a mule. Now, I thought I would be hurting for the rest of my life. But you know what happened the very next week?... My momma died! … Hell, after that, I didn't care no more about my balls hurtin'. You see what I'm gettin' at?”
-- Rube Baker, “Major League II” (1994, screenplay by R.J. Stewart)
.
Monday, March 1
Celebrate Good Times, Come On!
.
“And in every province, and in every city, whithersoever the king’s commandment and his decree came, the Jews had joy and gladness, a feast and a good day. And many of the people of the land became Jews; for the fear of the Jews fell upon them. ”
--Esther 8:18
Celebrating Purim in Jerusalem is a unique experience.
For those of you in the USA, let me try to capture the energy:
Imagine Halloween combined with New Year’s Eve and your local sports team winning the championship— inebriated, costumed individuals waving noisemakers and wandering the streets, shouting and cheering all night long.
(i.e., Par-taaaay!)
What is the story of Purim, briefly?
Queen Esther and her uncle Mordechai thwarted the murderous plot of the king’s advisor Haman, preventing him from murdering all the Jews of Persia!
They saved the proverbial day and everything worked out… for the Jews.
Not so much for Haman (he was hanged… and hanged well).
In fact, the traditional Purim cookie is called “the ear of Haman”—it’s a triangle of dough with fruit in the middle.
(Ahem)
It makes as much sense as remembering the birth of Jesus with a fruitcake.
But in Jerusalem Purim is a happy, whiskey-soaked celebration!
In fact, at the end of the story, not only were all the Jews safe to live in Persia and its provinces, but other people converted to Judaism because they FEARED the Jews! As well they should have, since the Jews actually killed over 75,000 of their enemies (9:5,6 &16).
Yikes!
It was like the Inquisition … but the exact opposite.
So… how did I celebrate Purim?
I listened to rabbinical students read the scroll (megillah) of Esther in a tavern called “Yankees Pub”, I booed whenever Haman’s name was mentioned (as is the Jewish custom), I ate pizza and drank too much ouzo (as is my custom) and then I partied at a gay bar, where my wife (dressed as Bunnicula, the vampire bunny of children’s literature) danced with a Carmen Miranda-impersonator who had more chest hair than Chewbacca.
Good times!
Masks, booze, dancing and cookies!
Purim— when everyone is (at least) a little gay!
“…the Jews had joy and gladness, a feast and a good day.”
--Esther 8:17
“When you're with the Flintstones
you'll have a yabba dabba doo time.
A dabba doo time.
You'll have a gay old time.”
-- Hanna-Barbera’s Flintstones theme song
.
“And in every province, and in every city, whithersoever the king’s commandment and his decree came, the Jews had joy and gladness, a feast and a good day. And many of the people of the land became Jews; for the fear of the Jews fell upon them. ”
--Esther 8:18
Celebrating Purim in Jerusalem is a unique experience.
For those of you in the USA, let me try to capture the energy:
Imagine Halloween combined with New Year’s Eve and your local sports team winning the championship— inebriated, costumed individuals waving noisemakers and wandering the streets, shouting and cheering all night long.
(i.e., Par-taaaay!)
What is the story of Purim, briefly?
Queen Esther and her uncle Mordechai thwarted the murderous plot of the king’s advisor Haman, preventing him from murdering all the Jews of Persia!
They saved the proverbial day and everything worked out… for the Jews.
Not so much for Haman (he was hanged… and hanged well).
In fact, the traditional Purim cookie is called “the ear of Haman”—it’s a triangle of dough with fruit in the middle.
(Ahem)
It makes as much sense as remembering the birth of Jesus with a fruitcake.
But in Jerusalem Purim is a happy, whiskey-soaked celebration!
In fact, at the end of the story, not only were all the Jews safe to live in Persia and its provinces, but other people converted to Judaism because they FEARED the Jews! As well they should have, since the Jews actually killed over 75,000 of their enemies (9:5,6 &16).
Yikes!
It was like the Inquisition … but the exact opposite.
So… how did I celebrate Purim?
I listened to rabbinical students read the scroll (megillah) of Esther in a tavern called “Yankees Pub”, I booed whenever Haman’s name was mentioned (as is the Jewish custom), I ate pizza and drank too much ouzo (as is my custom) and then I partied at a gay bar, where my wife (dressed as Bunnicula, the vampire bunny of children’s literature) danced with a Carmen Miranda-impersonator who had more chest hair than Chewbacca.
Good times!
Masks, booze, dancing and cookies!
Purim— when everyone is (at least) a little gay!
“…the Jews had joy and gladness, a feast and a good day.”
--Esther 8:17
“When you're with the Flintstones
you'll have a yabba dabba doo time.
A dabba doo time.
You'll have a gay old time.”
-- Hanna-Barbera’s Flintstones theme song
.
Purim-- We’re Number One!
.
“Thus the Jews smote all their enemies with the stroke of the sword, and slaughter, and destruction, and did what they would unto those that hated them.”
-- Esther 9:5
Purim – the Jewish holiday that celebrates everything actually working out for the Jews… for a change.
Finally, a happy story!
... sort of.
A Jewish girl assimilates, marries a non-Jewish king, and the Jews murder thousands of people.
…hooray?
“But the other Jews that were in the king’s provinces gathered themselves together, and stood for their lives, and had rest from their enemies, and slew of their foes seventy and five thousand, but they laid not their hands on the prey.”
-- Esther 9:16
Geez!
It’s kinda rough. Sure, Queen Esther reveals her true religion to her hubby King, and has the king hang Haman, the wicked advisor who planned to murder all the Jews!
… but they also hang Haman’s ten sons (9:10) and thousands of other people.
Kinda grisly.
And the day is repeatedly referred to as one of “joy and gladness, a feast and a good day” (8:17, 9:17, 9:19).
Winners write the history books, I suppose.
Every nation needs some heroes, needs to feel like their people weren’t always getting their butts kicked.
Not everyone is a Yankees fan, some of us need someone else to cheer for.
Esther or Derek Jeter, it’s about pride.
And for once, the Jews won out!
That’s what Purim is all about.
It’s about the Jews kicking some ass!
BEN
You know what movie I just saw again
the other day? “Munich.”
JONAH
Dude, “Munich” … rules.
BEN
That movie was Eric Bana kicking
f**kin’ ass! Dude, every movie with Jews, we’re the
ones getting killed. “Munich” flips it
on its ear. We’re cappin’ motherf**kers.
JONAH
Not only killing, but… takin’ names.
BEN
If any of us get laid tonight, it’s
because of Eric Bana in “Munich.”
-- Screenplay of “Knocked Up”, p.13, by Judd Apatow (a Jew, just so you know)
.
“Thus the Jews smote all their enemies with the stroke of the sword, and slaughter, and destruction, and did what they would unto those that hated them.”
-- Esther 9:5
Purim – the Jewish holiday that celebrates everything actually working out for the Jews… for a change.
Finally, a happy story!
... sort of.
A Jewish girl assimilates, marries a non-Jewish king, and the Jews murder thousands of people.
…hooray?
“But the other Jews that were in the king’s provinces gathered themselves together, and stood for their lives, and had rest from their enemies, and slew of their foes seventy and five thousand, but they laid not their hands on the prey.”
-- Esther 9:16
Geez!
It’s kinda rough. Sure, Queen Esther reveals her true religion to her hubby King, and has the king hang Haman, the wicked advisor who planned to murder all the Jews!
… but they also hang Haman’s ten sons (9:10) and thousands of other people.
Kinda grisly.
And the day is repeatedly referred to as one of “joy and gladness, a feast and a good day” (8:17, 9:17, 9:19).
Winners write the history books, I suppose.
Every nation needs some heroes, needs to feel like their people weren’t always getting their butts kicked.
Not everyone is a Yankees fan, some of us need someone else to cheer for.
Esther or Derek Jeter, it’s about pride.
And for once, the Jews won out!
That’s what Purim is all about.
It’s about the Jews kicking some ass!
BEN
You know what movie I just saw again
the other day? “Munich.”
JONAH
Dude, “Munich” … rules.
BEN
That movie was Eric Bana kicking
f**kin’ ass! Dude, every movie with Jews, we’re the
ones getting killed. “Munich” flips it
on its ear. We’re cappin’ motherf**kers.
JONAH
Not only killing, but… takin’ names.
BEN
If any of us get laid tonight, it’s
because of Eric Bana in “Munich.”
-- Screenplay of “Knocked Up”, p.13, by Judd Apatow (a Jew, just so you know)
.
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