Posts
Remember-
In the book of Genesis, Jacob tricks his bleary-eyed pop and steals his brother's blessing and his inheritance.
(in Jacob's defense...um... his brother was hairy?)
So Jacob did what any of us would do... he ran!
He comes to a new land and sees some shepherds chillin' around a giant stone, as shepherds are wont to do (those that don't chat with flaming shrubbery).
The shepherds roll the "great stone" away, and below it is a well; their sheep drink from the well, then they roll the stone back (Gen. 29:2-3)
Wow.
Being a shepherd: non-stop thrill ride.
But check it--
Then, my man Jacob sees Rachel coming over with her dad's sheep, and you know happens ...
"When Jacob saw Rachel... and the sheep... Jacob went near and rolled the stone from the well's mouth and watered the flock" (Gen. 29:15).
Damn!
My King James version calls it "a feat of unusual strength." This ain't no Festivus. This is Jacob whippin' it out and showin' Rachel what he's made of.
And you know what... that's the smartest thing Jacob has done.
"And this takes us to the second rule of Being Steve: You have to do something excellent in her presence, thus demonstrating your sexual worthiness."
-- Rule #2, "Tao of Steve", written by Duncan North
This makes TOTAL sense! Ya gotta do something to make 'em go "Wow." Ya gotta impress the ladies (as my pal Malcolm X would say) by any means necessary!
It doesn't matter what you do to impress them... as long as you're good at it!
Everybody can do something!
Jacob could roll a bolder and give water to sheep. My buddy Frank can karaoke-sing to MeatLoaf's "I Would Do Anything For Love" better than anybody. Claire Standish can apply her lipstick simply by placing it in her cleavage, looking down and moving her head back and forth (and became queen of the Breakfast Club).
(Don't you... forget about me)
And I...
I can juggle.
(sigh)
And write immature poetry.
Back in college, when I was courting my now-wife, I was taking a Poetry class. So I read her the following poem, to show her... how sensitive I was?
I guess it worked. And the rest, as they say, is hysterectomy.
Enjoy.
The Love Poem To End All Love Poems
Love thy neighbor, wherever you roam.
Just you make sure her husband’s not home.
Love inspires poets to create works of art.
They say it’s like a red, red rose,
... or an Achy Breaky Heart.
What is love? Is it Attraction? Allure?
Baby, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me, no more. (What is love?)
They say love is blind, so it’s no great leap
To condone love with all: man, woman or sheep.
Love can be tricky, with one who is chaste.
But it certainly helps if you’re both shit-faced.
Affection’s elusive with a girl who is moral.
She might give you love, but she won’t give you… the time of day.
“At the touch of love, we all become poets.”
Plato said that. Boy, don’t I know it.
(ahem)
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art sweaty and thou dost attract mosquitoes.
.
Tuesday, August 10
Men's Priorities
.
Remember-
Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, God explains (through Moses) the rules and laws the Israelites are supposed to follow.
Chapter 20 deals with military service.
Who is temporarily exempt from military duty? (besides Klinger-- section 8!)
Check out verse 5:
"What man is there that hath built a new house, and hath not dedicated it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man dedicate it."
Verse 6, The same formula-- but for wine:
"What manjavascript:void(0)... planted a vineyard, and hath not yet eaten of it? ... let him also go... lest he die in the battle, and another man eat of it."
And, naturally, verse 7:
"What man is... betrothed to a wife and hath not taken her?... Let him go... lest he die in the battle, and another man take her."
BAM!
Here we see the three priorities in a man's life: Shelter, Booze, and Dames!
It's a natural progression: a place to sleep, something to eat/drink, and someone to share it with-- to eat, drink and be "merry"... unless she has a headache.
That sure would stink-- you go to all the trouble of building a house, or planting crops, or wooing a lady... and you die before you can enjoy any of it! Some OTHER guy is in YOUR bed, drinking YOUR wine, and being "merry" all over YOUR woman!
Now THAT'S getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop!
Unfair!
And God knew this.
Hence-- this very sensible rule.
How refreshing.
.
Remember-
Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, God explains (through Moses) the rules and laws the Israelites are supposed to follow.
Chapter 20 deals with military service.
Who is temporarily exempt from military duty? (besides Klinger-- section 8!)
Check out verse 5:
"What man is there that hath built a new house, and hath not dedicated it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man dedicate it."
Verse 6, The same formula-- but for wine:
"What manjavascript:void(0)... planted a vineyard, and hath not yet eaten of it? ... let him also go... lest he die in the battle, and another man eat of it."
And, naturally, verse 7:
"What man is... betrothed to a wife and hath not taken her?... Let him go... lest he die in the battle, and another man take her."
BAM!
Here we see the three priorities in a man's life: Shelter, Booze, and Dames!
It's a natural progression: a place to sleep, something to eat/drink, and someone to share it with-- to eat, drink and be "merry"... unless she has a headache.
That sure would stink-- you go to all the trouble of building a house, or planting crops, or wooing a lady... and you die before you can enjoy any of it! Some OTHER guy is in YOUR bed, drinking YOUR wine, and being "merry" all over YOUR woman!
Now THAT'S getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop!
Unfair!
And God knew this.
Hence-- this very sensible rule.
How refreshing.
.
Monday, July 19
Swallow your ... (ahem) pride
.
“Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.”
- Proverbs 16:19
I am a sports counselor at a Jewish summer camp.
And no, “sports” and “jewish summer camp” are not oxymorons.
We play plenty of sports…
Well… a lot of chess.
Sports with all Jews?
What is it, a camp full of team managers? Just hundreds of kids carrying water jugs and clipboards?
Actually, we’re not training them to be sports stars, but rather, sports agents.
“Let’s do ten jumping jacks and five contract negotiations.”
Forget color wars, we have bidding wars.
Ha ha… that is just awful.
Okay, we got that out of our systems.
Truthfully, we play every sports you can think of.
I was teaching softball today and it was rough.
But I was forced to swallow my pride.
As soon as the kids’ regular counselor signaled the end of the perek (or “period”) I said, “Oh praise Jesus!”
“Jesus? Here? It’s a Jewish summer camp.”
Trying to be funny, I dug deeper. “No, not THAT Jesus. I’m talking about Jesus, the guy who cleans my floors.”
There were a few kids around us, but I was saying it for the amusement of myself and the counselor.
A minute later, when it was just the two of us, he said,
“Dude, ‘Lo mateem.’” In Jewish camp-speak that means “Not appropriate.”
He elaborated. “There were kids around and what you said was kinda racist. Besides, they don’t know you’re joking.”
Now, I didn’t really like this counselor. He was a jock… and not just in terms of a Jewish summer camp (A jewish jock? What, can he field a groundball without dropping his inhaler?).
So I resented this guy. I REALLY didn’t want to admit he was right.
But… we was right.
“Okay, you got a point” I conceded, nodding my head. “You got a point.”
He WAS right… and my Jesus comment was more racist than funny, anyway.
.
“Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.”
- Proverbs 16:19
I am a sports counselor at a Jewish summer camp.
And no, “sports” and “jewish summer camp” are not oxymorons.
We play plenty of sports…
Well… a lot of chess.
Sports with all Jews?
What is it, a camp full of team managers? Just hundreds of kids carrying water jugs and clipboards?
Actually, we’re not training them to be sports stars, but rather, sports agents.
“Let’s do ten jumping jacks and five contract negotiations.”
Forget color wars, we have bidding wars.
Ha ha… that is just awful.
Okay, we got that out of our systems.
Truthfully, we play every sports you can think of.
I was teaching softball today and it was rough.
But I was forced to swallow my pride.
As soon as the kids’ regular counselor signaled the end of the perek (or “period”) I said, “Oh praise Jesus!”
“Jesus? Here? It’s a Jewish summer camp.”
Trying to be funny, I dug deeper. “No, not THAT Jesus. I’m talking about Jesus, the guy who cleans my floors.”
There were a few kids around us, but I was saying it for the amusement of myself and the counselor.
A minute later, when it was just the two of us, he said,
“Dude, ‘Lo mateem.’” In Jewish camp-speak that means “Not appropriate.”
He elaborated. “There were kids around and what you said was kinda racist. Besides, they don’t know you’re joking.”
Now, I didn’t really like this counselor. He was a jock… and not just in terms of a Jewish summer camp (A jewish jock? What, can he field a groundball without dropping his inhaler?).
So I resented this guy. I REALLY didn’t want to admit he was right.
But… we was right.
“Okay, you got a point” I conceded, nodding my head. “You got a point.”
He WAS right… and my Jesus comment was more racist than funny, anyway.
.
Wednesday, June 30
"To weep is to make less the depth of grief." - William Shakespeare
.
“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
.
.
“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
.
.
Wednesday, June 9
Home
.
“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.
.
“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.
.
Tuesday, June 8
Outside the Boxes
.
“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.
.
“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.
.
Tuesday, June 1
Road Rage
.
“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.
.
“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.
.
Tuesday, May 25
"Baby you can drive my car" -- The Beatles
.
“He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.”
- Job 39:7
The drivers of Jerusalem are often given a bum rap. Well…
Jerusalem at dawn— a beautiful thing (also, I woke up at 6 AM anc couldn’t fall back asleep).
So I went running this morning and I negotiated the streets of The Holy City with some of the worst drivers in the world.
Translation of “negotiated”—tried not to get run over.
And you know what I’ve learned here?
Ironic—the “best” drivers are actually the STUDENT drivers!
Let me explain—this town was not built for the horseless carriage, Henry Ford’s metal contraption known “a car.” Like Boston, with its cobblestone pathways, the narrow, winding streets hearken back to simpler times of John Adams and King David (portrayed on screen by William Daniels and Richard Gere, respectively).
So taxi drivers that would normally seem merely “Manhattan-crazy” are exponentially more terrifying in the nooks and crannies of Jerusalem.
But not student drivers! The roofs of their cars are clearly marked with a white sign displaying a big blue “lah-med” (Hebrew equivalent of “L”), signifying “Lomed” or “learning.” And they are the only defensive drivers in this city. They are cautious and courteous and… usually women.
And 9 times out of 10, when I jog past a student driver, I see a lady behind the wheel, wearing a concentrated, slightly nervous expression and a head-covering. Sometimes it’s a sheitel (for Jewish women) and sometimes it’s a hijab (for Muslim ladies). Women driving cars. Religious women.
Even though there is a lot of old-school, backwards thinking in this part of the world, fundamentalism on all sides of the Torah, New Testament, and Qur’an—people living as they did 1,2 even 3 thousand years ago and thinking everyone else should do the same—we are moving forward, advancing into the 21st century… one green light at a time.
.
“He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.”
- Job 39:7
The drivers of Jerusalem are often given a bum rap. Well…
Jerusalem at dawn— a beautiful thing (also, I woke up at 6 AM anc couldn’t fall back asleep).
So I went running this morning and I negotiated the streets of The Holy City with some of the worst drivers in the world.
Translation of “negotiated”—tried not to get run over.
And you know what I’ve learned here?
Ironic—the “best” drivers are actually the STUDENT drivers!
Let me explain—this town was not built for the horseless carriage, Henry Ford’s metal contraption known “a car.” Like Boston, with its cobblestone pathways, the narrow, winding streets hearken back to simpler times of John Adams and King David (portrayed on screen by William Daniels and Richard Gere, respectively).
So taxi drivers that would normally seem merely “Manhattan-crazy” are exponentially more terrifying in the nooks and crannies of Jerusalem.
But not student drivers! The roofs of their cars are clearly marked with a white sign displaying a big blue “lah-med” (Hebrew equivalent of “L”), signifying “Lomed” or “learning.” And they are the only defensive drivers in this city. They are cautious and courteous and… usually women.
And 9 times out of 10, when I jog past a student driver, I see a lady behind the wheel, wearing a concentrated, slightly nervous expression and a head-covering. Sometimes it’s a sheitel (for Jewish women) and sometimes it’s a hijab (for Muslim ladies). Women driving cars. Religious women.
Even though there is a lot of old-school, backwards thinking in this part of the world, fundamentalism on all sides of the Torah, New Testament, and Qur’an—people living as they did 1,2 even 3 thousand years ago and thinking everyone else should do the same—we are moving forward, advancing into the 21st century… one green light at a time.
.
Monday, May 24
Keep on Keepin' on
“And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold a man running alone.”
-- 2nd Samuel 18:24
“My body’s sayin’ let’s go… but my heart is saying no.”
The first quotation is from the Bible… big whoop.
The second quote was made famous in the song “Genie in a bottle” by Christian Aguilera, arguably the most gifted bible scholar of our time (actually she married a Jewish boy in 2008—check it out on wikipedia).
The song (penned by David Frank, Steve Kipner, and Pamela Sheyne) was HUGE the last time I was in Israel, starting the summer of 1999 till February 2000.
And its message, like that from the second book of Samuel, has withstood the test of time.
Well, running a marathon is essentially the opposite.
Your brain tells you, “Keep going! Come on!”
And your body says, “Check, please!”
You want to follow the advice of Dory in “Finding Nemo”—
“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”
Metaphorical for us, literal for her. Well, around kilometer 34 (or mile 21), my legs informed me, “Ahem, excuse us… Brain, I think you should be sitting somewhere right about now, eating a sandwich, watching clips on youtube, and not sweating anymore.”
My body was the minivan driving a cross-country road trip:
Legs= kids : “We’re hungry, we’re thirsty, we gotta use the toilet!”
Brain= parents: Damn it! Would you shut up! Do some Mad Libs or something!”
It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in over 15 months… when I got contact lenses. Talk about frustrating! It was like Algebra and juggling combined. My brain said, “Put it in!” And my eye said, “What, are you nuts? Nothing goes IN me! Stuff only comes OUT… like tears at the end of ‘Field of Dreams’ or an exceptionally moving episode of Two and A Half Men!’ ”
But my then- fiancée informed me that I was being a … less than masculine individual. That I should “grow a pair” (I assume she meant eyes… y’know, for the contacts… what else could she have been referring to?)
But I kept at it… and eventually conquered my contacts… and the marathon (nearly 4 hours after beginning) and that’s what we all have to do in our lives. I am sure it’s what Moses told the Israelites during those 40 years wandering through the desert.
(well, that and “No, I told you yesterday, we’re not stopping at Denny’s!”)
The same message the Brady Bunch taught us:
“We're gonna keep on, keep on , keep on movin’…”
Or…
“And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”
-- The final words of Tom Hanks’ character in “Cast Away,” screenplay by William Broyles, Jr.
.
-- 2nd Samuel 18:24
“My body’s sayin’ let’s go… but my heart is saying no.”
The first quotation is from the Bible… big whoop.
The second quote was made famous in the song “Genie in a bottle” by Christian Aguilera, arguably the most gifted bible scholar of our time (actually she married a Jewish boy in 2008—check it out on wikipedia).
The song (penned by David Frank, Steve Kipner, and Pamela Sheyne) was HUGE the last time I was in Israel, starting the summer of 1999 till February 2000.
And its message, like that from the second book of Samuel, has withstood the test of time.
Well, running a marathon is essentially the opposite.
Your brain tells you, “Keep going! Come on!”
And your body says, “Check, please!”
You want to follow the advice of Dory in “Finding Nemo”—
“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”
Metaphorical for us, literal for her. Well, around kilometer 34 (or mile 21), my legs informed me, “Ahem, excuse us… Brain, I think you should be sitting somewhere right about now, eating a sandwich, watching clips on youtube, and not sweating anymore.”
My body was the minivan driving a cross-country road trip:
Legs= kids : “We’re hungry, we’re thirsty, we gotta use the toilet!”
Brain= parents: Damn it! Would you shut up! Do some Mad Libs or something!”
It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in over 15 months… when I got contact lenses. Talk about frustrating! It was like Algebra and juggling combined. My brain said, “Put it in!” And my eye said, “What, are you nuts? Nothing goes IN me! Stuff only comes OUT… like tears at the end of ‘Field of Dreams’ or an exceptionally moving episode of Two and A Half Men!’ ”
But my then- fiancée informed me that I was being a … less than masculine individual. That I should “grow a pair” (I assume she meant eyes… y’know, for the contacts… what else could she have been referring to?)
But I kept at it… and eventually conquered my contacts… and the marathon (nearly 4 hours after beginning) and that’s what we all have to do in our lives. I am sure it’s what Moses told the Israelites during those 40 years wandering through the desert.
(well, that and “No, I told you yesterday, we’re not stopping at Denny’s!”)
The same message the Brady Bunch taught us:
“We're gonna keep on, keep on , keep on movin’…”
Or…
“And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”
-- The final words of Tom Hanks’ character in “Cast Away,” screenplay by William Broyles, Jr.
.
Tuesday, May 18
Sweet Sassy Molassy!
.
“And he was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water. And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.”
- Ex. 34:28
Tonight is Shavuot, which almost literally means the "Feast of Weeks"—because we count 7 weeks from the second night of Passover… 49 days until Shavuot, supposedly marking the moment of Revelation at Sinai (i.e., Moses receiving the ten commandments/Torah... or absolutely nothing, depending on who you ask).
Shavuot is often overlooked in the Hebrew School circuit because it occurs in late May, close to the summer, when Hebrew School is already over. Also, it doesn’t have the cachet of the more famous holidays: The piety of Yom Kippur, the commercial appeal of Hanukkah, the ritual of Passover or dancing of Simchat Torah.
But what food do we eat on Shavuot?
Well, you could argue that we should fast, just like Moses did, for 40 days.
But Jews (like most people) prefer eating TOO much, rather than NOT ENOUGH.
So we consume obscene amounts of Dairy! Hooray!
It's symbolic. Like eating bitter herbs on Passover because Pharaoh made the lives of the Israelites bitter.
On Shavuot we eat dairy, especially cheesecake! Because being slaves made the lives of the Israelites... lactose intolerant!
No, actually there is a teaching that God had not yet informed the Israelites which animals were kosher, and which were unkosher, so to play it safe—no meat (albatross? Camel? Y’know what, let’s just eat some goat cheese”)
So Dairy foods and receiving the Torah/Ten Commandments—there is also a tradition to stay up all night!
Woo-hoo!
Doing what?
Studying!!!
Yeah, Jews know how to party! Yay! Gemara and Gas!
Okay—to sum up:
Cheesecake and Ten Commandments.
Both good, plus staying up all night!
All these qualities SHOULD make Shavuot very popular.
And yet, it has fallen through the holiday cracks, even though it fills a seasonal holiday gap—
Fall:
Apples, honey… then no eating.
Winter:
Presents and chocolates and potato pancakes.
Spring:
Matzah and Seder and ten plagues
Today I went grocery shopping, then stopped by a bakery and purchased a cheesecake for the festivities.
I returned home and my beloved wife asked me where the mushrooms and pretzels were.
They were gone!
I sprinted back to the bakery and inquired—
“Sorry, I was here early today, had a bag with food. Will you have seen it?”
“Oh, the bag with pretzels and mushrooms?”
He produced my bag of groceries from behind the counter
I thanked him, “Yes, that is the bag! Thanks to you. If I went back to house with no mushrooms, my wife would take away MY mushrooms?”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
Israel has that type of hospitality and neighborliness—when I go running Friday afternoons, I usually pick up a bouquet of flowers for my wife (I’m not THAT great a guy-- I’m lazy, they sell ‘em right on the corner. Maybe back in Manhattan I’ll pick her up some crack).
Two Fridays ago I picked out some roses, then realized I didn’t have enough money.
“It’s okay,” the young flower dude told me, “you’ll pay me next week. Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t believe it.
Israelis really can be quite sweet—no wonder they call this place the land flowing with Milk and Honey (which sounds awesome… unless you’re a vegan).
“And it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give he shall eat butter: for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land.”
- Isaiah 7:22 (one of 22 instances in the Bible where Israel is referred to as the land of “milk and honey”)
.
“And he was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water. And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.”
- Ex. 34:28
Tonight is Shavuot, which almost literally means the "Feast of Weeks"—because we count 7 weeks from the second night of Passover… 49 days until Shavuot, supposedly marking the moment of Revelation at Sinai (i.e., Moses receiving the ten commandments/Torah... or absolutely nothing, depending on who you ask).
Shavuot is often overlooked in the Hebrew School circuit because it occurs in late May, close to the summer, when Hebrew School is already over. Also, it doesn’t have the cachet of the more famous holidays: The piety of Yom Kippur, the commercial appeal of Hanukkah, the ritual of Passover or dancing of Simchat Torah.
But what food do we eat on Shavuot?
Well, you could argue that we should fast, just like Moses did, for 40 days.
But Jews (like most people) prefer eating TOO much, rather than NOT ENOUGH.
So we consume obscene amounts of Dairy! Hooray!
It's symbolic. Like eating bitter herbs on Passover because Pharaoh made the lives of the Israelites bitter.
On Shavuot we eat dairy, especially cheesecake! Because being slaves made the lives of the Israelites... lactose intolerant!
No, actually there is a teaching that God had not yet informed the Israelites which animals were kosher, and which were unkosher, so to play it safe—no meat (albatross? Camel? Y’know what, let’s just eat some goat cheese”)
So Dairy foods and receiving the Torah/Ten Commandments—there is also a tradition to stay up all night!
Woo-hoo!
Doing what?
Studying!!!
Yeah, Jews know how to party! Yay! Gemara and Gas!
Okay—to sum up:
Cheesecake and Ten Commandments.
Both good, plus staying up all night!
All these qualities SHOULD make Shavuot very popular.
And yet, it has fallen through the holiday cracks, even though it fills a seasonal holiday gap—
Fall:
Apples, honey… then no eating.
Winter:
Presents and chocolates and potato pancakes.
Spring:
Matzah and Seder and ten plagues
Today I went grocery shopping, then stopped by a bakery and purchased a cheesecake for the festivities.
I returned home and my beloved wife asked me where the mushrooms and pretzels were.
They were gone!
I sprinted back to the bakery and inquired—
“Sorry, I was here early today, had a bag with food. Will you have seen it?”
“Oh, the bag with pretzels and mushrooms?”
He produced my bag of groceries from behind the counter
I thanked him, “Yes, that is the bag! Thanks to you. If I went back to house with no mushrooms, my wife would take away MY mushrooms?”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
Israel has that type of hospitality and neighborliness—when I go running Friday afternoons, I usually pick up a bouquet of flowers for my wife (I’m not THAT great a guy-- I’m lazy, they sell ‘em right on the corner. Maybe back in Manhattan I’ll pick her up some crack).
Two Fridays ago I picked out some roses, then realized I didn’t have enough money.
“It’s okay,” the young flower dude told me, “you’ll pay me next week. Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t believe it.
Israelis really can be quite sweet—no wonder they call this place the land flowing with Milk and Honey (which sounds awesome… unless you’re a vegan).
“And it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give he shall eat butter: for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land.”
- Isaiah 7:22 (one of 22 instances in the Bible where Israel is referred to as the land of “milk and honey”)
.
Monday, May 17
(Don't) Look Back In Anger
.
"We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves."
- Romans 15:1
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.”
- Mel Brooks
People are selfish.
“How dare he cut me off!”
“They shot at us!”
Don’t take everything so personally!
Right?
…Ahem. Let me explain (no, there is too much, let me sum up…)
We all think that everything is personally directed at US!
It’s not about YOU!
… it’s about ME!
Irony! Because people are selfish, they aren’t intentionally being jerks to YOU, per se (oooh, French!)! They’re not TRYING to piss you off, in fact, they’re not even THINKING about you—they are selfish, they’re thinking about THEMSELVES!
They just HAPPEN to be pissing you off indirectly.
I say “they,” but I am just as guilty as the next guy… not that I care who he is, because I am selfish!
Last week I was training for the marathon—which I ran this past Friday in Tel Aviv (I finished! Yeah! And… avoided vomiting!). Whilst I ran on the sidewalks of Jerusalem I would get easily frustrated when some random person would walk in front of me. I was keeping my steady pace, training diligently, then some putz would just walk in front of me… as if he owned the place! He didn’t realize that I was the center of the universe and that he should be walking backwards, so he could see me coming from behind and get out of my way!
God! The nerve!
I was thinking this last week, just as I ran past Derekh Beyt Lekhem (Way of the Bread House). Then I turned onto Emek Refa’im (literally “Valley of the Ghosts”… spooky), and I was tuning out the traffic, listening to my iPod, then I randomly glanced behind me. There was a middle-aged fellow on his bicycle, riding about 3 mph (or 5 km/h, which is 16 yen/millisecond, or 800 CCs/wingspan of an Australian condor).
And he wasn’t pissed off, or bitter, or hinting for me to move my butt. He was just calmly riding his bike very slowly, patiently waiting for me to move.
I nodded apologetically (you know the move, when you run into oncoming traffic, “oops, my bad”). He smiled and shook his head, as if to say, “You’re mother’s a whore.” No, not really, he was saying, “Don’t worry about it.”
And that’s when it occurred to me—Everybody takes turns being the person in the way.
Everybody is a pain in somebody’s ass. So really, we shouldn’t be so mean and impatient—because it won’t be too long before you’re in someone else’s way.
“Lean on me, when you're not strong and I'll be your friend/
I'll help you carry on, for it won't be long 'til I'm gonna need somebody
to lean on”
- Bill Withers, “Lean on Me”
.
"We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves."
- Romans 15:1
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.”
- Mel Brooks
People are selfish.
“How dare he cut me off!”
“They shot at us!”
Don’t take everything so personally!
Right?
…Ahem. Let me explain (no, there is too much, let me sum up…)
We all think that everything is personally directed at US!
It’s not about YOU!
… it’s about ME!
Irony! Because people are selfish, they aren’t intentionally being jerks to YOU, per se (oooh, French!)! They’re not TRYING to piss you off, in fact, they’re not even THINKING about you—they are selfish, they’re thinking about THEMSELVES!
They just HAPPEN to be pissing you off indirectly.
I say “they,” but I am just as guilty as the next guy… not that I care who he is, because I am selfish!
Last week I was training for the marathon—which I ran this past Friday in Tel Aviv (I finished! Yeah! And… avoided vomiting!). Whilst I ran on the sidewalks of Jerusalem I would get easily frustrated when some random person would walk in front of me. I was keeping my steady pace, training diligently, then some putz would just walk in front of me… as if he owned the place! He didn’t realize that I was the center of the universe and that he should be walking backwards, so he could see me coming from behind and get out of my way!
God! The nerve!
I was thinking this last week, just as I ran past Derekh Beyt Lekhem (Way of the Bread House). Then I turned onto Emek Refa’im (literally “Valley of the Ghosts”… spooky), and I was tuning out the traffic, listening to my iPod, then I randomly glanced behind me. There was a middle-aged fellow on his bicycle, riding about 3 mph (or 5 km/h, which is 16 yen/millisecond, or 800 CCs/wingspan of an Australian condor).
And he wasn’t pissed off, or bitter, or hinting for me to move my butt. He was just calmly riding his bike very slowly, patiently waiting for me to move.
I nodded apologetically (you know the move, when you run into oncoming traffic, “oops, my bad”). He smiled and shook his head, as if to say, “You’re mother’s a whore.” No, not really, he was saying, “Don’t worry about it.”
And that’s when it occurred to me—Everybody takes turns being the person in the way.
Everybody is a pain in somebody’s ass. So really, we shouldn’t be so mean and impatient—because it won’t be too long before you’re in someone else’s way.
“Lean on me, when you're not strong and I'll be your friend/
I'll help you carry on, for it won't be long 'til I'm gonna need somebody
to lean on”
- Bill Withers, “Lean on Me”
.
Monday, May 10
Prickly on the outside
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, ‘Depart,… unto the land which I sware unto Abraham… Unto a land flowing with milk and honey: for I will not go up in the midst of thee; for thou art a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 33:1-3
My last entry mentioned stubbornness, particularly that of “the children of Israel.” Those of you who’ve spent time in Israel know what I’m talking about will understand why I focus on that aspect of the Israeli persona.
The past 8 months have been great. I have loved my time living in the Holy Land. But sometimes I think the full title could be the (Ass)Holey Land. Israelis are a gruff bunch. During my first Hebrew class here, my very sweet teacher explained, rather apologetically, the term Sabra to our class. A native Israeli is called a “sabra,” which is Hebrew for “cactus.” Why? Because they are prickly on the outside, and sweet on the inside. Well, I’m not a surgeon, so I don’t know what’s on their insides, but many Israelis sure put the “prick” in “prickly.”
Truth be told, New Yorkers are the same way—brusque, loud, smelly… but really decent and helpful once you get to know them.
An “oleh” (someone who moves to Israel from elsewhere, usually the USA) explained that the biggest fear of Israelis is not war, bombs or terrorism… it’s being suckered by someone—jilted, cheated, taken advantage of. The fear of being a “friar” (not Tuck-- pronounced “fry-ah,”), or “chump” is the chief motivator behind much of Israeli rudeness—aggressive driving, aggressive price-haggling, an aggressive attitude towards… pretty much everything (including religion and land). I guess because Jews have gotten the fuzzy end of history’s lollipop for so long, Israelis are intent on not tolerating it anymore. NO more playing the victim. Makes sense—the were formed by the survivors of the Holocaust, and became a world power by the subsequent generation. Maybe that’s why the country’s military is so kick-ass—the attitude being “Maybe the world walked all over our ancestors and beat the crap out of them, but NOT US!”
I witness the “Sabra”-ness of Israelis totally, from 2 separate instances, within 30 minutes of each other.
Last Tuesday I went to return some headphones I purchased for my iPod. I had purchased them two days earlier. They cost 18 shekels… which is less than $5. I thought I was getting a great deal! Well, within a few hours, the left earpiece stopped working and started coming apart… not surprisingly. The lesson—you get what you pay for. I tried to return the headphones, at least for store credit.
Here’s how the store owner explained it to me:
“No return. You pay 18 shekels, of course they did break. Of course”
I complained. His response:
“This isn’t America.”
How did he KNOW I wasn’t a Sabra?
After that I wanted to say, “No, if this were America you’d be a deceitful contractor and I’d have you deported.”
But my Hebrew isn’t that good. So I just said,
“Is there no mercy in you?”
“What mercy? It’s 18 shekels. No mercy for 18 shekels.”
“But me buy these before 2 days ago from now!”
“So? What do you want me to do?”
“Me want new headphones.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can be fair!”
“ ‘Fair?’ What is this, ‘fair?’”
“Not you!”
“What can I do?”
(and because I ran out of ideas…)
“You can give me your pants!”
“I don’t have any.”
Liar! I looked over the counter (curios, I suppose)—he TOTALLY had pants!
What a douche.
From there, I angrily went to the open-air market: The Shuk. Shouting, haggling, money changing hands, fish heads on display, it’s exactly like the movie “Aladdin” when Jasmine starts slumming it outside the palace walls:
Big hairy guys screaming at you—“Sugar dates! Sugar dates and figs… and pistachios!” “Fresh Fish!!”
But all in Hebrew.
“Hello! Hello! Hello! Strawberries, 10 shekels!”
“Get Hummus! Felafel! Cheap and Good!”
I actually purchased two containers of hummus, 6 shekels each (good deal, believe me). I gave the vendor what I thought was a 50 shekel note. My change would be… (come on, SAT-time)… 38 shekels. And yet-- he gave me back 88 shekels!
“No no,” I tried to hand him back a 50 shekel note, “I gave YOU 50 shekels, this 50 is yours. I only get 38 back, not 88.”
The guy paused, thought, then said, “No, you gave me 100. That’s why I was confused before, so much money for just 12 shekels of hummus.”
“No no, I gave you—”
But he drowned me out, “No, no, you gave me 100, trust me. Take 88.”
I was speechless. I gave him 3 opportunities to steal from me. And he didn’t.
What the hell is WRONG with him?
The Hebrew word for “righteous person”, tzaddik, comes from the word for “right” or “correct”—“tzodek.” This man was both.
Just when you lose faith in people… a hummus vendor can restore it.
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, ‘Depart,… unto the land which I sware unto Abraham… Unto a land flowing with milk and honey: for I will not go up in the midst of thee; for thou art a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 33:1-3
My last entry mentioned stubbornness, particularly that of “the children of Israel.” Those of you who’ve spent time in Israel know what I’m talking about will understand why I focus on that aspect of the Israeli persona.
The past 8 months have been great. I have loved my time living in the Holy Land. But sometimes I think the full title could be the (Ass)Holey Land. Israelis are a gruff bunch. During my first Hebrew class here, my very sweet teacher explained, rather apologetically, the term Sabra to our class. A native Israeli is called a “sabra,” which is Hebrew for “cactus.” Why? Because they are prickly on the outside, and sweet on the inside. Well, I’m not a surgeon, so I don’t know what’s on their insides, but many Israelis sure put the “prick” in “prickly.”
Truth be told, New Yorkers are the same way—brusque, loud, smelly… but really decent and helpful once you get to know them.
An “oleh” (someone who moves to Israel from elsewhere, usually the USA) explained that the biggest fear of Israelis is not war, bombs or terrorism… it’s being suckered by someone—jilted, cheated, taken advantage of. The fear of being a “friar” (not Tuck-- pronounced “fry-ah,”), or “chump” is the chief motivator behind much of Israeli rudeness—aggressive driving, aggressive price-haggling, an aggressive attitude towards… pretty much everything (including religion and land). I guess because Jews have gotten the fuzzy end of history’s lollipop for so long, Israelis are intent on not tolerating it anymore. NO more playing the victim. Makes sense—the were formed by the survivors of the Holocaust, and became a world power by the subsequent generation. Maybe that’s why the country’s military is so kick-ass—the attitude being “Maybe the world walked all over our ancestors and beat the crap out of them, but NOT US!”
I witness the “Sabra”-ness of Israelis totally, from 2 separate instances, within 30 minutes of each other.
Last Tuesday I went to return some headphones I purchased for my iPod. I had purchased them two days earlier. They cost 18 shekels… which is less than $5. I thought I was getting a great deal! Well, within a few hours, the left earpiece stopped working and started coming apart… not surprisingly. The lesson—you get what you pay for. I tried to return the headphones, at least for store credit.
Here’s how the store owner explained it to me:
“No return. You pay 18 shekels, of course they did break. Of course”
I complained. His response:
“This isn’t America.”
How did he KNOW I wasn’t a Sabra?
After that I wanted to say, “No, if this were America you’d be a deceitful contractor and I’d have you deported.”
But my Hebrew isn’t that good. So I just said,
“Is there no mercy in you?”
“What mercy? It’s 18 shekels. No mercy for 18 shekels.”
“But me buy these before 2 days ago from now!”
“So? What do you want me to do?”
“Me want new headphones.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can be fair!”
“ ‘Fair?’ What is this, ‘fair?’”
“Not you!”
“What can I do?”
(and because I ran out of ideas…)
“You can give me your pants!”
“I don’t have any.”
Liar! I looked over the counter (curios, I suppose)—he TOTALLY had pants!
What a douche.
From there, I angrily went to the open-air market: The Shuk. Shouting, haggling, money changing hands, fish heads on display, it’s exactly like the movie “Aladdin” when Jasmine starts slumming it outside the palace walls:
Big hairy guys screaming at you—“Sugar dates! Sugar dates and figs… and pistachios!” “Fresh Fish!!”
But all in Hebrew.
“Hello! Hello! Hello! Strawberries, 10 shekels!”
“Get Hummus! Felafel! Cheap and Good!”
I actually purchased two containers of hummus, 6 shekels each (good deal, believe me). I gave the vendor what I thought was a 50 shekel note. My change would be… (come on, SAT-time)… 38 shekels. And yet-- he gave me back 88 shekels!
“No no,” I tried to hand him back a 50 shekel note, “I gave YOU 50 shekels, this 50 is yours. I only get 38 back, not 88.”
The guy paused, thought, then said, “No, you gave me 100. That’s why I was confused before, so much money for just 12 shekels of hummus.”
“No no, I gave you—”
But he drowned me out, “No, no, you gave me 100, trust me. Take 88.”
I was speechless. I gave him 3 opportunities to steal from me. And he didn’t.
What the hell is WRONG with him?
The Hebrew word for “righteous person”, tzaddik, comes from the word for “right” or “correct”—“tzodek.” This man was both.
Just when you lose faith in people… a hummus vendor can restore it.
.
Very Mature
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 32:9
For the longest time, as far as I was concerned, the holiday of Yom Kippur was essentially one prayer-- the Vidui (pronounced Vee-Doo-ee)—literally, “Confession” (makes sense, since that’s kinda what the day is all about).
Everyone recites the Vidui prayer together, lightly beating their hearts with the left hand each time another sin is read, through all 22 phrases, a list of sins that we confesses to, in the order of the Hebrew “Aleph-bet.” It is a symbolic means of self-flagellation. The idea is that obviously not EVERYONE committed each of these sins, but we don’t want people to feel singled out so everyone stands and recites them all together.
I wish I could say the prayer jumped off the page for some profound reason—that all people should be responsible for one another, or that everyone is guilty of doing SOMEthing wrong (both noble and terrific idea)… but the truth is… it was because it made me think of erections.
I know! Me! What are the odds?!
“How?” I hear you ask rhetorically, with your eyes.
Well, Number 19 on the list of things we’ve done wrong in the past year is “kee-shee-noo Oh-ref”—literally translated: “We were stiff-necked.” It means being stubborn, something all of us have been guilty of doing. But I didn’t know that, I’d never seen that word before. I’d never seen “neck” used as a past-tense verb, either, so I thought it was pronounced “nekkid.”
“Stiff” and “nekkid.”
See where I’m headed?
I thought, “Well, if you’re gonna be stiff, you WANT it to happen when you’re nekkid.”
And then I LOL-ed. Guffawed, really, in the middle of synagogue... On the holiest day of the year… during one of the quiet parts.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned towards me. I couldn’t tell anyone what I found so funny, so I faked stomach pains and left the sanctuary.
Repentance is some serious stuff.
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 32:9
For the longest time, as far as I was concerned, the holiday of Yom Kippur was essentially one prayer-- the Vidui (pronounced Vee-Doo-ee)—literally, “Confession” (makes sense, since that’s kinda what the day is all about).
Everyone recites the Vidui prayer together, lightly beating their hearts with the left hand each time another sin is read, through all 22 phrases, a list of sins that we confesses to, in the order of the Hebrew “Aleph-bet.” It is a symbolic means of self-flagellation. The idea is that obviously not EVERYONE committed each of these sins, but we don’t want people to feel singled out so everyone stands and recites them all together.
I wish I could say the prayer jumped off the page for some profound reason—that all people should be responsible for one another, or that everyone is guilty of doing SOMEthing wrong (both noble and terrific idea)… but the truth is… it was because it made me think of erections.
I know! Me! What are the odds?!
“How?” I hear you ask rhetorically, with your eyes.
Well, Number 19 on the list of things we’ve done wrong in the past year is “kee-shee-noo Oh-ref”—literally translated: “We were stiff-necked.” It means being stubborn, something all of us have been guilty of doing. But I didn’t know that, I’d never seen that word before. I’d never seen “neck” used as a past-tense verb, either, so I thought it was pronounced “nekkid.”
“Stiff” and “nekkid.”
See where I’m headed?
I thought, “Well, if you’re gonna be stiff, you WANT it to happen when you’re nekkid.”
And then I LOL-ed. Guffawed, really, in the middle of synagogue... On the holiest day of the year… during one of the quiet parts.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned towards me. I couldn’t tell anyone what I found so funny, so I faked stomach pains and left the sanctuary.
Repentance is some serious stuff.
.
Tuesday, May 4
Mr. Fix-It
.
“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary…”
- Mark 6:3
“You're about to witness the most heterosexual moment of my life."
I spoke these words to my lovely bride two weeks ago, as I sat on the kitchen floor, preparing to screw...
... a wooden chair leg into the base with a screwdriver and screws I purchased at the Shuk.
(ahem)
Have you ever been to a hardware store in Jerusalem?
No. Y'know why? Half of 'em don't carry screws or nails!
It’s all electrical adapters and cholent pots. I’m not kidding.
Flanking our kitchen table, we have to two white, wooden folding chairs-- bulky, ancient, like little picnic tables.
And the seat of one chair was unstable because a washer bent and broke and the screw fell out.
Technical stuff, I know.
So I needed a new screw and nut.
Okay, I can’t go any further without addressing the propensity of woodshop terms to serve as sexual innuendos:
For starters: Wood, Screw, Nut, Nailed, and “Righty tightey, Lefty Loosey”
(ambidextrous erotica?)
So I ventured into the Shuk, Jerusalem's open-air market, in search of ... a screw (I thought they just sold produce and rugelech there).
I finally found a decent hardware store.
And then it hit me: I don't know ANY hardware terms in Hebrew.
This was the broken exchange:
Me: I need a small thing... to put in... a place... I want to move it...and go around and around... it is iron or silver?
Israeli: You mean you want "skroo"?
Me: (Ahem)... Yes, yes, that is it. Me want skroo.
(I sounded like a Frankenstein prostitute)
(oooh, I smell a sitcom!)
(... and it smells like crap)
Why would Israel have anything to do with carpentry?
It’s not like there was a famous carpenter who… wait… a… minute!
Bob Vila!
(Dated reference? Shall I say Ty Pennington? Hey, what about Norm Abram?)
Actually, we don’t know anything about Jesus’ carpentry skills… I’m guessing he wasn’t that good… since he didn’t stick with it. Did he just walk on water because he knew his boat would be shoddy and poorly-constructed? We hear about loaves and fishes, but nothing about bureaus or cabinets! Coincidence? Hardly!
And while we’re on the subject-- were the Romans just being super cruel and ironic when they killed Jesus, a carpenter, by nailing him to some pieces wood?
(“Here ya’ go, Jesus! How much would you charge for… yourself?”)
Like a Mexican chef being drowned in a vat of gazpacho… yeah.
Or if the Marx Brothers died of laughter.
Or if Beethoven died by getting a piano dropped on his head.
(sorry, I just watched “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”… Shave and a haircut...)
“Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark…”
- God to Noah, Genesis 6:14
“Noah… how long can you tread water?”
- God to Noah, acc. to Bill Cosby
.
“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary…”
- Mark 6:3
“You're about to witness the most heterosexual moment of my life."
I spoke these words to my lovely bride two weeks ago, as I sat on the kitchen floor, preparing to screw...
... a wooden chair leg into the base with a screwdriver and screws I purchased at the Shuk.
(ahem)
Have you ever been to a hardware store in Jerusalem?
No. Y'know why? Half of 'em don't carry screws or nails!
It’s all electrical adapters and cholent pots. I’m not kidding.
Flanking our kitchen table, we have to two white, wooden folding chairs-- bulky, ancient, like little picnic tables.
And the seat of one chair was unstable because a washer bent and broke and the screw fell out.
Technical stuff, I know.
So I needed a new screw and nut.
Okay, I can’t go any further without addressing the propensity of woodshop terms to serve as sexual innuendos:
For starters: Wood, Screw, Nut, Nailed, and “Righty tightey, Lefty Loosey”
(ambidextrous erotica?)
So I ventured into the Shuk, Jerusalem's open-air market, in search of ... a screw (I thought they just sold produce and rugelech there).
I finally found a decent hardware store.
And then it hit me: I don't know ANY hardware terms in Hebrew.
This was the broken exchange:
Me: I need a small thing... to put in... a place... I want to move it...and go around and around... it is iron or silver?
Israeli: You mean you want "skroo"?
Me: (Ahem)... Yes, yes, that is it. Me want skroo.
(I sounded like a Frankenstein prostitute)
(oooh, I smell a sitcom!)
(... and it smells like crap)
Why would Israel have anything to do with carpentry?
It’s not like there was a famous carpenter who… wait… a… minute!
Bob Vila!
(Dated reference? Shall I say Ty Pennington? Hey, what about Norm Abram?)
Actually, we don’t know anything about Jesus’ carpentry skills… I’m guessing he wasn’t that good… since he didn’t stick with it. Did he just walk on water because he knew his boat would be shoddy and poorly-constructed? We hear about loaves and fishes, but nothing about bureaus or cabinets! Coincidence? Hardly!
And while we’re on the subject-- were the Romans just being super cruel and ironic when they killed Jesus, a carpenter, by nailing him to some pieces wood?
(“Here ya’ go, Jesus! How much would you charge for… yourself?”)
Like a Mexican chef being drowned in a vat of gazpacho… yeah.
Or if the Marx Brothers died of laughter.
Or if Beethoven died by getting a piano dropped on his head.
(sorry, I just watched “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”… Shave and a haircut...)
“Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark…”
- God to Noah, Genesis 6:14
“Noah… how long can you tread water?”
- God to Noah, acc. to Bill Cosby
.
Monday, May 3
In- Laws
.
“And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee,… for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
- Ruth 1:16
Ruth, the most impressive daughter-in-law of all-time… simply makes the rest of us look bad.
Following the death of Ruth’s husband and her dead husband’s brother and father, Ruth is left alone… along with the wives of the other two dead dudes.
Once the three miserable widows arrive in the land of Moab,
Naomi, Ruth’s widowed mother-in-law, tells Ruth and the other widowed broad (Orpah… so I guess her dead husband was Stedman”) they should go find other husbands and make some babies.
Ruth sticks by Naomi and says those famous words mentioned above.
I spoke with my wife’s parents last night. They are warm, sweet, and thoughtful.
I met my wife’s parents six years ago, on the island of Manhattan (so there was no escapre).
I was 21 years old— I had no direction in life, no future, no anything (so much has changed).
I had to win over my (then) girlfriend’s folks with something! What to do?
I simply reverted to the same trick I use in most social situations, pleasant or uncomfortable…
I quote stuff!
“So, Aaron,” they asked, as they drove their youngest daughter and the guy she’d been smooching to a nearby kosher restaurant on the Upper West Side, “What are you interested in, career-wise?”
I paused, swallowed the lump in my throat… then blurted out, “Plastics?!”
There was a beat, I glanced at my girlfriend, who looked at me quizzically, then…
Raucous laughter from the front seat.
“Oh, delightful.”
Phew!
Sigh of relief.
Our relationship would grow from there… one quote at a time… then we advanced to jokes.
“What do you call a dog with silver testicles and no hind legs?”
“Sparky.”
Zing!
The in-laws loved it!
And it’s been a steady climb towards the summit of me-worshipping ever since.
There have been ups and downs, especially with my “sense of humor.”
They saw me sweat out the longest 22 minutes of my life—at a Long Island synagogue, doing stand-up for 120 old Jews (average age 72) one Sunday evening, who thoroughly drowned out my yammering while eating their dinner and discussing episodes of “Monk.” It was rough. One valiant congregant actually stood up in the middle, grabbed the mike and defended my honor (“This young man is trying to entertain us, show him some respect!”… it didn’t work).
But then there was last Shavuout, when I won over their congregation with a winning D’var Torah, an interpretation of the holiday and that week’s portion from the Bible (why do Jews traditionally eat cheesecake on Shavuot? To remember that freedom from slavery is sweet… and goes straight to my thighs… it’s funnier in a synagogue).
Now, the in-laws are two of my biggest fans, and we have a wonderful relationship.
They’ve even let me drive their cars!
And to think, it all started with plastics.
.
“And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee,… for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
- Ruth 1:16
Ruth, the most impressive daughter-in-law of all-time… simply makes the rest of us look bad.
Following the death of Ruth’s husband and her dead husband’s brother and father, Ruth is left alone… along with the wives of the other two dead dudes.
Once the three miserable widows arrive in the land of Moab,
Naomi, Ruth’s widowed mother-in-law, tells Ruth and the other widowed broad (Orpah… so I guess her dead husband was Stedman”) they should go find other husbands and make some babies.
Ruth sticks by Naomi and says those famous words mentioned above.
I spoke with my wife’s parents last night. They are warm, sweet, and thoughtful.
I met my wife’s parents six years ago, on the island of Manhattan (so there was no escapre).
I was 21 years old— I had no direction in life, no future, no anything (so much has changed).
I had to win over my (then) girlfriend’s folks with something! What to do?
I simply reverted to the same trick I use in most social situations, pleasant or uncomfortable…
I quote stuff!
“So, Aaron,” they asked, as they drove their youngest daughter and the guy she’d been smooching to a nearby kosher restaurant on the Upper West Side, “What are you interested in, career-wise?”
I paused, swallowed the lump in my throat… then blurted out, “Plastics?!”
There was a beat, I glanced at my girlfriend, who looked at me quizzically, then…
Raucous laughter from the front seat.
“Oh, delightful.”
Phew!
Sigh of relief.
Our relationship would grow from there… one quote at a time… then we advanced to jokes.
“What do you call a dog with silver testicles and no hind legs?”
“Sparky.”
Zing!
The in-laws loved it!
And it’s been a steady climb towards the summit of me-worshipping ever since.
There have been ups and downs, especially with my “sense of humor.”
They saw me sweat out the longest 22 minutes of my life—at a Long Island synagogue, doing stand-up for 120 old Jews (average age 72) one Sunday evening, who thoroughly drowned out my yammering while eating their dinner and discussing episodes of “Monk.” It was rough. One valiant congregant actually stood up in the middle, grabbed the mike and defended my honor (“This young man is trying to entertain us, show him some respect!”… it didn’t work).
But then there was last Shavuout, when I won over their congregation with a winning D’var Torah, an interpretation of the holiday and that week’s portion from the Bible (why do Jews traditionally eat cheesecake on Shavuot? To remember that freedom from slavery is sweet… and goes straight to my thighs… it’s funnier in a synagogue).
Now, the in-laws are two of my biggest fans, and we have a wonderful relationship.
They’ve even let me drive their cars!
And to think, it all started with plastics.
.
Sunday, May 2
“Life is what happens when you’re making other plans” - John Lennon
.
“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not…”
Isaiah 35:3-4
Last Wednesday I was lost in the West Bank with my wife and two friends. We left the area without incident. Honestly, I didn’t even know we were IN the West Bank till afterwards. All I knew was that we had not reached our destination (Tiberias) and all the billboards and store signs were written in Arabic. Not a big deal, after all- over half a billion people speak it as a first or second language (thank you, Wikipedia).
But when we finally got back on track and reached a security check point run by a dozen Israeli soldiers, my companions were all relieved… quite literally, since we had to pull to the side of the road so we could all go #1 in some shrubbery.
Anyway, after returning to the highway, we had about twenty minutes of giddy relief, which we filled by playing a rousing alphabet game.
Some of the highlights of “I’m going to the West Bank and I’m gonna bring...” :
A my Ass handed to me (a constant fear of what fate had in store)
E Elderly Toyota Driver (we followed his rusted pick-up, which appeared to be from 1986, out of a small Arab village, finally bidding him farewell with the Arabic version of “Thanks”— “Shook-rahn,” and the classic “Salaam Aleikhem.”)
F Fear, blinding fear
G Guts
J Jews, on the D.L.
L Lost and Helpless look on my face
N No clue
P Pissing behind a tree
Q Quotes from “Indiana Jones” (esp. from “The Last Crusade,” spoken by Sean Connery—“We are pilgrims in an unholy land.”)
R Regrets… so many regrets
S Stories to tell
U Uncomfortable conversations with Arab men
V Voices in my head, telling me “Go back!”
W Westward the wagons… to safety
X Xenophobia
The West Bank is a huge chunk of land. Not like the Gaza Strip. But the people we met didn’t look any different than Israelis.
And the experience brought me and my wife and our friends closer than any trek up Massada or trip to the Western Wall ever could.
Not that I would recommend it.
But remember—
Nothing in life goes “according to plan.”
Always bring an extra pair of underwear... just in case there's no shrubbery.
.
“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not…”
Isaiah 35:3-4
Last Wednesday I was lost in the West Bank with my wife and two friends. We left the area without incident. Honestly, I didn’t even know we were IN the West Bank till afterwards. All I knew was that we had not reached our destination (Tiberias) and all the billboards and store signs were written in Arabic. Not a big deal, after all- over half a billion people speak it as a first or second language (thank you, Wikipedia).
But when we finally got back on track and reached a security check point run by a dozen Israeli soldiers, my companions were all relieved… quite literally, since we had to pull to the side of the road so we could all go #1 in some shrubbery.
Anyway, after returning to the highway, we had about twenty minutes of giddy relief, which we filled by playing a rousing alphabet game.
Some of the highlights of “I’m going to the West Bank and I’m gonna bring...” :
A my Ass handed to me (a constant fear of what fate had in store)
E Elderly Toyota Driver (we followed his rusted pick-up, which appeared to be from 1986, out of a small Arab village, finally bidding him farewell with the Arabic version of “Thanks”— “Shook-rahn,” and the classic “Salaam Aleikhem.”)
F Fear, blinding fear
G Guts
J Jews, on the D.L.
L Lost and Helpless look on my face
N No clue
P Pissing behind a tree
Q Quotes from “Indiana Jones” (esp. from “The Last Crusade,” spoken by Sean Connery—“We are pilgrims in an unholy land.”)
R Regrets… so many regrets
S Stories to tell
U Uncomfortable conversations with Arab men
V Voices in my head, telling me “Go back!”
W Westward the wagons… to safety
X Xenophobia
The West Bank is a huge chunk of land. Not like the Gaza Strip. But the people we met didn’t look any different than Israelis.
And the experience brought me and my wife and our friends closer than any trek up Massada or trip to the Western Wall ever could.
Not that I would recommend it.
But remember—
Nothing in life goes “according to plan.”
Always bring an extra pair of underwear... just in case there's no shrubbery.
.
Friday, April 30
"Go West (Bank), young men!"
.
"And now, behold, the LORD hath kept me alive... while the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness"
-Joshua 14:10
My wife and I were just in the West Bank
... not on purpose.
We were driving in a rental car with some friends and got lost.
Yeesh.
There are no athiests in a rental car that's lost in a DMZ.
You want to see some tense Jews?
I've said it before, and I will repeat it now, because it's so true: IT'S ALL RELATIVE!
I feel lost in Jerusalem, understanding about 70% of what I hear and read, unsure if the label on the can of chickpeas means "On Sale" or "Rat Poison."
Watching TV, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu says, "For all of our problems there are solutions." I think he says, "For all of our problems there are mushrooms."
But in the West Bank, around Jenen and Nazareth... Farsi and Arabic? Squiggly lines and dots. The only familiar logo was Coca-Cola. I was lost!
After driving around aimlessly for two hours, we passed a military check point. We should've asked for directions from the Israeli soldiers who were stationed there.
We did not.
We drove for 2 more hours and asked directions from three separate gas stations, and finally we pulled into an Arab gas station, where 3 hairy, husky fellas were standing.
I got out of the car and my wife remained inside... just in case her short sleeves offended the men we didn't want them to, y'know... murder us.
In my broken Hebrew I asked if anyone spoke Hebrew or English.
Arabs and Israelis give directions in the same exact way-- they call over 5 friends and ask them, and when they don't know, they bring over the oldest guy with the fewest teeth. As it turns out, HE spoke Hebrew.
"What happened?" he asked.
I answered: "We go, for long time, but not know where are we. We go around around, but no find city by name Netanya. Can you help to me?"
"Oh, very easy. Go straight, straight, then right."
No matter where you are going in Israel, the directions always start "Straight, straight" -- "Ya-shar, Ya-shar."
The old guy was correct. We were on our way.
A little later we passed a second military checkpoint, this time we asked for directions from the Israeli soldiers. One guy didn't know, he called over two other officers, they called over two more.
Then their senior officer shouted from from twenty feet away, "It's easy. Go straight, straight.."
Arabs and Israelis, so similar...
So we made it out of there, no harm done.
But we learned an important lesson: always ask for directions.
"Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. Selah."
- Ps. 55:7
"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." - Dory, from "Finding Nemo"
.
"And now, behold, the LORD hath kept me alive... while the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness"
-Joshua 14:10
My wife and I were just in the West Bank
... not on purpose.
We were driving in a rental car with some friends and got lost.
Yeesh.
There are no athiests in a rental car that's lost in a DMZ.
You want to see some tense Jews?
I've said it before, and I will repeat it now, because it's so true: IT'S ALL RELATIVE!
I feel lost in Jerusalem, understanding about 70% of what I hear and read, unsure if the label on the can of chickpeas means "On Sale" or "Rat Poison."
Watching TV, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu says, "For all of our problems there are solutions." I think he says, "For all of our problems there are mushrooms."
But in the West Bank, around Jenen and Nazareth... Farsi and Arabic? Squiggly lines and dots. The only familiar logo was Coca-Cola. I was lost!
After driving around aimlessly for two hours, we passed a military check point. We should've asked for directions from the Israeli soldiers who were stationed there.
We did not.
We drove for 2 more hours and asked directions from three separate gas stations, and finally we pulled into an Arab gas station, where 3 hairy, husky fellas were standing.
I got out of the car and my wife remained inside... just in case her short sleeves offended the men we didn't want them to, y'know... murder us.
In my broken Hebrew I asked if anyone spoke Hebrew or English.
Arabs and Israelis give directions in the same exact way-- they call over 5 friends and ask them, and when they don't know, they bring over the oldest guy with the fewest teeth. As it turns out, HE spoke Hebrew.
"What happened?" he asked.
I answered: "We go, for long time, but not know where are we. We go around around, but no find city by name Netanya. Can you help to me?"
"Oh, very easy. Go straight, straight, then right."
No matter where you are going in Israel, the directions always start "Straight, straight" -- "Ya-shar, Ya-shar."
The old guy was correct. We were on our way.
A little later we passed a second military checkpoint, this time we asked for directions from the Israeli soldiers. One guy didn't know, he called over two other officers, they called over two more.
Then their senior officer shouted from from twenty feet away, "It's easy. Go straight, straight.."
Arabs and Israelis, so similar...
So we made it out of there, no harm done.
But we learned an important lesson: always ask for directions.
"Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. Selah."
- Ps. 55:7
"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." - Dory, from "Finding Nemo"
.
Tuesday, April 27
“Say my name, say my name” -- Destiny’s Child
.
“And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.”
-- Genesis 1:5
The importance of names are reiterated time and again-- including in the first day of Creation.
Ancient Egyptian texts, Nahum Sarna, 20th century biblical scholar (Understanding Genesis,1966) and Rumplestiltskin.
Giving something a name identifies it!
One more reason why the Nazis tattooed numbers on the Jews’ arms.
“Just give me a number instead of my name/ Forget all about me and let me decay”
– “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” Tim Rice, Andrew Lloyd Weber
Have you ever met someone and then see them again and they say, “Hi, nice to meet you.” Arrrgghh!
Compare that to someone who remembers your name, looks you in the eye, shakes your hand… now THAT is a politician I would vote for.
Having said that, Israelis have some crazy names!
I’m not even talking about Noah’s grandson Nimrod (Gen. 10:8)
Israelis name their kids some awful names: Ifat, Osnot, Soggy, Moran, Dudu.
I think it’s an insurance policy, to ensure that their kids never leave Israel (called “Yerida”). These kids aren’t going anywhere.
Any playground in the Western Hemisphere would eat them alive.
“And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads. The name of the first is Pison…”
-- Genesis 2:10-11
When I last lived in Israel, I stayed for two weeks in a suburb of Tel Aviv, Ra’anana. The street?
Pines. Pronounced “Pee-ness”… named after Shlomo Pines, best known for his English translation of Maimonides’ “Guide to the Perplexed.”
But I’m sure you already knew that.
I know the importance of names. As an identical twin, I was often confused and my identity in question. My brother went to school in Boston. I was in New York… Even in Brooklyn and in Jerusalem I hear people shout at me, “Hey, Zack!”
Nope.
“Who am I? I’m Jean Val Jean!”
-- Les Miserables, lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer
A rose by any other name might smell as sweet… unless you called it a fart flower.
.
“And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.”
-- Genesis 1:5
The importance of names are reiterated time and again-- including in the first day of Creation.
Ancient Egyptian texts, Nahum Sarna, 20th century biblical scholar (Understanding Genesis,1966) and Rumplestiltskin.
Giving something a name identifies it!
One more reason why the Nazis tattooed numbers on the Jews’ arms.
“Just give me a number instead of my name/ Forget all about me and let me decay”
– “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” Tim Rice, Andrew Lloyd Weber
Have you ever met someone and then see them again and they say, “Hi, nice to meet you.” Arrrgghh!
Compare that to someone who remembers your name, looks you in the eye, shakes your hand… now THAT is a politician I would vote for.
Having said that, Israelis have some crazy names!
I’m not even talking about Noah’s grandson Nimrod (Gen. 10:8)
Israelis name their kids some awful names: Ifat, Osnot, Soggy, Moran, Dudu.
I think it’s an insurance policy, to ensure that their kids never leave Israel (called “Yerida”). These kids aren’t going anywhere.
Any playground in the Western Hemisphere would eat them alive.
“And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads. The name of the first is Pison…”
-- Genesis 2:10-11
When I last lived in Israel, I stayed for two weeks in a suburb of Tel Aviv, Ra’anana. The street?
Pines. Pronounced “Pee-ness”… named after Shlomo Pines, best known for his English translation of Maimonides’ “Guide to the Perplexed.”
But I’m sure you already knew that.
I know the importance of names. As an identical twin, I was often confused and my identity in question. My brother went to school in Boston. I was in New York… Even in Brooklyn and in Jerusalem I hear people shout at me, “Hey, Zack!”
Nope.
“Who am I? I’m Jean Val Jean!”
-- Les Miserables, lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer
A rose by any other name might smell as sweet… unless you called it a fart flower.
.
Monday, April 26
Everybody's crazy
.
4/25/10
“The word of the LORD which came to Jeremiah the prophet against the Gentiles;”
- Jeremiah 46:1
I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher yesterday.
Yes, like any good Jew in Israel, I went to church.
My non-Jewish friends from New York are in town this week, so my wife and I showed them around Jerusalem… and the coolest play that’s also free and open on Saturday and interesting to Gentiles—a church!
They’d already seen the Western Wall…
First of all—The Church of the Holy Sepulcher covers the spots where (get ready): Jesus was crucified, removed from the cross and placed on a slab and prepared for burial (called the Stone of Unction… what’s your function?), the cave in which his body was placed, and of course… the place from which he ascended to heaven.
Wow! That’s a lot of stuff for one spot! I’ve said it before: It’s a microcosm of Jerusalem. There are literally thousands of miles of dirt on this planet, why did three major religions have to choose ONE CITY for their most important events!
Thank you, Hindus, for keeping clear of the Middle East.
One less head ache.
Okay, so we explored the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
First thing I noticed—in the wooden frame surrounding the cave in which Jesus purportedly (great word) disappeared and then rose to heaven… in that wooden frame—people have stuffed notes and bits of paper. I assume they are prayers. Which tickles me to no end!
I mean… they are CLEARLY ripping off the mystique of the Western Wall! But we Jews are CLEARLY smarter. I mean, if a big, bad wolf comes along and huffs and puffs… the Jews’ notes will stay put in the Western Wall, but the Christians’ notes’ will be blown down in the wooden surroundings in the Church of the Holy (as one dumb American tourist I heard called it) “Spectacle.”
But we did get to watch a traditional Christian ceremony… I couldn’t tell you what it was, maybe Greek Orthodox or Armenian… but they bowed all the way to the ground… which reminded me of my tour guide in Cairo, Egypt. I told him that several men had dirt on their forehead. He said, “It’s because they are muslim and pray five times a day, and when they pray they bow their heads to the ground, so it’s a way of showing people how religious and pious they are.”
Interesting.
Reminded me of high school—I attended an all Jewish high school, most of the boys wore kippot all day long, and once a year a few Catholic teachers came to school with “shmutz” on their foreheads… for Ash Wednesday. People like to declare their religious beliefs.
Everywhere. Regardless of religion. People are proud of what they believe. As well they should be. But we get into trouble when we start saying, “EVERYONE should believe what I believe!”
But, as a Swedish tourist told my wife in a youth hostel in Eilat last month, “If you think what you believe is right, wouldn’t you want EVERYONE to believe the same thing, too?”
Touché, Swedish tourist.
But that is one of the best things about the United States:
Everyone is allowed to believe whatever they want, as long as they don’t infringe on anyone else to believe their own crazy ideas.
A dude was nailed to some wood and then rose from the dead and so we eat crackers and wine … and THAT’S religion????
A dude received a couple pieces of stone on a mountain and thousands wandered the desert, then settled in the Middle East … and THAT’S a religion????
Vishnu has six arms and an elephant head… and THAT’S a religion?
Mormonism???
It’s all nuts! But guess what… that’s OUR PEROGATIVE!
Leave everyone to his/her own devices, and as long as they don’t bother anyone else, so be it!
And if they HELP other people, THAT is the best thing about religion.
“Come on People now, Smile on your brother, Everybody get together and love one another right now”
-The Youngbloods, 1967
.
4/25/10
“The word of the LORD which came to Jeremiah the prophet against the Gentiles;”
- Jeremiah 46:1
I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher yesterday.
Yes, like any good Jew in Israel, I went to church.
My non-Jewish friends from New York are in town this week, so my wife and I showed them around Jerusalem… and the coolest play that’s also free and open on Saturday and interesting to Gentiles—a church!
They’d already seen the Western Wall…
First of all—The Church of the Holy Sepulcher covers the spots where (get ready): Jesus was crucified, removed from the cross and placed on a slab and prepared for burial (called the Stone of Unction… what’s your function?), the cave in which his body was placed, and of course… the place from which he ascended to heaven.
Wow! That’s a lot of stuff for one spot! I’ve said it before: It’s a microcosm of Jerusalem. There are literally thousands of miles of dirt on this planet, why did three major religions have to choose ONE CITY for their most important events!
Thank you, Hindus, for keeping clear of the Middle East.
One less head ache.
Okay, so we explored the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
First thing I noticed—in the wooden frame surrounding the cave in which Jesus purportedly (great word) disappeared and then rose to heaven… in that wooden frame—people have stuffed notes and bits of paper. I assume they are prayers. Which tickles me to no end!
I mean… they are CLEARLY ripping off the mystique of the Western Wall! But we Jews are CLEARLY smarter. I mean, if a big, bad wolf comes along and huffs and puffs… the Jews’ notes will stay put in the Western Wall, but the Christians’ notes’ will be blown down in the wooden surroundings in the Church of the Holy (as one dumb American tourist I heard called it) “Spectacle.”
But we did get to watch a traditional Christian ceremony… I couldn’t tell you what it was, maybe Greek Orthodox or Armenian… but they bowed all the way to the ground… which reminded me of my tour guide in Cairo, Egypt. I told him that several men had dirt on their forehead. He said, “It’s because they are muslim and pray five times a day, and when they pray they bow their heads to the ground, so it’s a way of showing people how religious and pious they are.”
Interesting.
Reminded me of high school—I attended an all Jewish high school, most of the boys wore kippot all day long, and once a year a few Catholic teachers came to school with “shmutz” on their foreheads… for Ash Wednesday. People like to declare their religious beliefs.
Everywhere. Regardless of religion. People are proud of what they believe. As well they should be. But we get into trouble when we start saying, “EVERYONE should believe what I believe!”
But, as a Swedish tourist told my wife in a youth hostel in Eilat last month, “If you think what you believe is right, wouldn’t you want EVERYONE to believe the same thing, too?”
Touché, Swedish tourist.
But that is one of the best things about the United States:
Everyone is allowed to believe whatever they want, as long as they don’t infringe on anyone else to believe their own crazy ideas.
A dude was nailed to some wood and then rose from the dead and so we eat crackers and wine … and THAT’S religion????
A dude received a couple pieces of stone on a mountain and thousands wandered the desert, then settled in the Middle East … and THAT’S a religion????
Vishnu has six arms and an elephant head… and THAT’S a religion?
Mormonism???
It’s all nuts! But guess what… that’s OUR PEROGATIVE!
Leave everyone to his/her own devices, and as long as they don’t bother anyone else, so be it!
And if they HELP other people, THAT is the best thing about religion.
“Come on People now, Smile on your brother, Everybody get together and love one another right now”
-The Youngbloods, 1967
.
Sunday, April 25
Bad apples and sour grapes
.
"And I brought you into a plentiful country, to eat the fruit thereof and the goodness thereof; but when ye entered, ye defiled my land, and made mine heritage an abomination."
- Jeremiah 2:7
Whenever friends ask me what I miss about the U.S. while I am in Israel, I always answer the same thing:
"Dun' tawk to me, you stoopeed Amereekin! I am Issrellee now! Gimme money, but I resent you for it!"
I tell people that everything in Israel is more expensive than it is in America.
Especially my biggest vice... Twizzlers! (which are TWICE as expensive here)
Save the following-- bus fare, flowers, wine, and... produce!
You can buy 4 oranges for one dollar!
What a country... citrus, public transportation and perpetual religious strife... it all balances out!
I must admit, I tend to vilify Israelis... how loud they are, the way they recklessly drive and park on the sidewalk (yes, I wrote that correctly)-- every American I know who is living here as nearly been hit by at least one car in the last 6 months.
But people think of New Yorkers in exactly the same way.
So I should feel at home.
Another ironic frustration-- my pals and I refer to Ultra Orthodox (Haredi) Jews as "black hats" with the derision we might use for any minority back in America... casual bigotry, but bigotry nonetheless.
Y'know, they shirk their societal duty (in this case, mandatory army service), they have too many kids that they can't support because they don't work, they dress differently than I do, I feel them judging me and my wife... but mostly I feel insecure/self-conscious when I compare myself to them-- I see what I most resent about my religion (and pretty much any religion): fear of change and modernity, strict adherence to archaic ways of life, close-mindedness.
It's not easy, nor should it be, to see aspects of one's own religion in Red State terms.
There are Jews who oppose abortion, gay rights, gender equality, freedom of religion... basically, there are people who believe everyone should be exactly like them-- dress, talk, and think the way they do.
Bu then... aren't I saying a similar thing by pointing my finger at those people?
Woooo, it's a very sticky wicket.
After walking through the Church of the Holy Sepulcher yesterday in Jerusalem's Old City, which houses 5 different sects of Christianity in one small church, bustling priests of different denominations... it's tense, crowded, confusing... but at least they're making it work.
Easier said than done.
.
"And I brought you into a plentiful country, to eat the fruit thereof and the goodness thereof; but when ye entered, ye defiled my land, and made mine heritage an abomination."
- Jeremiah 2:7
Whenever friends ask me what I miss about the U.S. while I am in Israel, I always answer the same thing:
"Dun' tawk to me, you stoopeed Amereekin! I am Issrellee now! Gimme money, but I resent you for it!"
I tell people that everything in Israel is more expensive than it is in America.
Especially my biggest vice... Twizzlers! (which are TWICE as expensive here)
Save the following-- bus fare, flowers, wine, and... produce!
You can buy 4 oranges for one dollar!
What a country... citrus, public transportation and perpetual religious strife... it all balances out!
I must admit, I tend to vilify Israelis... how loud they are, the way they recklessly drive and park on the sidewalk (yes, I wrote that correctly)-- every American I know who is living here as nearly been hit by at least one car in the last 6 months.
But people think of New Yorkers in exactly the same way.
So I should feel at home.
Another ironic frustration-- my pals and I refer to Ultra Orthodox (Haredi) Jews as "black hats" with the derision we might use for any minority back in America... casual bigotry, but bigotry nonetheless.
Y'know, they shirk their societal duty (in this case, mandatory army service), they have too many kids that they can't support because they don't work, they dress differently than I do, I feel them judging me and my wife... but mostly I feel insecure/self-conscious when I compare myself to them-- I see what I most resent about my religion (and pretty much any religion): fear of change and modernity, strict adherence to archaic ways of life, close-mindedness.
It's not easy, nor should it be, to see aspects of one's own religion in Red State terms.
There are Jews who oppose abortion, gay rights, gender equality, freedom of religion... basically, there are people who believe everyone should be exactly like them-- dress, talk, and think the way they do.
Bu then... aren't I saying a similar thing by pointing my finger at those people?
Woooo, it's a very sticky wicket.
After walking through the Church of the Holy Sepulcher yesterday in Jerusalem's Old City, which houses 5 different sects of Christianity in one small church, bustling priests of different denominations... it's tense, crowded, confusing... but at least they're making it work.
Easier said than done.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
