What Matters the Most

בס׳ד

Remembering is a large part of what it means to be a Jew.

There’s nothing very novel about this statement.  This is not something that I just realized or became aware of.  But lately it has become very clear to me just how much time, energy, and expense so many of us put into memorializing loved ones and friends who are no longer with us.  

This is especially true when it comes to tragic losses.  Tragedies occur everywhere, but certainly, here in Israel, we have more than our share of tragic loss.

Just this month, I have seen announcements and reminders for memorial events - azkarot in Hebrew - for young people lost through accidents, terror attacks, and acts of heroism.  People organize and attend to these gatherings year after year.  

I receive facebook posts, emails, essays that memorialize and extol loved ones, and mourn their loss and the empty place that their departure has left behind, that can never again be truly filled.

Comforting is also a part of what it means to be part of a Jewish community.

The one who mourns gives each of us the opportunity to be one who comforts.  We join them in their mourning, so that they should not mourn alone.  People travel to practically anywhere in Israel to go to the shiva house of an individual or family that is mourning the loss of a loved one through terror and murder.  Complete strangers, but brethren nevertheless. I have done so myself. 

We bond together through our common suffering, and consolation.  We also bond with each other through our celebrations of life in births, marriages, and our various rites of passage.

My father, A”H, used to go out of his way to attend every simcha he could.  And I mean “out of his way”.  For 10 years of his life, my parents lived in the Virgin Islands. But you could be sure if there was a simcha in New York, or Chicago, or Florida, my Dad and Mom would be there.

As for me, I remember once that there was a family simcha that I just felt it wasn’t truly necessary for me to go to.  In speaking with an acquaintance, she made the point that if, Gd forbid, it was something other than a simcha, would I think twice about not going?

So why is it that times of mourning, or remembrance, seem to be more compelling to us than times of celebration?  Why are we more likely to skip a bris milah than, Gd forbid, the shiva house of one who has lost a child?

One thing I hear a great deal, are regrets for not having taken the opportunity to spend more time with someone.  We have all too many demands on our limited time.  It’s understandable.  But it also contributes to our regret when this is no longer possible.

How can we avoid this trap?  How can we put as much emphasis on spending normal time with family and friends, as we would on accompanying them to the chupa - or, chas v’shalom, to the kever?

Here is my suggestion: estimate the number of hours you took to prepare for, travel to, attend, and return home from every event of this nature in the past year.  Then commit to spend at least that amount of time this year just being with the people to whose mourners you would travel to comfort.  Or whose simchas you would most certainly attend.

That, in my opinion, is the time that matters the most.

Or is it just me?

Bilaam's Gift

This blog started out about absurdity.

But it has also been about my own journey through the events that have occurred in Israel and the world.  And I apologize for focusing so much on politics.  The thing is, living in Israel, there is just a lot of absurdity that gets dumped on us here from the deepest cesspools of humanity.  For more on the absurd state of the world I will refer you to:
http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/you-are-the-racist-actually-not-me/?fb_action_ids=1357879870950856&fb_action_types=og.comments

I'm writing now because I think I have discovered an evolutionary advantage for absurdity.

Honestly, why should the world be absurd?  Wouldn't it make a lot more sense for the world to make sense?

I would like to argue that absurdity is a gift that is sent to us when we think we know how the world works.

I was tipped off to this by the singular event of Bilaam and his Donkey.

It's all in Parashat Balak, in Sefer BaMidbar (Numbers 22:22).

So Bilaam is on his way to curse Am Yisrael, at the behest of King Balak.  Bilaam was a kind of a Prophet amongst the Other Nations.  He would receive messages from God, and he also knew the time each day when God allowed himself to be angry at the Jewish People.  So he pretty much knew it all, or so he thought.

So he is traveling with his donkey, in order to do exactly what God told him not to do, but then gave him permission to do, with the qualification that he could only say what God would allow him to say. If I were Bilaam, I would have given up right there.  But the money was good, and a man has to make a living!

So Bilaam has it all together.  Life is good.  He's on his way to curse Am Yisrael, and make a good buck to boot.

And just as he's getting into the acceleration lane, his donkey stops.  Dead halt.  Nearly causes a 20 car collision.  He tries to go to the right.  No luck.  To the left.  Nothing doing. Cranks it into four wheel drive.  The transmission falls out.

So he comes to the only reasonable conclusion, it must be the stupid donkey!  So he does what any red-blooded American boy would do, he starts to beat the donkey!  When in doubt, bang it real hard!

You see, Bilaam thought the world is supposed to work the way he thinks it's supposed to work.  If the donkey won't move it's because the donkey is lazy.  This is what he has always done, it's always worked before, and this is how it should work now.  No dice.  So here's the kicker (no pun intended). Now the donkey starts to TALK to him!  "Haven't I been a good donkey all your life?  Have I ever done anything like this before?"

This is the moment that he receives the gift of absurdity.  This is when it finally hits Bilaam that his perception of the world was lacking.  Finally, his preconceived notions shattered, he is able to see what was in front of his nose all the time. What even his donkey could see!  That an Angel of God was standing in his way with sword upraised!  If he doesn't stop, he's a dead man.  Absurdity just saved his life.

Sometimes, it takes absurdity to wake us up out of our life of perpetual sleep-walking.  It's comfortable.  It's easy.  It works.  It gets us through the day.  But, as the saying goes, "if you keep on doing what you're doing, you'll keep on getting what you're getting."  That's when we are sent something absurd. Something that just doesn't make sense, and forces us to stop and think.  "If this doesn't make sense in any way I can understand, then I need to rethink my assumptions."

There are innumerable ways in which this can occur.  To me the classic structure of this revelation is as follows: Something occurs in your life that just makes no sense at all. Think of that as the donkey. But, what is happening has nothing to do with the donkey, or your relationship to the donkey.  This has to do with your relationship to the Creator. This is what He had to do because you haven't been paying attention.

This is your moment of absurdity.  This is the time to stop and think.  "So, I can deal with this the way I have always dealt with things (e.g beat the donkey), or I can open my eyes to the possibility that what is happening has nothing to do with the actual situation.  But it has everything to do with a lesson I need to learn.  With a reality which I have ignored.  In the greater picture, what has been essentially wrong with my whole perspective?  God is rebuking me, but for what?"

In my opinion, the absurd could possibly be as effective an evolutionary tool as ice ages, predators, and the plague.  If you can't break out of your preconceived notions, you could be putting your survival in peril. We had better be able to see and acknowledge that which is contrary to our established reality. This goes for our spiritual/emotional survival as well as our physical survival.

Absurdity. To break out of the chain link fence that we have built around ourselves, and through which we view and understand the world, sometimes we need a helping hand with a sharp pair of bolt cutters. Or maybe a baseball bat, a brick, or even a talking donkey?

Or is it just me?

Post Election Blues

I seem to have offended a great many people, some of them close relatives, by not getting on the anti-Trump band wagon.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  I thought that "blood is thicker than water".  But yet another of my illusions has been shattered.  And "am I blue".

In my view, most votes in this past election were against one or the other candidate.  They were both terrible.

I think the protests in the street are exactly what the media predicted the volatile and subhuman Trump supporters would do when they inevitably lost.  I fully expected Clinton to win by a substantial margin.  I'm as surprised as anyone else.

Deep inside, I am relieved that I won't get to see a continuation of the Clinton and Obama years.  But I look with trepidation toward the Trump years.  I am relieved because, as a resident of Israel, I expect that a Trump administration will be able to tell right from wrong in the Middle East.

In America, I have been shocked by Universities where people who hold opinions that aren't left-wing have been badgered and threatened into silence; where Jewish students are not safe; where Palestinians are heroes and dead Jews deserved it; where Professors are subject to administrative censure for using the wrong personal pronouns.  By a National government that sees fit to bring suit against a State that only wants to have two bathrooms - Men and Women; a President who forces a divisive agenda through Presidential caveat rather than legislative compromise; a White House which gives incentives to our enemies, and the cold shoulder to our allies.  A country where police are always guilty and offenders always innocent.

Unfortunately, in opposing all of that, a pandora's box of ugliness has been opened on the other extreme.  A pandora's box that has nothing to do with the second amendment, or family values, or religion.  Crawling out from under that rock are not Christians (although some claim to be), and not white males (although they are undeniably counted among them).  Hate does not know left or right.

These creepy-crawlies are emerging from under the same putrid rock that produced the "safe spaces",  and the hate Israel rallies, in addition to what I mentioned above.

The Republican sweep will hopefully pull our country back toward the center.  I felt certain that this election would spell the end of the Republican Party.  And maybe it will.  But, it is the Democratic Party that is doing some deep reassessment.  If you spend your tenure in power going out of your way to offend the sensibilities of the heartland, then you have to expect this kind of reaction.  Abraham Lincoln had the ability to evaluate just how far popular support would let him go.  Nowadays, they rely on polls, which we now know are terribly flawed.

The new Republican government better keep this in mind.  And they had better rein in the crazies.  They had better display the appropriate humility.  Because only half the country voted for them.  And they won't have much time to do it.

But, the election is over.  So, I'm in favor of getting on with it.  It's going to be an interesting ride.

Or is it just me?

In the Beginning

בס״ד

Within the vast warehouse of trivial information that I have stored in my cobwebbed attic of memories, is an old Firestone Tires advertisement: “The name that’s known is Firestone…Where The Rubber Meets the Road.”

“Where the Rubber Meets the Road.”  That’s the way I feel when we come around to Shabbat Bereishit.  

I’ve been pounding my chest since the 17th of Tammuz, all the way through the three weeks, and Tisha B’Av.  This was followed by Elul, culminating in a week of early morning slichot, Rosh HaShanah, the 10 days of Teshuva, and Yom Kippur.  Then came the simcha gauntlet.  I took my Lulav and Etrog in hand.  I ate, slept, and learned in my sukkah for a week of the most wonderful Sukkot weather in living memory, leading inevitably up to Hoshanah Rabbah and Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah.

And now, finally, we come to Shabbat Bereishit.  We start the reading of the Torah again, literally, from the “Beginning”.

This past Friday night, I found myself making the usual kiddush - remembering the Creation of the World, on the very day when we read that portion from the Torah once more.

“It was evening and it was morning” - we have struggled from the night of the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash. Through the flames we have cleansed ourselves and crawled up towards the light of day, and reconnection with our Creator.  

“And the Heavens and the Earth were finished”.  We have been recreated.  We are new creations.  Hopefully, in a form closer to the image of God than before.

Really?  Am I really different?  Have I identified all the flaws that I needed to discover, and have I rectified them.  Is my relationship to man and God “new and improved?”

It is odd, but I find Shabbat Bereishit more challenging than all that preceded it.  Why?  Because this is “Where the Rubber Meets the Road.”  This is where, in the words of Sam Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings, I get to “show my quality.”  Boot Camp is over.  Now it’s time to go out into the “shetach” with my new weapons and armor and see what I’m really made of.  Here comes the shakedown cruise.

It's scary.  I think I’m ready, though that’s probably an illusion. This last year was one of considerable personal struggle and growth.  And most of that coincided with and occurred, astonishingly enough, from the month of Tammuz onward.  And for that I owe a debt of gratitude to someone who shook me to my roots, and sent me spiraling into a place that forced me to finally forge a truer relationship with my Creator.  Except for “thank you for rebuking me”, that’s all I’m going to say about that.  But as my youngest child once reminded me, our tests and trials are not bumps in the road; they ARE the road.

And think about this:  We have nine months between now and the next Tammuz.  Nine months of gestation before again being forced out of the womb, out into the flaming darkness, to be melted down and reforged once more.

Avraham Avinu underwent ten trials.  Rashi and Rambam enumerate them differently.  If you combine both opinions, they add up to fourteen or fifteen.  I heard an amazing dvar Torah over the Yomim Tovim that made quite an impression.  (Of course, I don't remember who said it, or on what day, or else I would give the appropriate attribution.  If I do recall, I will update accordingly.)  

The speaker pointed out that when God rescinded his command to Avraham to offer up Yitzchak as a sacrifice, it is only then that God says "now I know that you are a God-fearing man".  There have already been nine trials.  Is it possible that only now God knows Avraham's true nature?  Hasn't he proved himself already?  The speaker's answer is astounding.  The tenth trial was really designed to see what Yitzchak would do.  If Avraham could pass on to his child his attribute of complete devotion, then Avraham must truly be completely devoted.  It took the actions of Yitzchak to ultimately prove Avraham's nature.

And so it is with us.  If we can look out upon the ripple effects - at least the ones we can observe - of our thoughts and actions, then maybe we can get an inkling of how well we're doing.

I can only hope that when the rubber meets the road, I don't leave too many skid marks.

Or is it just me?

All For the Byrd

“Get up!  Get up, you lazy son of a _____!!”  

Dr. Mitchell A. Byrd and Peregrine Falcon

Dr. Mitchell A. Byrd bolted upright, jolted from his brief unplanned snooze.  “What! What! I'm up! I'm up!”.  Luckily, he didn’t jump up and hit his head on the low ceiling of the blind.

Doug Davis, realizing the misunderstanding, roared with laughter.  “Not you, Dr. Byrd.  The Pigeon!”

Both of them were sitting in a duck blind, on the edge of a salt marsh on Fisherman Island, Virginia.  And the pigeon in question was the bait in a live trap which they had set in order to trap, band, and release birds of prey - mostly small to medium-sized hawks.  The pigeon had to move around in order to attract the hungry raptors.  Both the pigeon and Dr. Byrd had dozed off in the heat of the day.

I knew about this, because I was doing the same thing at the same time.  From 1977 to 1980, I was a Biology graduate student at William & Mary (officially, The College of William & Mary in Virginia).  I wandered all over eastern Virginia studying birds of prey, and Bald Eagles in particular.  My major professor, believe it or not, was Dr. Mitchell A. Byrd, of the Virginia Byrds (e.g. Admiral Byrd).  

Fisherman Island is located at the eastern end of the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel, connecting Norfolk, Virginia to the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay.  It’s an ideal place for finding all sorts of birds, as long as you are prepared to fight off the dreaded Eastern Shore mosquitoes.  Eastern Shore mosquitoes don’t fly.  They take taxis!  Mosquitoes, chiggers, ticks - they’re all part of the bargain if you want to study wildlife biology in eastern Virginia.

Doug was also a Biology grad student, and we were working with Dr. Byrd.  The purpose of the trapping and banding was to be able to track the movements and migration patterns of these birds. The live trap looked like a ring of metal, divided in two halves, connected by hinges and a spring.  Looped onto the rim of the trap was a green net of soft twine or plastic.  The pigeon’s feet were carefully (and gently) tethered to a metal disc in the center of the trap.  Should a hawk swoop down to take the bait, Doug would pull a cord to snap the trap shut on the unsuspecting hunter.  Generally, the pigeon remained unscathed (though not particularly sympathetic to the cause of wildlife conservation). 

Now, back to our story: I was in a similar blind not far away.  We had all started together in the same blind.  But Doug, a native of Norfolk and an experienced bird trapper, and Professor Dr. Mitchell A. Byrd, Ph.d., had ceded the blind to me because nothing was happening, and they were getting bored.  I was  the new guy, so I got to babysit the more unproductive location.  “Come and get us if you need some help!”.

So, off they went, leaving me to my own devices.  I knew the theory of how this was supposed to work, but never had experienced the operation in practice. So I cracked open a cold Coke and a bag of Fritos, and made myself as comfortable as possible, given the heat, humidity, and parasites.

In order to make this work, you have to keep an eye out for movement in the sky.  When you see something, you pull on the string that is connected to the pigeon’s foot, so that it flops around as if it was injured - a tasty morsel.  Twenty minutes, half an hour, an hour...I don’t remember how much time passed, before I thought I saw a speck circling over the marsh.  I got my pigeon moving.  The speck came closer and grew larger. It circled closer.  Long tail, wings in a shallow V, conspicuous white patch at the base of the tail...a Marsh Hawk!  Come on baby.  Come to mama.  Got a nice hot lunch for ya.

Marsh Hawk

He swooped in and landed next to the pigeon, checking it out.  Closer...a little closer...SNAP!  The trap sprang over him.  What a great feeling!  Touchdown!  Basket! Home Run!  A moment of ecstasy, followed by one of terror.  “Now, what do I do?”  OK, Norm.  You can do this.  The one thing you’ve got going for you is your willingness to humiliate yourself.

Getting the Marsh Hawk out of the netting, while simultaneously keeping him from flying away, and not getting stabbed by one of his needle sharp talons, is no small feat. Birds of prey aren’t accustomed to using their sharp beaks as weapons the way that smaller birds do.  Their weapon is their talons. The trick is to reach underneath the trap with both hands, secure his wings by holding them closely to his body with both hands, and slide him out from under the trap with his talons away from you.  Careful, careful....done!

So there I was, both hands occupied holding a very nervous Marsh Hawk - about 18 inches long from beak to tail, with a wingspan of about 45 inches.  Now what??!!

Well. I might as well go down and show my prisoner to Dr. Byrd and Doug.  They’ll know what to do.  So I trekked through the dunes to the other blind, about five minutes away.  

-  “Hey, Guys!”

-  “What?”

-  “What do I do now?”

Curiously, they came rattling out of the blind.  Their jaws dropped!

That was all we trapped that day.  The hawk was banded and released, no harm done.  And Yours Truly rode off into the sunset.  Miller Time!  

Every evening, at 5 PM, without fail, Dr. Byrd insisted it was “Happy Hour”.  Sometimes, a few of us grad students would assemble at Dr. Byrd’s home to sip on his favorite libation - Chivas Regal.  I’m sure I deserved it that day.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been more than 30 years since that day on Fisherman Island.   

And Dr. Mitchell A. Byrd is now Director Emeritus of the Center for Conservation Biology at William & Mary.  Doug Davis, last I heard anyway, was working for the US Army Corps of Engineers as an Environmental Biologist.  But that was a long time ago.

I completed my Bald Eagle research, and got my MA in 1980.  The only job I ever got in the field was as a volunteer, re-introducing captive-bred Peregrine Falcons into the wild, on Great Fox Island, Virginia in the Chesapeake Bay not far from Crisfield, Maryland.  

Ten months later, I came to Israel on the Sherut La’Am volunteer program.  I volunteered for a while with Dr. Yossi Leshem at Beit Sefer Sede Har Gilo.  He headed the Israel Raptor Information Center at the time, and was studying Lappet-Faced Vultures in the Negev. Then I volunteered with Misrad HaPenim for a while, working to encourage research on the upper Jordan River.  

And that, my friends, was the end of my biology career.

Now that I live in Israel, I keep talking to myself about getting over to the Kfar Etzion Field School to do some guided bird watching.  The main problem is that my Hebrew is so embarrassing.  Really have to get over that one, though.

Dr. Byrd is about 88 years old now.  I haven’t seen him since the day I left Williamsburg, Virginia in 1982.  One of the last things he said to me was “We’re going to miss your curly little head around here.”  I’ve tried to contact him several times in recent years, to let him know how grateful I am for those years I spent with him at W & M, but I have never heard back from him.  Perhaps he’s too busy, not interested, doesn’t really have anything to say, or simply doesn’t remember me.  Or maybe the Chivas Regal has taken its toll ! But it makes me happy to think about him.

What a trip I’ve had through life.  So many different goals and experiences, seemingly unrelated.  Were they all dead ends, or necessary pieces in the jigsaw puzzle?  I have tons more snapshot memories like this one, and I just don’t know how they all fit together. 

Is everyone somewhat overwhelmed by the journeys life has taken?

Or is it just me?

Cousin Harry

Cousin Harry, A"H, was quite a character.  

Actually, he was not really my cousin.  He was my wife’s cousin.  My Father-in Law’s first cousin.  Harry Lyons was married twice, but never had children of his own.  

Harry grew up in Lexington, Virginia toward the end of the 19^th century, and during the beginning of the 20^th, along with my Father-in-Law, Sidney Lyons, A"H.  Harry went into Dentistry, and made quite a name for himself.  He was at one point the President of the American Dental Association (you know, the ones that put their seal of approval on toothpaste.  Remember those old Crest commercials?), and he was also the Dean of the Dental School of the Medical College of Virginia.  There is a whole building named after him there.  A true Virginia Gentleman (not the Bourbon).  

His sister Tillie ,A"H, by the way, became the first female Dentist in Virginia.  That was during WWI, when all the men were off in Europe.  My daughter, Tova, is named after Cousin Tillie, whose Yiddish name was Toba.  As you can imagine, Harry had his own ideas about things, and he was kind of stubborn, although always a gentleman.  He was driving his Cadillac (always a Cadillac) well into his nineties before he was finally convinced to turn in his wheels.

I do not remember the first time I met Harry.  It was probably sometime between the time my wife and I were engaged, and when we were married.  I liked him immediately.  And he liked me.  But neither of us would admit it.  It was that kind of relationship.  He would get on my case about my beard, my religious tendencies, and my dog.  As a Dental School Dean, he did not approve of beards.  Very unsanitary.  Religiously, he was Reform, if anything, but very supportive of Israel.  In fact, he went over several times in the early days of the State to help them set up standards for dentistry.  

To give an example of how our relationship worked, I once called him up on the phone for some reason, maybe just to say hello.   When he answered I said, “Hi Harry.  This is the person in the world you like the least”.  Without missing a beat, he cheerfully replied, “Oh, hello Norman!”

Harry did not mind the dog until our first son was born, and therein lies a tale.

Like I said, Harry never had children of his own.  When my wife was carrying our first child, Harry told us that if we had a son and named him Harry, he would give us a million dollars.  Now, understand that Harry was not just whistling Dixie.  He actually had the wherewithal to carry out such a gesture.  I believe that he was serious, but at the same time making it sound just enough like a joke to give him some wiggle room.  I just could not see my way clear to follow through.  Harry?  For my son?  For money?  Fortunately, my wife felt the same way.

Shortly after our son was born (David), we received a note from Harry with a check enclosed.  The check was made out for one million dollars, but was not signed.  The enclosed note said that if we had named him Harry, the check would have been signed!  I wish we had saved that note!

Nevertheless, we remained close.  Since we lived in Charlottesville, Virginia at the time, and he lived in Richmond, we would exchange visits.  He and Tillie (who lived in Oregon with her son) were worried about having a dog around the baby.  They were very sweet.

Of course, they are both gone now, along with that great generation of Southern Jews who achieved incredible success in the first half of the 20^th century.  I have done some reading about this, and it is truly a remarkable history that most of us “New Yawkas” are completely ignorant of.

I often think about Harry, and his million-dollar offer.  After years of paying Yeshiva tuition, I am sure it would have come in handy.  But mostly, I just miss him.

The real question I ask myself is: if I had accepted the offer and named my son Harry, what would that have meant about me?  Who would I have been?  Who would my son have been?  Would I now have the outstanding Daughter-in-law that I have now, and my one in a million (no pun intended) Grandchildren?

From my learning in Chasidus, I have extracted some understanding about the nature of the choices we make.  I’m talking about choosing, not selecting.  Selecting is what you do in the supermarket – Cheerios or Grape Nuts.   I had a decision to make about who I was, and who I wanted to be, and who I wanted my son to be.  I realized some time ago, while learning the Baal HaTanya’s Iggeres HaTshuva, that there is only one power in the world that can stand against the will of God.  That power is our bechira, our ability to choose.  No other creation has this ability to choose.  Not one.  This may be the essence of the meaning of being created betzelem Elokim (in the image of God).

The obvious derivative of this is that no choice is trivial.  So, back more than 30 years ago, when my guts wouldn’t let me take money to name my child, that choice created a koach in the world – a Malach (angel) perhaps – that has had a ripple effect not only for me, but for generations.  It’s scary to think what would have been if I had chosen otherwise.  And I had no idea at the time what the ramifications could be.  

How many times have I chosen poorly, and what could have been different?

There’s no way of knowing, but I wonder all the same.

Or is it just me?

Churban

I lost a friend today.

No, it wasn't due to an attack, or an accident, or an illness.

And I mourn.

I mourn because something I loved was snatched from me, because I didn't meet some unrealistic expectations.

I mourn for a ripening cluster of grapes that withered on the vine because they were purple, and the vine insisted they be green.

Could there be a "better" time for a tangible reason to mourn, than the three weeks between the 17th of Tammuz, and Tisha B'Av?

The Churban, the destruction, of the Beit HaMikdash - it is not the building that we mourn the loss of  - it is the relationship with God that evaporated before our eyes.  That is something worth mourning.

The adult child of a friend of mine was recently burned out of her home.  Only her most cherished belongings were saved.  She does not mourn.  What was lost were "things".  Despite the disruption, difficulty, and expense - only "things" were lost.  Her family is with her.  Her friends are with her. God is with her.  He has not increased His distance, or hidden His face.

We mourn during this time for the loss of relationship, not the loss of a building.

I have heard from many people that they are having challenges in relationships during this three week period.  How we deal with those challenges may determine the length of our spiritual exile.

I tried to speak to the Creator.  It was hard, and strange.  But I heard the answer.  The answer was:
"Be grateful for the rebuke".

Rebuke is a powerful pathway toward humility.  Someone once said "sometimes he needs a good kick in the pants with his orange juice in the morning".   True rebuke comes out of love.  So through the rebuke, I know that the Creator is trying to wake me up, to fix me.  Because it's important to Him.

Thank you, HaShem, for rebuking me.

But I also ask You, exactly what is it that I'm being rebuked for?  My list of shortcomings is long.

And I still mourn.  And maybe that's the lesson.  Maybe to mourn properly for the loss of the greater connection, I need to feel the loss of a lesser connection?  For that, I am grateful, because I've said in the past that we have too much mourning in our yearly cycle.  Maybe that was my mistake.  I don't know.  But this will be on my mind on Tisha B'Av.  Maybe the tears will come. I will be disappointed if they don't.

I ask why it is that there are people that demand so much - that keep an itemized list of who owes them what - a rigid standard of what is required of friendship?

I heard Rabbi Zev Leff speak over Pesach.  Something he said has stuck with me.  He said that some people have a pre-conceived notion of how Moshiach will come.  So much so, that if Moshiach comes in some other way, they will refuse to recognize it.  He said that Moshiach will come in a manner of his own choosing, and it is up to us to relinquish our rigid notions of the manner of his arrival.

So, I want to say to my friends and family, that I cherish you.  Not for who I want you to be, but for who you are. And I am grateful that you accept me, warts and all, for exactly who I am.  Friendship depends on forgiveness, for we usually let each other down in one way or another.

To be unable to forgive, is to choose exile over redemption.

Or is it just me?

From Hallel to Hallel

בס״ד

So much has been going on, and I've had so much stuff going round and round in my head.  Maybe that's why I've been taking so many naps lately.

A 13 year-old girl, Hallel Yaffa Ariel, who loved to dance and who wrote beautifully about emunah*, was butchered in her bed in Kiryat Arba by a hate-trained,17 year-old Arab terrorist/murderer.  Her grand-mother is a friend and neighbor of ours.  We have met the family and had meals with them when they have visited in Efrat.  We even went to their vineyard and picked grapes earlier this year.

The murderer's Mother called him a "hero".

Then of course there's the political farce going on in the US Presidential campaign.

There's also our vacillating, indecisive Israeli government.

Then there's the ongoing work of overcoming my many shortcomings, and trying to find my place as a Jew.  I've started working - in actually a volunteer capacity - at the Emunah Center.  It's run by Rav Dror Moshe Cassouto - kind of a rebel Breslover Chasid.  He is baal tshuvah*, learned intensely with Rav Aroush for 12 years.  He has the ability to express the essence of having faith, and he cuts through a lot of the trappings and chumrahs* that can prevent a real connection to God.

Rav Dror’s approach is very attractive in that he de-emphasizes chumrahs while reminding us of the centrality of mitzvos*.  This is also appealing to a lot of non-Jews who are used to approaching God through faith.  Intellectuality is secondary to emunah.  In most of the frum world, learning is praised while faith and midos are expected to stem from that. I’m not completely convinced of either path.

So, I'm approaching this cautiously but getting a lot out of it as well.  Not becoming a groupie, but filtering the message for nuggets of gold.  There is something I need in there.  

I experienced an amazing Yom Ha'atzmaut this year. I was witness to and participated in the most pristine Hallel* ever.  A true outpouring of praise for and gratitude to the Creator for the miracle that we live every day - to be Jews in our Land.  Every other Hallel in my life pales before it.

That's the kind of "worship" I would like to have a lot more of.  I have no motivation to doven in shul except that I'm supposed to.

We're now on the slippery slope to Tisha B'Av, and I don't know how I'm going to get through it.  I need a lot more Yiddishe nachas* from my relationship with the Creator.  Misery does not bring me any closer, and I have consciously chosen Simcha* as the path for me.  Our religion has taught us very well how to be miserable, but we're pathetic at joy.  That's why, only after 64 years, I experienced true praise and thankfulness as Israeli Jews celebrated a miracle about which most of Orthodoxy says "Feh !”.

So I struggle with that.  There won't be any kinos* for me this year.  I haven't decided what I'm going to do.  My usual schedule is to sleep for as much of the day as possible.  This year, I might just find a nice secluded place and sing songs, and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and be grateful that I am able to do such a thing on Tisha B'Av.  That's what we really need to do - be grateful.

So from Yom Ha'Atzmaut until now, I have travelled from Hallel to Hallel.  From a Hallel of true praise resembling the Simchas Bais HaShoeiva*, to the murder of Hallel Yaffa Ariel in Kiryat Arba, 20 minutes from my home, and 5 minutes from the kever that Avraham Avinu purchased for his wife Sarah, a few thousand years ago.

My daughter Tova and her husband Dovid are teaching their 20 month-old daughter, Raqueli, not to whine.  One day she started to whine, and then stopped herself and said "no whining" while she shook her little finger back and forth.

The other day she said "no crying", but Tova told her it's OK to cry.  She still wasn't clear on the difference, because she later said "I crying" when she wasn't.  She meant that she was crying on the inside.

It's OK to cry, even on the inside.  But whining seems to be what really got us into trouble on Tisha B'Av.  We whined because of our failure to appreciate Eretz Yisrael.  So this year, if I want to cry, I will.  If I want to sing, I will. But I'm not going to whine.  And I will be grateful.

Rav Dror says that waiting for Moshiach is stupid.  You go out and perfect yourself and your world to the best of your ability, and tell Moshiach you're not going to sit around waiting for him to change the world so you can be happy.  You're going to make yourself happy by changing what is in your hands to change.  And Moshiach is welcome to come whenever he is ready.

As Yul Brynner said in The Ten Commandments, “So let it be written, so let it be done”.

Or is it just me?







* Glossary:
emunah - faith
chumrahs- stringencies
midos - character traits
simcha - joy
mitzvos - commandments
baal tshuvah - someone who becomes religious
nachas - satisfaction
Simchas Bais HaShoeiva - water-drawing celebration in Temple times
frum - religious
Hallel - a service of praise on holidays
kinos - liturgical laments

Why I am Skeptical about the Allegations over the Duma Arson, as well as the Video of Wedding-goers Celebrating the Duma Deaths

A grotesque video has been published, which purports to be of an Orthodox wedding, in which people are celebrating the July 31, 2015 fire-bombing that resulted in the killing of members of the Dawabsheh family in the Arab village of Duma.

First let it be said that I in no way want to justify, rationalize, excuse, legitimize or otherwise defend what was a terrible crime.

But I have watched the videos, and it looks to me like a put-up job, a fraud.

I could surely be wrong about this.  It would not be the first time that I would be disgusted by the depths to which some supposedly “religious” people sink.  I have been equally disgusted by the actions of secularists and non-Jews.  But when “religious” Jews are involved, it really hits home.

So I would like to itemize here my reasons for being skeptical.

First, there are still questions about what happened in Duma:

1. There had been four other suspicious fires in Duma in a year, including the home of a relative of the victims on June 19, 2015.  These are related to an 18 year feud between Arab clans. 
2. The house is located in the middle of the village.  This makes it tricky to get in and out without being caught.
3. Yet not only weren’t they caught, but they were able to commit the arson, and write on the walls, without leaving any evidence by which to track them.
4. The ISA says they know “who is responsible”, and insists it was Jews.  How do they know?  By the Hebrew scribbling on the walls?  There aren’t any Arabs who know Hebrew, and would want to pin this on Jews?  Where is the evidence?
5. It is unlikely that amateur teenage “terrorists” would be able to pull off something like this without leaving a trail of evidence.  I think this was either an inside (Arab) job, or that of trained professionals.  Why would they go into the middle of the village, when it would be so much easier on the outskirts?  And why this particular house?

And now, about the videos:

1. It is suspiciously convenient that these videos show up just as protests mount concerning the treatment of the individuals who have been detained since September, but not charged.  Why haven’t we seen these videos before now?
2. Most of the time, when terrorist attacks take place, the security services pick up the culprits within a few days.  It’s quite remarkable.  But in this case, it has been almost six months, and despite “knowing” that it was Jews who did this, no one has been charged.
3. Then, very conveniently, we are told that the lawyers of the detainees have been identified on the videos.  Really now.
4. Every Israeli politician from every spectrum is vying to come out as the strongest supporter of the ISA.  I have never seen such unity about anything among Israeli politicians.  When was the last time they all agreed on something?  That in itself is suspicious.
5. If the people in the video can be positively identified, then why haven’t they been arrested and charged?  Why is Administrative Detention being used instead?
6. Why are the names of those under detention being withheld?
7. Statements have been released of the chatan, kallah and family members at the wedding (names also unreported), and they report that they never saw any such event occur.
8. Why don’t we know the date of the wedding, and the date of the video?
9. Why is the location of the wedding unclear?  We are told that it was somewhere in Jerusalem, but where?
10. 30 guests are being “questioned”.  If they appear on the video, then what is there to question?  If they aren’t on the video, then why question them?
11. If the “terrorists” were clever enough to pull off the Duma attack and leave no evidence, how can you believe that they would publicly dance around with knives, guns, molotov cocktails, and pictures of the victims - and let it be recorded!

As a backdrop, there is a history of anti-yishuv sentiment among the security forces.  The most infamous case of this was in 1994, when the Shin Bet set up a phony terrorist group in order to implicate the Dati Leumi community in acts of terror.  This was revealed in 2001.  The purpose was to de-legitimize the opposition to the Oslo Accords.

In addition, the Duma arson followed the abduction and murder of three Jewish boys by Arabs from Hevron the previous summer, and in the midst of the current wave of Arab terror attacks.  Duma has been viewed as a possible reprisal by “Jewish terrorists”.

Now, I’m not one to hold by conspiracy theories. But, I’ve seen and read enough mysteries and thrillers to know to be suspect of evidence as presented by “authorities”, especially when it looks too perfect.  So I will now present a theory that is based on the scanty information that is available outside of government circles.  It seems, at this time, just as likely as the line that we are being fed by official sources.  Think of this as the outline of the conspiracy novel that I will never write.

The kidnapping and murder of three Jewish boys by Arab terrorists makes the security services look bad.  One of the boys had actually called the Police, who considered it a crank call and never responded.  This makes them all look really bad, and it starts engendering sympathy for the “settlers”.

So, the security services set up a “revenge” attack.  Skilled agents are sent in to an Arab village where several fires have already taken place.  They know what they are doing.  They are able to get in, get out, and leave no evidence.  In any case, guess who would be doing the investigating?

Whether they intended to actually kill anyone or not is an open question. It might not have been the intention.  Or, perhaps, this family had some relationship with the ISA that the ISA did not want to be revealed?

In any case, now the “settlers” look bad, just as intended. As it turns out though, simply blaming it on Jews is not enough.  The world demands suspects.  Uh Oh, now what.  Either there is no evidence, or the evidence would point right back to the ISA.

So, as they say in Casablanca, “round up the usual suspects”.  They want to get some of these “hilltop youth” to confess to the crime.  They use Administrative Detention, but still have not been able to produce plausible evidence.  Opposition mounts to the treatment of the youths in detention.

Now they have to turn all that opposition into support.  They set up a fake wedding scene, complete with “hilltop youth”, knives, guns, and pictures of the victims.  Conveniently, the chatan and kallah never appear.  But they make sure that likenesses of the detainees’ lawyers show up in the crowd, to discredit and implicate them.

Now, Israeli politicians are shrewd characters.  They know a scheme when they see one.  They are skeptical of everything.  So how do they get everyone in line to give believability to the accusations?  Just like J. Edgar Hoover, the former Director of the FBI, the ISA has dirt on everyone.  They make it clear to the leaders of the entire political spectrum that if they don’t show their support for the ISA in the most glowing terms, then certain information might get leaked out.  Now all the politicos are jumping all over themselves to defend the ISA.

I don’t know how this is going to end.  All I do know is that nothing good is likely to come of it.

I’m willing to retract this whole scenario if I see clear proof to the contrary.

In the meantime, as Joe Friday would say, “just the facts, ma’am”.

Or is it just me?

"Vodka Martini, Shaken, not Stirred" - 007

I have met some amazing new people in my 2+ years here in Efrat, Judea, Israel.

Even better than that, I have discovered new depth in some of my Baltimore friends from way, way back who also live here.

One of these people is Joan (Joanie) Kristall.

She recently sent me an email, expressing her thoughts about the attacks in Paris. (ed. actually, according to the President of the United States, they were "setbacks".)

So I am introducing Joanie as my first "Guest Blogger".  The title of her short essay is "I Was Stirred".  I would add, "Stirred, but not Shaken".

I Was Stirred

On the way to my office on Mondays, I depart from the bus from Efrat onto a busy Jerusalem street. I walk up a hill, then down a hill, then up a hill once more before arriving at my sunny office on the second floor of an ordinary apartment building. What struck me yesterday was, on a busy, bustling, popular thoroughfare, there were large French flags lining both sides of the street, blowing in the wind. 

My immediate reaction was, what a compassionate people we are! It shouted to me, "We are with you in your pain; we are with you in your sorrow; we have been there and we still are there, fighting the awful barbarism that has seeped into both of our countries! You are not alone!"

My second thought was, "In what countries are the Israeli flags flying high? Where is the outcry and compassion of the "international community" when our innocent sons, husbands, wives, daughters and children are killed, attacked and targeted in the streets of our cities?" 

The members of the class I teach on Sunday morning, Group Therapy Training, came into our meeting room visibly shaken. Before Shabbat, they heard of the killing of a father and son headed to a celebration of a daughter/sister on the occasion of her upcoming wedding, a simcha, a joyous milestone, marred tragically. 

They heard of the Red Crescent (Arab version of the Red Cross) ambulance failing to stop to help aid the injured. 

Then after Shabbat, they read of the Paris massacre. They, my wonderfully sensitive students, were speechless....Enough! Enough! Enough! We, the warriors of Israel, had to pause to feel the terror of these events, the trauma of their occurrences. Once their speech came back and we talked out our feelings, we needed to move, to stretch, to reach, to bend, to breath, to shake and rid our limbs of the absorbed terror. How helpful that was and seemed to bring us back to a sense of balance. 

What will enable us to endure the awful and terrible events that are happening on almost a daily basis? 

The wise answer is kindness, life, simcha and, yes, compassion. 

For all the evil that is entering the world, we need to physically fight and spiritually fight! We are in a battle and we cannot become, G-d forbid, the barbarians of our enemies. 

About a month ago, our next door neighbors, a lovely young couple, had their first child, a sweet baby boy. I have yet to meet this infant, but I hear him each and every evening and also in the middle of the night....crying his lungs out! We share a common wall, so this little one's cries are clearly heard in our apartment. 

I must tell you, it is music to my ears! This beautiful new life, in addition to today's bris of a new great, great grand-nephew, are precious Jewish neshamas born here in Israel. I can't think of anything sweeter and more deliciously needed at this very moment in time.

May the spirit of our good deeds and kindnesses fill the world with Shalom, with Peace.