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Happy Anniversary

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Dear Gentle Reader,

(To borrow a phrase from Lady Witherspoon of Bridgerton fame.)

You might remember my finding a stack of sermons in our storage unit all typed (like on an electric typewriter) on 5 X 7 cards – mostly green, some blue, all of them pre-word processing days from the mid-70’s to the early 90’s. They are mostly High Holy Day sermons and tend to have some common themes.

Here are some general impressions. They are too long and tend to be repetitive. They are inconsistent but some are brave, and some are foolish, and all try really hard to be relevant, some succeed. They are also incredibly “chutzpadik”. Who am I to be saying these things? Who am I?

Take the one about “Love and Marriage.” I didn’t date a lot of these sermons but in researching the books or articles I quote I think this one is from the mid-70’s. That means I was in my mid-thirties and had been married for maybe ten years. What the ……. did I know about love or marriage?

But it did begin with a great Chasidic story about two boys who used to like playing Rebbe when their father (the Rebbe) was taking a Shabbat afternoon nap. They would take turns and critique each other’s ability to model their father when he counseled people who came for advice. This time the congregant was asking his Rebbe about marriage as he recounted the quality of his relationship with his spouse. At the end of the play acting, the son who was playing the Rebbe asked his brother to critique his “performance”. His brother said: “You did great, and you said all the right things, but you forgot the most important piece of any Chasidic session. Abba (dad) always began with a sigh – all Chasidic stories must begin with a long, slow, deeply felt sigh.

And so it is. Today is Eileen and my anniversary. And I think a sigh is appropriate – the sigh that slows us down and invites us to reflect on the days and years of our marriage. The sigh that admits not every day was perfect but year after year we turned our challenges into blessings. 

Sighs come in many variations. There is the sigh that says: here we go again. Life has a way of repeating lessons unlearned. And it is hard to change; it is easy to fall back on old habits and ways. It is easy to point your index finger at and forget that there are three others pointing back at you. It is easy to forget the word of the day in a marriage is “us”.

You are probably getting the wrong impression here. Another sigh. We have and we are blessed. Not only with children and grandchildren who are a constant source of joy and pride. Not only with relatively good health given our years. Not only with affluence and influence and meaningful roles we played in society. Not only with people who love us and people we love. Not only with laughter and joy and even sorrow and loss – but most of all, we are blessed with each other in good times and bad times, in the work we do when we say: I love you.

 

                                                                                                   

 

Father’s Day

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I decided to get my walk in early this Father’s Day morning and let Spotify create a playlist for me. The computer decided “Forever Young” would be a good first song and did it know how ironic the choice was? This is the saying amongst my peer group: “Growing old isn’t for cissies.”  Ain’t that the truth, though I am blessed to be relatively healthy at this moment of my growing older. (Not that you would know it from the number of pills I count out each night and morning.) When I ended my hike, the algorithm had me at “Papa Was A Rollin Stone.” If you don’t know the song, it is about an absentee father, “wherever he laid his hat was his home and when he died, all he left us was alone,”

It got me to thinking about my father. His name was Charlie and when my mother and he were having a loving moment, she used to call him Sir Charles and he called her, Lady Marilyn (her middle name). In my memory, those moments weren’t as many as we would have liked them to be. My father worked hard all his life. He was a pharmacist who had his own drug store before I was born and then worked as a pharmaceutical rep and subbed several nights and weekend days in a drug store in Waltham, Mass. I remember him compounding meds and measuring potions with great care. I also remember him letting me play at being a soda jerk at the fountain where I made a great Lime Rickey. He catered to my mother during her illnesses. But after his car accident on the Maine Turnpike which put him in the hospital in a coma in Lewiston, Maine where we spent an upside-down Passover waiting to see if he would regain consciousness, there was an angry side of him that surfaced.

They say you are supposed to be slow to anger and quick to forgive. He struggled with that, and if I am honest, so do I (the quick to forgive part.) But I’m not going to talk about me – I’m going to remember the moment before my father’s funeral when we were alone in the chapel and Eileen took out three cigars from her pocketbook and placed them inside his coffin. You see my father never went anywhere without a cigar. The smell of cigar smoke, no matter what quality, brings me right back to him. And to the affable, personable salesman with a trunk full of samples that he felt were meant to be shared.

I took the picture above early in my walk this morning. The Lake is calm; the bullrushes (is that what you call them?) are straight and strong. The waters and the sky reflect each other in peace. So may it be with us.

What a World

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I don’t know why or how I got hooked on Rufus Wainwright’s music. Maybe it’s because he covers a lot of Leonard Cohen. Yesterday morning on my almost daily walk, I really listened to the words of Wainwright’s “Oh What a World.” It fit my mood as I tried to keep my mind from wandering away from the beauty and serenity of the world I was walking through. But it didn’t really work. (My mind that is.)

“Oh, what a world it seems we live in. … Why am I always on a plane or a fast train. Oh, what a world my parents gave me ….  Always traveling but not in love … Men reading fashion magazines … Wouldn’t it be a lovely headline? Life is beautiful on the New York Times….

We are home from Israel, and it is time to make a photo book that tries to capture the deeply touching experience of being there in these days and at this time. Everyone has put their favorite photos in a shared album and Sammy, and I are tasked with selecting those which will make it onto the pages of the book. There are all kinds of decisions to make: size; matte; glossy; lay flat; design by computerized algorithm or do it yourself or pay an extra fee to have a personalized live human consultant or even a hybrid where you use their templates. We are hybrid all the way although there is a great chat option where you can ask a real human how to …..

Which brings me back to “Oh What a World.” Sometimes I think we are on a fast train to destruction, and I wonder what kind of world we are giving to our children and grandchildren. Sometimes as I listen to the news or watch the network half hour, I say the last five minutes of “America Strong” isn’t enough. The plane we are on flies so high we can’t see that the grass is green and that green isn’t just one color. We call them shades cause I think we need to categorize everything. Trying to make sense of the beautiful chaos of nature.

And then this morning – “Four Hostages rescued alive in Gaza operation, Israel says.” (That’s The Washington Post.) Or “Israel’s Military Says It Rescued Four Hostages.” (That’s the NYT.) Maybe I am prejudiced (I am). I don’t see all the qualifiers when it comes to reporting how many died in an Israeli strike on Gaza. It is always a UN School but you have to read below the fold to find out that it was a haven for a Hamas unit.

I know I am rambling. I guess the theme is “Oh What a World.”

But right now, I am sticking with the rescue and return of the four hostages. That’s a photo for our book and another reason to love Israel.

Israel Diaries 7

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Images

I’d love to write a profound column this morning (that’s probably a little presumptuous as if any of these diaries are even close)- But yesterday Eileen and I let the group do their own thing and we hung out for part of the day with friends. It was great to catch up and listen to their perspectives of the situation here. They are in opposition to the way the current government is conducting the war and believe strongly there needs to be elections. In their view israel needs to take the risks that Blinken and Biden are proposing, forging ties with the Saudis and Egyptians and cementing a plan for the day after the war ends and the hostages come home. Yes it is a risk. Yes it is not foolproof. But neither is the status quo. Here is a statement we heard day after day, Israel lost the war on October 7th. That doesn’t mean that the Israel we love and are proud of is a lost cause. It means there needs to be new strategies and a new and different way to insure the survival and prosperity of the only Jewish state in the world. I am really over my head here so I am going to stop now and let you see through a few pictures why I love this country and its people so much.

The “Squad“
Bedouin host
In the Machtesh
Ask me
Swimming pool at Mitzpeh.Ramon Hotel
Ask Eileen
Kibbutz Nir Oz Before
Kibbutz Nir Oz After
Caesarea
All of Us
Jerusalem Landscape from Yad Vashem

Israel Diaries 8

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At the Mount of Olives

Waze was having a tough time finding a better route to the airport. There was a demonstration on the road. Every Saturday night, as Shabbat ends, they begin to gather. Drums, signs, flags, young, old: Make a Deal Now; Bring Them Home Now. All the vehicles were being channeled into one lane as the demonstrators made their way to the residence of the Prime Minister. We were eventually returned to our hotel and sent to the airport through East Jerusalem. No worries (except we did) and we got to the airport on time. Of course the VAT office on the main floor was closed but it seems there is always some reason you can’t get your Value Addeed Tax refunded. I hope my donation goes to a good cause.

But back to the demonstration. This what I love about Israelis. There is a concept of civic engagement and a belief that your voice is important. You can make a difference no matter how much the cards are stacked against you through a convoluted and probably outdated political system. They are not alone -we have our own peculaarities in our democracy: think Electoral College and the lunacy that winning the majority vote doesn’t guarantee one the Presidency.

We came in hard times. Don’t think we didn’t think twice about postponing. There were plenty of reasons to do so including United Airlines cancelling all our flights two days before we were supposed to leave. But we couldn’t have come at a more important moment. Time after time people thanked us for being there. They need to feel and see our support. I am not talking politics when I say “support”. I mean Jew to Jew – people to people – you are not alone.

So I am going to leave you with that enigmatic picture above. According to Google the letters are in Mandarin Chinese and mean “Jesus Is”. They are Christian pilgrims following the footsteps of Jesus. A few moments later, they took out their shofars blowing long and loud blasts with an admirable amount of expertise. Some lay on the ground; several had visible tears. It was surreal and also reassuring.

Just like our visit. It was a hard time, a strange time, an important time, a sad time. Leaving Israel with lots of questions and a fear for the future but with love and hope and most of all the blessing of having been together three generations – what a gift.

Israel Diaries 6

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The Crater

We spent the last two days at Mitzpeh Ramon, overlooking the “Machtesh”. I always thought that meant crater and that it was formed as a result of a meteorite hitting the earth. Our jeep tour guide corrected me and explained the geological origins of this amazingly beautiful moonscape. The gold and red and green and white layers of the cliffs, the brownish rocks the consistency of dark chocolate all add to the surreal landscape. If I were really good at all of this, I could remember why and how the area became what it is; having something to do with tectonic plates, water, erosion, time and heat. But that’s as good as it gets right now.

But the highlight of the day was our Bedouin lunch with camel ride. Although they aren’t camels, we were reminded. Camels have two humps; these are dromedaries with one. They are taller and can run faster than camels and are found in Africa and the Middle East. Two hump camels live in Central Asia. Getting on the dromedary was its own challenge, but I surprised Noam (our guide) that I could do it on my own. But I digress.

He made us a great lunch. Sitting on cushions with pillows in front of round tables our common plates were filled with the most moist and delicious chicken over rice with roasted onions, potatoes, sweet and regular. I would have loved the recipe but I’m not sure the Landmark would let me dig a hole 3 feet deep, add hot coals to the bottom, cover the dish wrapped in foil, and fill it so that the heat of the earth and the embers cooks it for four hours. 

I really wanted to write about our Bedouin host. He is one of 300,000 Bedouin’s who live in the Negev and most if not all are loyal to the State of Israel. He chooses to live a traditional Bedouin lifestyle but is proud of the contributions the Bedouin community makes to the IDF. He was and is appalled by what Hamas did on October 7th but echoed our prayers that together with strength and hope we will find a common future.

The day ended with star gazing and a bonfire – (with s’mores minus the graham cracker and chocolate bar). Not everything is about the war. Sometimes it’s roasting marshmallows as you look at the night sky.

Israel Diaries 5

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Lighting Tomorrow

It’s a Long Drive

We left Tel Aviv and headed south again. This time away from the coast and Gaza and into the Negev. The surroundings turned beige and dusty green. The city to our right was Beersheva; we were headed to the Research Center at Ramat HaNegev as the sun became more and more demanding.

The center is one of those miracle makers. It seeks ways to improve agricultural processes in the desert. One of their specialties is cherry tomatoes – the kind that pop in your mouth with the sweet juices of growth, the kind that if you bite off a piece you are guaranteed to have tomato juice on your shirt a stain of honor. But there is more. There is a strawberry story and an electric power grid story. A million mirrors facing a tower reflecting light to create heat and then steam, powering the generators so that with the other two solar methods they provide four percent of the national power needs. But I am not a scientist so the most scientific truth in this paragraph is that the tomatoes were delicious.

It was a healthy antidote to the day before when the stories we heard didn’t point to the future but were a reflection of what happened on October 7th and what didn’t. Our contact person at Kibbutz Nir Oz was Yiftach. His anger against the government and failures of the IDF were stunning. (Like in a stun gun, the shock going right through you.). His description of what occurred and the visuals of the burnt houses seared your soul. His recounting of the brutality of Hamas competed with his deep and raging questions directed against the Israeli political and military establishment. It was not the Israel story we grew up with.

But I can’t leave you there. From the kibbutz we went to the site of the Nova Festival. There is little festive there but there is hope. Look up the heroism of an Israeli Bedouin police officer who saved hundreds of lives that morning. His name is Ramo Alhuzeil and he saved many scores of young participants by “commandeering “ a car and driving back and forth into the slaughter at considerable risk to his own life. Look up his name and learn what the word hero means.

I want to go back to the research center and the solar power plant and even the tomatoes. It is hard to make miracles in the desert. It is hard to know what the Israel of tomorrow will look like. But I believe in hope and in miracles, and I believe in the power of the collective us. I believe in the light that is the Jewish people. Together we will prevail.

ISRAEL DIARY 3

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Hostage

NOW

We began the day in Jaffa; port; alleys; church; Peter; Jonah; Market – a simple way to start our journey. The skies were blue; the air was dry; welcome to Israel in May. But the day would not end as it began with basic truths and Bible stories and a man with a mission to spread the Jesus story to Rome (Peter) and a man running from God calling him to proclaim the truth of repentance and forgiveness to Nineveh (Jonah).

The stuff of life.

And then we drove to South Tel Aviv and Maayan took us on a Graffiti tour all of which were created since October 7th. Powerful stuff. She asked us to post this one.

The UN’s Refusal to See, Speak or Hear

Of the sexual violence committed by Hamas against the women then and probably still now. There is so much to say about the courage and creativity of these artists. Another day.

We ended our day with a briefing at the Headquarters of the Hostages Families Forum. They advocate for the kidnapped and abducted and care for the families of the hostages financially, emotionally, physically, and in any way that they can. We heard from two members of different hostage families. Daniel Lifschitz whose grandfather is 83 years old and is still sitting in a tunnel or cell somewhere in Gaza or worse and Gilad Korngold, father of Tal Shoham whose son was abducted with his wife, two children and other members of his family. All but Tal were released in a Hostage deal. Tal is still in captivity.

You can’t imagine the power of their stories. You can’t believe the words you are hearing. Your brain processes the narratives; your heart just breaks. It was a profoundly powerful introduction to Israel post 10/7. Each hostage is a hole in Israel’s soul. There is a sense of loss and betrayal. There is anger against their government and the nation player states that do not demand from Hamas a return of the innocent. I could go on but there is still tomorrow and other stories and an Israel that is the home of a people connected to this land, building and rebuilding from the past a future of hope. Look for Israel Diary 4. But for now:

Bring them home – now.

Israel Diaries 2

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Israel Diary 2

 

Under Their Vines

It is early in the morning (like I mean middle of the night), and I thought that by sleeping till 6:30 AM yesterday I had conquered the jet lag. Hubris. I actually played a game with myself when I woke a bit ago; I guessed what time it was without looking at the clock and I agreed to be satisfied if it was past 4:00. I lost.

The rest of our crew arrived yesterday at various times. They spent the morning sleeping and we went to visit an old friend who used to live in Nahariya and is now in a “Mishan” (Assisted Living Residence) in Ramat Aviv, just outside of Tel Aviv. She Is a textile artist and specialized in Judaica. We discovered each other when we were searching for someone to create a wall hanging in memory of Eileen’s mother, Beatrice. When we shared with Adina Bea’s life and her values and told her that Bea’s Hebrew name was Brachah (Blessing), she proposed to create a piece that incorporated the prayer for peace that includes as part of the text her Hebrew name. The prayer’s text is surrounded by vine and fig leaves as in “And everyone shall dwell under their own vine and fig tree, and none shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4:4). It hangs on the north wall of Temple Israel’s sanctuary.

The weather is beautiful in Tel Aviv. So we sat outside on her patio only big enough for two chairs and a table – but there was room for a small garden between the privacy wall and the patio. There was a vine growing. It looked like zucchini to me but Adina who had only lived there for 3 months thought it might be watermelon. We agreed we would just have to wait and see.

And that is somewhat the mood among so many of the Israelis we have met. It is a wait and see but live your life praying for peace and unafraid, at least on the outside. The beaches of Tel Aviv are full of young people playing soccer and soccer volleyball, running, surfing, enjoying life. The restaurants are full even if the hotels are not. This may be an observation that is skewered by my living in Palm Beach County but I have seen more pregnant women in our two days here than I see in a month in WPB. And there seems to me to be pride in their swelling bellies almost a statement about the future.

Tomorrow we meet our tour guide and head start our “tour”. We will be in Jaffa; we will be examining the grafiti wall art that has been created since October 7; we will be in Hostage Square meeting with families; we will welcome Shabbat there and pray again for a better future.

Let’s see if I can go back to sleep.

ISRAEL DIARIES 1

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It is our first morning in Tel Aviv. We flew in yesterday on a long direct flight from Miami. El Al is the only airline flying direct from the US and we had to scramble to get tickets when our United flight was canceled. United cancelled all Tel Aviv flights till June. Might have been a little more helpful if they let us know more than two days in advance. But its ok- we are here.

Landed at Ben Gurion on time; sad to see such an empty airport. Sad to see the pictures of the hostages lining the walkway from arrival to passport control. The plane was totally full; the TV screen in front of you kept scrolling a poignant message: El AL will always bring you home. (Or some variation of that).

We took a walk on the beach last night. It was alive and filled with people. The traffic is still terrible; the food is still delicious; there seems to be more Israeli flags flying and of lots of signs referencing the hostages and a demand to bring them home – now.

Our plans this morning are to take a GET to Ramat Aviv and visit with our friend Adina who is now living in a some version of an Israeli senior living facility. Then we will meet up with the family and see how everyone is faring from their flights. I have made my first cup of coffee in the room – only one minor disaster- couldn’t get the Nespresso machine to work and had to switch over to instant spilling a fair amount of hot water. But I successfully updated my GET App (Israeli alternative to Uber). And I slept through the night. All is good.

My plan is a short blog a day while here. Maybe too ambitious, but at least it’s a plan. Shalom from Tel Aviv.

Ps – I am using my IPAD and can’t seem to control all the features so things like images are problematic. Hence screen shot above having too much info. Hey – you do what you can.

It Has Its Way

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The other day when I was rearranging our storage unit (which Eileen insists is smaller than everyone else’s), I found a pile of old sermons on 4 x 6 white card stock.   Some were handwritten; most were typewritten. They’ve been there long enough that the rubber bands holding them together were disintegrating. I’ve been ignoring them for a long time. But the past has its way you know. It has its way.

The first one I read was from 1982 my first year at Temple Israel. It happened to be on what we then called “Federation Shabbat” and I quoted an article from the Palm Beach Post, from the previous Monday.

“Reports by the Anti-Defamation League that anti-Semitic violence and vandalism more than doubled in the past year are disturbing. The league counted 974 incidents in 1981 as compared with 377 in 1980. That 24 of those incidents occurred in Florida (as compared with only two of the previous year) is simply shameful.”

On April 16th of this year, the ADL reported, 8,873 incidents of assaults, harassment, and vandalism across the country. That is a 140-percent increase from 2022.

In my sermon in 1982, I told the following story. (Is this obnoxious me quoting myself?)

An American Jew with connections was visiting Israel for the first time. Knowing some of the “right people”, he was taken to an Israeli Air Force Base. After seeing the planes, the training courses, and the classrooms, he stopped on the edge of a large field where he saw Israeli soldiers carrying each other piggy-back style from one end to the other. The visitor turned to his guide and asked, “good natured fun? R & R after the tensions of the day?” The guide smiled and said, “absolutely not, this is training. The plane they will fly only carries two people. If the plane goes down and one of them is injured, they are strengthening their muscles so that the healthy one can carry the wounded. They are learning survival. They must know to the core of their being that they are dependent on each other.”

So, what do we do? We read the news; we follow the updates; we support financially and every way we can those organizations that are fighting antisemitism and supporting Jewish students who are currently the most vulnerable; we stay vigilant and strong.

And we know that there are good people of many faiths and traditions who stand by our side.

And we know that to the core of our being we are called upon to carry each other.

And we know that hatred is contagious, and we fight for all when we fight for ourselves.

And we know that there is no such thing as an innocent bystander – we are all called to be upstanders.

Don’t crumble, don’t shy away from the struggle. Don’t give our haters a “win”.

Be proud; be proud; be proud. Being Jewish is a blessing.

Hello Again

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It’s the last day of Passover (for Reform Jews and Israeli Jews) and I am thinking about the ratio of strawberry jelly to whipped butter on my egg matzah. (By the way – I think it’s very strange that the NYT almost always spells it “matzo”. Now that I think of it, I have three different brands of matzah in my house (Streit’s, Manischewitz and Yehuda) and they all use the “matzo” spelling.) I am trying to perfect the amount of pressure to use when spreading butter on the matzah before it breaks. Although I think that it is smarter to break the matzah before taking it out of the box – less crumbs. And isn’t Gluten Free Matzah a game changer, especially if you get the onion flavor? Eileen wanted to know if we could use it at the Seder. But the side of the box says: not for Seder use and the blessing to be said over it isn’t even the Motzi. (The blessing we say over bread). The blessing is the one we use over things that have lots of different ingredients, especially if they didn’t grow from the ground or a tree or a bush.

But back to crumbs. I have no apology in me for six months of inactivity on this blog. Do I really want to say this? I just couldn’t write. Depression? Fear? Angst? Paralysis? Between Israel and worry; Antisemitism and anger; the political climate in Washington and frustration; the presidential polls and fear of what the election might bring; the hostages and hope; struggling to keep the faith; praying for peace and a cessation of suffering both in Israel, Gaza, the Ukraine and countless other places I confess I do not pay enough attention to.

That’s probably why it is easier to get out the dust buster to pick up the pieces. I can do something about the mess in the kitchen. I feel fairly powerless when it comes to everything else. I know, I know. This is a democracy, and every voice has a place, every voice is heard. Really – seems to me it is mostly the ones that are screaming the loudest and the most extreme. Genocide? Do they even know what that means? And West Palm Beach or probably to be exact Palm Beach County had more incidents of antisemitism than any other county in Florida? And our college campuses? Did I say I wonder if things will ever get back to what we use to call normal?

But enough – tonight it is Pizza. Although there was an article that Corey sent me recently that posits that the original matzah that the Rabbis were eating in the first century or so was soft and pliable more like pita than cardboard. Now that would be a real game changer. And what do you think of the Manischewitz rebranding? Maybe we need to rebrand the world.

Hoping to get back to you soon.