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

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

-- Exodus 34:6-7

The above passage is recited on most Jewish fast days.

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

Good, now moving on…

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

I saw Toy Story 3.

… Also, my grandma died.

What’s that you say?

Oh, yes, the movie was amazing…

Sigh.


Okay, let’s get into it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why not?

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

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

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

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

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

- Isaiah 55:10, 12


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

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

- Job 8:20-21

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

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

Awwwwww.

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

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

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


But back to Israel…

(sigh)

So many memories.
I made two more today.

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

Naturally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connections!

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

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

Connections!

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

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

I hope that you figure out where your heart is.

So Shalom ... for now.

I'm going home.
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Outside the Boxes

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

-Hosea 2:19-20

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

And my wife.

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

You know, a typical Friday in Jerusalem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kahl v’khomair, female rabbinical students!

First, some definitions:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen, sir.

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

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

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

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

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


Go watch the film, the scene only gets better.

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

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

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

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

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

And now I will list those people in alphabetical order:

No no, I am kidding.

Because I have no tact!

But really—

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

Kahl v’khomair, with people.
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Road Rage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, Sam Elliot said it better:

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


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

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


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

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


And remember:
Drive safely.

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