A New Book

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I’m looking for a good new book. I rarely read non-fiction these days although I keep promising myself that I will physically go over to Barnes and Nobles and check out Dara Horn’s new book with the provocative title: “The Final Solution to the Jewish Question: A Love Story for the Living.” I might do that today and buy a hard copy even though I limit the hard copies I bring into our house since bookshelf space is pretty precious.

I tend to read on my Kindle. Lots of reasons including the ability to control the font and brightness. Although I do think that the iPad is as good an alternative and might even be better if they figured out how to make it more readable in an outside environment. I just finished “The Things We Never Say” by Elizabeth Strout. I like that she writes about ordinary people who have their ups and downs and success isn’t measured by quantity. The protagonist is a New England school teacher who loves to sail and challenge his students to think and live their potential. It is about the waves he encounters and the ripples both in the ocean and life.

Even before I got to that section of the NY Times this morning, my son-in-law sent me an article by Roger Rosenblatt titled, “Thoughts Near the End of Life.”  He also talks about ripples: “Have I made a ripple with my life. The question every old person asks…” I think that’s true even if it isn’t conscious. Somewhere during the quiet of our days when we have finished with all the balls we throw in the air (pickle, tennis, golf) the mind turns and lingers: Whom have I touched? What does this all mean? Do I need to do better?

And I don’t think it’s only old people. However you define “old”. It is what we teach our children. It is what religious and spiritual traditions try to inculcate through ritual, stories, prayers, rites. But I digress. I really meant it when I began that I am looking for a new book. I tend to like historical novels and mysteries; I like Asimov style science fiction; I like to learn new things and live in new places. I’m done for a while with Irish and Scottish novels (having just finished The Land and John of John.) I will read a Holocaust novel if you promise me it’s different and novel. And sexy is ok too.

Be my guest: use the comments to trade thoughts. We could create an unplugged book list. And we just might touch each other in ways we never imagined.

PS – Barnes and Noble doesn’t have any of Dara Horn’s books. Suprised and disappointed.

Israel’s Election

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I am not Hen Mazig nor Jake Tapper.  I am just a lifelong Zionist (do you think it matters if it’s a capital Z or lower case?) and lover of Israel. Eileen and I are proud of the number of times we have visited and led tours and helped people fall in love with this old-new land that has been born and reborn by the will of our people and the determination to succeed and thrive. So, take all that I am about to say in stride and know that I offer it because I care so much.

My subject: Israel’s election. My lens: Deia Nsasra.

I zoom with Deia practically every Wednesday at Noon (Eastern). He self identifies as a Muslim Bedouin man from the Negev. We are part of a program that pairs English speakers with Israelis who are in the work force and seeking to improve their English skills. Deia is 25 and lives in Rahat thirty minutes north of Beersheva. Rahat is the largest Bedouin city in the world with about 80,000 inhabitants. Deia voted in this week’s election and over the past few weeks participated in a drive to get out the Bedouin vote. He is both savvy and concerned about the election and its implications. (As am I – maybe not so savvy but definitely concerned.)

When we spoke, it was as it was predicted. Unclear as to who can form a new government. Neither Eisenkot nor Netanyahu had enough seats in the Knesset to reach the magic number of 61 without forming a coalition. By the time you read this, things might change since there is a number of what we would call absentee ballots yet to be counted. I can’t tell you who Deia voted for, but he is as concerned as I am and maybe even more so that if Netanyahu remains in power the very structure and character of the Israel we know will change.

Netanyahu has already shown that he does not value the democratic, pluralistic vision of Israel’s Declaration of Independence. From Deia’s point of view, he has aligned himself with those who have no compunction in destroying Bedouin villages. And I could go on with refusing to reign in the violence perpetrated by “hilltop settlers” in the West Bank. And I could go on with his coddling and support of the Ultra-Orthodox who receive government funding and refuse to allow their youth to serve in the Army. And I could go on with political corruption and scandals and not allowing an independent review of how October 7th happened. And I could go on.

But I won’t. I probably made someone angry already. I am looking for a miracle. I am hoping for sanity to prevail. I don’t have a magic solution but this much is clear. American Jews of my ilk (who admittedly do not vote in Israel’s elections and do not sleep in bomb shelters) and a majority of Israeli Jews see reality differently. And I worry for Deia and I worry that the Israel I love is changing radically and I don’t like what that portends.

Sunrises and October 7

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Sunrises and October 7

I wake early. Sometimes I struggle to stay in bed to push myself to sleep longer and I make a deal with myself that at 6:00 – I will give up. This time of year, I beat the sunrise. This morning that was a gift. I wish I could have captured the colors on my phone. I’m certain if I belonged to a different generation, I could have manipulated all the settings and got the hues. Believe me my image above is lacking. It was so powerful, I went out on the balcony with my laptop and just let the shades of aqua, mauve, pink, yellow and purple move my fingers around the keyboard.

When it was over and the sun began to peak its way above the horizon, chasing the colors of dawn to daylight, I went back to listening to an episode of a NY Times video called “Hard Fork.” The segment was called, “AI: Cute or Maybe Catastrophically Dangerous.” I have a few take aways from my time spent (wasted?) watching. One: I am overwhelmed by what I do not know. Two: I think I am clever using Claude. I am already behind the curve. It’s time to give my life over to “Muse”. Muse is described as your private personal agent. In its creator/publicist’s words: “For us, Muse gives us back the scarcest thing we have: time with the people we love.” (https://introducing.muse.ai) Three: From making reservations at the hottest new restaurants to managing your bills and expenses, you have to sacrifice a great deal of privacy although maybe that’s an old-fashioned word that exists only in my imagination. (They already know everything about us.) Four: And this one’s a question raised at the very end of the episode. When your girlfriend is recovering from surgery and you order her flowers – does it matter if Muse did it or you personally went to a florist or picked up the phone or clicked on a website.

I guess it’s all about intent and the amount of effort you are willing to exert and maybe how important your girlfriend is to you. I was in Costco on Friday morning and I walked by the floral display and thought, I should get some for Eileen which I did on the way out so they wouldn’t get mangled by the paper towels and Kleenex. More thoughtful than Muse? More touching?

This is the week we begin reading Torah all over again. This is the Shabbat of creation. The text begins with the words:  “When God began to create the heaven and the earth …”    The Rabbis wonder why God created. Why is there existence at all. Why humanity. Why life. One of their answers is that God was lonely. Another answer: We are here; we live; we exist. Stop arguing and do something about it.

I am finishing these words on October 7th. The darkness of that day with all its tragedy and all its pain is still with us. It is not to be forgotten. Neither the spiraling war that ensued with all its destruction and pain on all sides. But I can’t linger there. I need the sunrise and the human reaction to beauty and awe. I need the light that daily emerges from darkness. I need the hope and the faith that we are here: let’s do what we can to make it better. I’m not sure I have a good answer to the flower/girlfriend question. I just know it is good to buy flowers and it is good to notice the dawn. It is a prayer for tomorrow.

Another Beginning

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For some of you this is a surprise. It is to me as well. And some of you have asked me when I will start writing again or did they get removed from the mailing/subscription list. Truth is it is all on me. Too many reasons to list but some of them involve self-esteem and motivation. But it’s a New Year and every breath brings a new opportunity for growth.

We make choices from the moment we wake up until the time we close our eyes. We choose what to wear; what to have for breakfast; what route to take to work or the gym or the grocery store. Shortest? Least traffic? Most scenic? We choose what to listen to or pay attention to as we drive. (Hopefully the road is primary!) I usually tune in to CNN. That is until that guy with Ethos comes on and tells me how his dad died and how thankfully his father had the right life insurance. And I could have that too …. I often change the station, but I have learned that he is on multiple channels especially if you are listening through Sirius XM. I think it’s the fake attempt to be sincere that bothers/irritates me. Don’t tell me about your dad’s sudden death unless you are willing to listen to my mother’s slow and agonizing. (That’s not fair I know it’s only a commercial.)

But what emerges for me is how precious are the real moments when connection is immediate and natural. I went to visit a good friend of mine yesterday who is in Hospice Care at home and honestly is in the process of dying. He wasn’t communicating by the time Eileen and I got there and it seemed as though he was determined to allow the process to reach culmination. I hope he knows we were there. But his partner did, his daughter did, his brother did. Sometimes when nothing else seems like it is working, showing up is not only all you can do but also the best thing you can do. Especially at this time in my life, when my contact list would be much shorter if I had the courage to delete my dead.

My friend couldn’t talk but he had the following Mary Oliver poem sitting on his desk. Last night death came to him and he has passed through the door to eternity.

“When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

when death comes

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the moutho

tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to t h e earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life

I w a s a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

Missles Challah and a Great Read

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Great read to get a sense of how some Israelis are handling the Iranian missle strikes. Not all Israelis of course. There are plenty without safe rooms within easy reach; there are some who sit alone and have no one to sing with; cry with; lean on. I think this is one of the few times I have shared a link to another article – but I know alot of you will appreciate the sentiment, the strength, the honesty. And as I said in the title its a great read. These are tough times and our world is playing a dangerous waiting game. And while we wait – we have each other.

https://open.substack.com/pub/bariweiss/p/when-iranian-missiles-interrupt-shabbat?r=lpht5&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email

The Sinai Lesson

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Tonight is Shavuot (at least as I am writing). It is the holiday on which we celebrate the first fruits of the Spring harvest and the revelation at Sinai. It is one of the least observed of our holidays even though it is Biblically mandated and has an important message. It reminds us that at our core we are a people with a mission. We are a people who listened and accepted the revolutionary idea that there is meaning to our being beyond the limits of our bodies. Whatever you believe about the narrative in Exodus that recounts the Sinai experience complete with a golden calf and shattered tablets, we have accepted its truth and its commandment: that there is a higher law whether filtered through historical writings or delivered from a Divine Source right into the hands of Moses our teacher.

Some people think there is only one way to live the mission: black hats, black coats, covered hair, fidelity to ritual and halacha. I think every individual has the right to find their own way and there are many paths that lead to Sinai. When Tom O’Brien and I taught at FAU Lifelong Learning, we would end our session with a slide with an image of a path in the woods with the words: “Walker there is no road; the road is made by walking.” I don’t remember where we found it, but it has always spoken to me about how we make our way through life by living it with appreciation and purpose. Life is a gift. It might also be an accident but it’s still not to be taken lightly.

The Sinai lesson is that the paths we forge are not for our sole passage but that the generations that came before us and the generations that will come after us are depending on how we walk and where we put our feet. The Shavuot story reminds us that we all stood at Sinai; we all heard the words and accepted the obligations. We are called Israel – the one who struggles with what it means to be human or to put it in traditional language – what God wants from us. And If truth be told, we are having a hard time with it right now. How to defend ourselves and still look ourselves in the mirror, How to stand up to hatred without hating back. How to listen to the voices in our community and nation that we don’t agree with and not write them out of our circles.

You know I am speaking about Israel and her current government. You know I am speaking about the United State and our current administration. You know I am writing this to myself because this holiday we begin tonight says: We can do better.

Memorial Day 2025

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I’m feeling very nostalgic this Memorial Day. The part of Memorial Day where we are called to remember our war dead. It used to be called Decoration Day and originated a few years after the Civil War ended. One in fifty Americans died in that war and Decoration Day began as a way to respect the sacrifice of those soldiers both North and South with the decoration of their grave sites in 1868. The term Memorial Day grew popular after WW I and became the official name of the holiday in 1967 with the intent of remembering the fallen of all American wars.

There is a part of me that likes the original name of Decoration Day. My mind goes to how do we decorate their memories. What are the terms of respect we can give them? I know they didn’t die for mattress sales. They died because they believed in our country. The values we hopefully all share of freedom for all, dignity and respect for each other, the promise of justice and due process, the pursuit of the right to be our truest selves without  government’s dictates.

I happened to have served in one of America’s Wars. The one we call the Vietnam War; the one the Vietnamese call the American War. When Eileen and I visited Vietnam as tourists ten years ago, one of the very impactful places we visited was the American War Museum in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). Impactful, instructive and immensely sad – how this war that still makes no sense cost the lives of almost 60,000 Americans and countless Vietnamese and for what. How the government consistently lied to us – yes, the American government and it didn’t matter which political party. These men and women whose graves we decorate this weekend died for the idea of a country we are still struggling to live up to.

Yesterday I went to a street festival in our little town of Brevard, NC. There was blue grass music, food trucks with a lot of smoked meats, cotton candy, funnel cakes and open-air booths with t-shirts, ceramics, jewelry and lots of things we didn’t need. People were walking around with all kinds of outfits and hats – people of all different sizes, shapes, shades. One woman wore a Trump 2028. I sighed (deeply) and reminded myself – they died for her right to wear it – no matter how abhorrent to me.

So how do we remember and how do we decorate? With respect for their sacrifice; with a commitment to the core values of this country no matter what the administration; with a pledge to preserve the promise of our founding words – we are all created equally; we are all deserving to pursue our vision of happiness in whatever form or modality we choose. And it is all about “ we the people…”

So let me remember one – he died when a helicopter was taken down by the Vietcong in the Central Highlands. He was from the Upper Midwest, a JAG officer who befriended me and reminded me of  my rights as a Chaplain but that’s another story. He also gave me a gun and told me no matter what the regs said, I should keep it near even if I couldn’t officially carry it. His name lives inside of me as well as his kindness, caring and compassion. His memory is a blessing.

So eat hot dogs; find good sales; but remember, our freedom comes with sacrifice.

Oranges, Olives and Lemons

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It feels like every year there is a new item to add to your Seder plate or a new reading to insert before the second cup or the eating of answering of the four questions or the telling of the story. This year its lemons. Lemons for their color; lemons for their taste; lemons for the hostages sitting still in darkness and wondering if they will ever see the light. I like how the tradition grows and how it adapts. I like that it is not frozen in time or place but that it is living and breathing.

Yes there is an order to the Seder. And I follow it more or less. And the words written centuries ago take on different meanings almost every year it seems. Like the word “enough” – in Dayenu – it would have been enough. Yes. the poem/song lists all the things we have historically experienced as a people from leaving Egypt to discovering Torah and Shabbat, from building the Temple to entering the Land. Any one of them would have been enough. But there’s another way to roughly translate Dayenu. (Hebrew scholars look away!) It is enough. Enough with war; enough with Hamas terrorism; enough days the Hostages have lived in tunnels; enough bombings and death of the innocent both Palestinian and Israeli; enough tariffs, enough ICE, enough presidential privelege and power grabbing; enough shirking of congressional responsibility in leading this country.

The trick in leading a Seder is to balance the ritual, text and free flowing discussion. People sometimes tell me that they went to a “real” Seder where they read the whole Haggadah and even went back after the meal. If I could rewrite the order of things I would put Elijah before hard boiled egg – Elijah is the harbinger of hope and promise – that opening of the door isn’t just to welcome a spirit to sip the wine. that opening of the door is an act of faith that we can make tomorrow better than today.

Of course we’re not doing so good with today. Hence the lemon. The piece I saw says put the lemon on the Seder plate and slice it right before Maror. Add it to your Hillel Sandwich – so the bitterness of slavery and sweetness of freedom are integrated with the sharpness of the hostages’ fates.

At LabShul, one of the out there congregations in our country has a heading on their Seder instructions which I love. SEYDER: Say More/Read Less. So here’s my take: This is all about a discussion. It is not about slavishly following the text. It is reacting and intereacting with the tradition. It is about interrupting the leader. it is about questioning the rituals. It is about lemons, oranges, and olives.

Freakin Amazing

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I take a yoga class about once a week and the teacher consistently ends the class with “In case no one has told you yet today, ‘You are freakin amazing. Namaste.’” 

I believe her. We all are.

To be living to this age; to be living in this age; to be able to look back and be proud of most of your yesterdays; to know that the work is far from done and to know that it might be getting harder and harder to believe that it every will be done. I take that back. It won’t ever be done. The art of being human takes a lot of effort, and we rise and fall and fall and rise almost as often as we breathe in and breathe out.

That’s an exaggeration of course. The art of being human is knowing that nothing seems to remain the same. On my way to Yoga, I was listening to NPR. They were discussing the Administration’s executive orders and their impact on graduate students who are studying and doing research here in some of our most prestigious universities.  Deportation orders; ICE arrests; threats of “defunding” grants and programs and tying so much of this to protecting Jewish students and being pro-Israel and anti-Hamas all were included the in conversation. Throwing all of this up against a wall painted red and black with the words “Free Speech”.

I am waiting for all of this to backfire. That means I am afraid the day will come when the tide will turn and resentment against the Jews will grow for having privileged and protected status. I know it isn’t logical and it’s probably a function of my generation. But I am very wary of the Administration’s motives. They can turn on a dime. Witness: Zalensky.

But enough. This is what I know (in Biblical parlance): Gird your loins. The fight is far from over. The walls of the city may be breached but with will and confidence and faith in each other we can rebuild – and believe that not only are we ‘freakin ‘ amazing but so is our country. In the words of Jewish tradiiton: may it come soon and in our days.

I Could Cry

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That’s what I said recently at a discussion of how we could protect ourselves from the executive order to neuter diversity, equity and inclusion programs in our society. It seems that there is an AI program that measures DEI influence in an agency, charity or federal program by searching out specific words. I was proud of my organization that stood up against what I am going to characterize as bullying by saying we will not abandon our principles while we will also monitor how this all plays out. For many charitiies, federal grants are involved – that means money and funding.

It was really unbelievable to me that we were even having a discussion. But it doesn’t stop. Yesterday a headline in The Forward read: “Military Schools Remove a Book about Ruth Bader Ginsburg Because of ‘Equity Ideology” “A children’s picture book on Ruth Bader Ginsburg has been pulled from the shelves of U.S. military schools. ‘No Truth Without Ruth: The Life of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’ was just one of several books removed from the shelves at Pentagon schools last week. ‘Freckleface Strawberry’, a picture book by actress Julianne Moore about a girl who struggles to accept her freckles, was also pulled, as was ‘Becoming Nicole‘, a biography of transgender activist Nicole Maines.

It starts with the books. Images from book burning in Berlin float in my mind. Piles of books considered subversive because they were written by Jews become bonfires. Words written in German, in Hebrew, in Yiddish, in French, in English become smoke and ashes. And we know where all that lead.

I am not suggesting that’s where we are but I am worried about what this country is becoming. Not the ‘never again’ thing; but a society which cannot tolerate differences. The Forward journalist proposes that the Ginsburg book might have been pulled because of the Executive Order which requires schools to teach “how the United States has admirably grown closer to its noble principles throughout its history” and urges “celebration of America’s greatness and history.” Apparently Ginsburg’s struggle for women’s rights and social justice are not a part of America’s greatness. Apparently all those who believe we can be better than we already are are wasting their time and breath. Apparently as a society we are where we are supposed to be. That leaves little room for growth. That leaves little room to learn from the past. That leaves little room for books that challenge us and help us grow. That leaves little room for different opinions or ideas. It is scary to think what we are becoming.

I could go on but I can’t. Not today, not when the news from Israel this afternoon is that the Bibas family is coming home in coffins.  It’s hard not to cry.

PS – the image of the clown at the top of this blog is painted on what was then called “The Forvetz” – from when The Forward was still printing in Yiddish. Eileen and I have a pair of them – one where the clown is “happy” and this one. I’ll let you decide what all that means.

I Was Cautiously Hopeful

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I’m not surprised; I am disappointed. I’m anxious and hopeful at the same time. I’m reticent to even write these words, after all I am living relatively securely in Florida and the things that worry me do not include missiles raining on my head from as close as Gaza and as far away as Yemen. The cease-fire news yesterday was a blessing. But even then, I feared optimism was somewhat premature.

Maybe we know too much; maybe we think what we know is really not the truth. As of this writing, Netanyahu is saying that Hamas is reneging on part of the deal and the Israeli cabinet meeting to discuss and hopefully ratify the agreement has been postponed. That was 14 minutes ago according to the Times. What will happen next is unknown to me although given President Biden’s announcement last night of the work that his administration has been constantly doing to achieve cessation of hostilities and a return of the hostages it is hard to imagine that it will fall apart again.

But there is Monday and the inauguration of President Elect Donald Trump. It so echoes Carter/Reagan and the freeing of the Americans from Iran in 1981. Who wants to give whom what? Who is afraid of whom? Is Netanyahu ready to give Trump the gift of making the deal? Is Hamas afraid of Trump’s threat to bomb the hell out of them?

Sad. Disheartening. I hope by the time you read these words, my fears, anxiety, disappointment will be something of the past and there will be a new day dawning with the hostages returning home and guns silencing as hints of a permanent peace rise out of the darkness. It’s probably going to take something the Bible would call a miracle. It’s immensely risky because the forces of evil are real in this world and everything I know says that its name is Hamas.  It’s definitely going to take courage and faith. But I am not so sure there are any other good alternatives  – so read these words as a prayer.

A prayer for peace; a silent petition to all that is good or God in the world for sanity; a petition for joy to come in the morning even though we all know it will be tinged with sadness for all those whose deaths we mourn.