A question of approach

 I will be laying out a set of facts and asking for the proper response based on Jewish law and ethics.

Imagine an organization that represents Jewish ideals and abides by Jewish law. It operates in a secular context in which there has been an erosion of ethics. Some organizations steal or cheat to get what they want from the government.

Should the organization in question:

A) "play the game" as well and manipulate the system as much as anyone else to ensure that the recipients of the organization are kept on par with everyone else

B) take a principled stand and operate normally, refusing to get ethically muddy even though this would put people served by this organization it a severe disadvantage

C) disavow the system as a whole, refusing its benefits if its challenges seem insurmountable. Walk away as an organization. Recipients of services would have no recourse but no one would be placed in ethically questionable position.

Or give me a thought out choice D.

The Lit Essay and the Dim Student

 As an English teacher, I spend way too much time grading writing. I have been assigning numbers (and/or letters) to student writing for over 30 years. And I still can't explain it well. Here is a transcript of a wholly fictional (yet accurate) conversation I have with a student after handing back papers (no line of student dialogue was never said):

Student (S) -- why did I get an 87 on my paper?

Me (M) -- because there were errors in it.

S -- was my answer wrong?

M -- in writing, it isn't about right or wrong -- it is about structure and proof.

S -- But I proved my point!

M -- Yes, you did, but there were stylistic and mechanical errors.

S -- But I got the answer right.

M -- in English class, we aren't looking for you to get the right answer, and then show your work. In English, the work IS the product. The proven argument is just a way for you to demonstrate mastery of writing as an independent skill.

S -- so what did I do wrong?

M -- did you look at the corrections that I made, or the comments that I wrote?

S -- Can't you just tell me?

M -- OK: you have no transition between your first and second body paragraphs.

S -- And that was worth 13 points?

M -- no, that isn't how it works. You had other errors as well. You didn't capitalize, your comma use was poor and you used first person which I had told you not to use.

S -- But how is that 13 points? My friend showed me his paper and it was basically the same but he got a 92!

M -- Every paper is different as is every student's background and tendencies. A student who has shown marked improvement and a student who makes no effort to fix previously corrected errors are not viewed identically.

S -- So another kid can make comma errors and get a 92, but I do it and I get an 87?

M -- Well, yes, and you did other things wrong as well.

S -- How much is each missing comma worth?

M -- That's not how holistic grading works.

S -- You why did I get an 87?

M -- You want an 88?

S -- I want an A.

M -- it wasn't an A paper.

S -- But my friend got an A and I think my paper is better.

M -- If you would like, I can regrade your friend's paper and take off more points.

S -- Why you got to be like that?

***Repeat for over 30 years***

Centrist

One of the really tough things for me to do (I shan't generalize to the entire species -- I'll just recognize this in myself and if you see a shadow of it in your life, maybe you will think about it as well) is to recognize my centrism.

I live, for now, in the USA. I sort of like it here. Things haven't been great recently and I fear for the future, but I owe a whole heckuva lot to America. But one thing that living in the greatest country, state, city etc is the sense that everything else is second tier. And it is true. I'm guilty of that, of seeing New York as the center of the universe and for seeing the US as the single bastion of human culture that all others have to follow.

I know that this isn't true but it is so engrained in my head. I see other country's music as an imitation. I consider a foreign film to be a Marvel superhero movie with subtitles. I don't understand why other languages are even necessary. I'm American-centrist. That's not a bad thing but it limits my understanding. I go into a store and immediately compare it to the Shop Rite in Englewood. I see a TV show and try to categorize it by associating it with "real" shows, meaning shows in the US.

This also has an interpersonal consequence: I expect all other people to have the same values and behaviors as an American. So when I get a book about the social practices of different cultures, instead of celebrating each one as a unique expression of a history, I see everything in comparison to the transcendent norm of "America." I think we do that as a nation, seeing other countries as pale photocopies of the US, so we impose on their actions our sensibility. We assume that because we would react in a particular way to a stimulus, anyone else would also. This is troubling. We look at the media in other countries and complain about infringements on the "right to free speech" as if that is a universal, and not American construct. We mistake our approach to international relations as the best if not only one, so local codes of hierarchy, dominance or such don't register and we walk into a fan blade without knowing that it is we who are the foreigners.

I was watching the weather report and the forecast for this week came up. Apparently, later this week, we will be having a "heat wave." The term "heat wave" refers to 3 successive days of 90+ temps. But it only means that to an American audience. Maybe elsewhere, anything over 80 is a heat wave. Maybe in some places, they don't think of heat waves, but successive days of anything below 90 is a cold snap. I don't know -- I have always taken it as gospel that 3 90+ days equals heat wave. I forgot to put the qualifier "here" into my consideration because I assume a default American-centrism.

Maybe that's normal. Maybe we have to be trained to look beyond our local biases and see other paths as valid and equal, not a echoes or childish attempts to copy. And maybe we should be familiar with other paths before we decide that ours is the only and best, and before we expect that everyone thinks and does as we do in all cases.

The US is great. Our movies are great. Our music, our food, our highway system, our air conditioning, all great. But looking down on any place else because they refuse to be America-wannabees is not so great.

---------------edit------------

so it is tough to see a different iteration of "professionalism" and "customer service" and be satisfied by it if my American-centric standards are "higher." I wonder if I should adjust to acept the local norm or impose my American expectations and hope that the entire system rises to meet me what i think of as reasonable expectations.

In Which I Catch a Ghost

I'd like to address this to my two shining stars -- my kids. Guys, I hope that this little bit of chizuk lasts you for a while because something like this is the exception, not the rule. But here's the truth of it -- you are some how, in some part and some way, psychic.

Here's how I figure it -- I figure with all the times that I feel like I heard or saw stuff, I must be somewhat psychic and so with all the genetics these days, odds are my children and I would be connected somehow.

I have felt my psychic-nessness (the second one is in Hebrew) for years but have never had the proof. Today, I caught it by the tail. I was watching the Mets game and the announcers, at the end of a clean first, noted that a certain pitcher was slated to pitch in the second. There is a practice called a "bullpen game" in which a team uses a long slate of short relievers to fill the game with fresh arms that need work, giving a starter spot a break.

A quick conversation with an AI or two revealed that according to popular thinking, this started in 2018. I recall having thought of this strategy before then. But hey, that's just my off-the-charts narcissism so what evs. So is this another in a ghost-cadre of vague recollections of my prescience? I did a quick check of Facebook and found this post:

In this post, dated May of 2017 I mention that I had an idea of running the bull-pen out there in an "earlier" plan. Even though I don't know where that earlier plan is, it shows that I had the idea well over a year before the league. And since soon after, the league started using it, I feel it is well within my rights to expect a piece of that, there action. So what profit has been generated by the implementation of this approach?

But seriously, this pretty much proves that I'm being monitored.

P.S. this is the stuff you should be pointing to when you are questioned by the authorities and you say something vague like "wellsir, he did seem to be getting a touch, y'know, funny in the head, thinking that everybody from here to Sunday was out to get him.

I Got Taken for a Ride

 No, this isn't about my shameful episode of "buying from a fake website and getting defrauded" so let's just move on, shall we?

Today, my friend and daughter* traveled over the river and through the Englewood** to meet me at the Bean. Our plan? To give blood. I am due to give, as is the kid so she came on out to NJ and we figured on a daddy-daughter breakfast and bleed. We left my car in its spot and she drove me to the blood-taking-place-building.

Well, the car drove me and she sat there and looked very nice.

Never have I ever, up to this point, been on a fully autonomous car ride out in nature. It was unnerving to say the least. But don't worry -- I'll say more:

At times, it was harrowing
and often confusing;
its logic of lane changes,
speed above cruising.

I'll start again.

I didn't really notice it much until the car, after completing an on-merge fairly well but overly-cautiously, moved out of the right lane (which is not a designated "slow lane") in to a middle lane directly behind an ambulance. It fell back a little and then moved into the left lane and drove 6-7 miles above the speed limit. In my rental, I get a red light on my Heads-down-display when I am driving over the locally posted limit. The Tesla has no such safeguard I guess, freeing the AI up to find its level of lawlessness.

It moved into the right lane when we were 1.1 miles away from our exit and there was yet another exit, plus a strip mall before our exit. I question that decision as well.

Then, out of nowhere, the car squirted windshield wiper fluid. Yes, the wipers were going, on the intermittent setting, but there was no cause for the fluid spray. Riddle me that one!

I watched it figure out traffic flow (meh to a meh-ploos) and avoid pedestrians (meh-meenoos and that's generous). I still got distracted by the huge color monitor which is constantly bombarding every thing around us with invisible rays that allow us to record their every move. Do they record that stuff for training purposes? Is every Tesla driver's driving like the textual source for a robot using real world experiences to populate its LLM-equivalent pool of potential? The Tesla would then approach any intersection and pick the movements most likely to appear next based on the database created by analyzing the actions of all other Teslas, everywhere and ever.

Anyway, we got to the blood place on West Ridgewood**** and I was told that my appointment had to be pushed off by an hour and the kid couldn't come in as a walk-in because they had 3 techs call out sick (which is a contraction of "call in to call out sick") and were therefore woefully understaffed. Mmmmm woefuls

So back into the Tesla for another trip as we return to the scene of the chrome. This time, the young person told the AI to take the route which was 2 minutes shorter. It did and this put us on a toll road. Therefore the going rate for time is $.45 per minute.

Overall review: not bad. Unnerving as I said -- the entire idea of being a passenger is anathema to me, but when there is no driver, I don't just feel like I am not in control -- I feel like NO ONE is in control. The claim that a computer can consider options and exercise judgment that will dovetail perfectly all the time and with every other driver on the road? I can't buy it. Learning to anticipate specific drivers based on recent observations isn't part of what I want computers to do. Acting counter-intuitively because of some human based reason is part of driving. Yes, I know one can instantly jump on and assume control and do all the stuff that has stayed in the human domain, but the human is separated from the driving experience and will always have to get "up to speed." The active driver is already at speed. I am floored by the technology and how well it does work but I'll always trust myself just a tiny bit more.

*that's one person...get it? I LIKE my kids and I am honored to have the audacity to consider them as cherished friends. So stop laughing) 

** In all my years, I don't think I have ever written the name "Englewood" correctly on the first go unless I stop and think about it for a few seconds -- this is because many years ago, I had a student named Justin Engel and the "spell" setting*** got stuck on Engel and now I can't get out of that pattern. Thanks Justin.

*** For some words, it seems that my brain simply assimilated them wrong so the default spelling is stuck in the wrong place. I cannot spell the word "friend" without pause. The wrong spelling was Eprommed on.

**** Sometimes I do stop when writing Ridgewood to reconsider if there is an E after the 'dg' or if that's just in England but mostly I remember.

In Praise of Val Kilmer

I watched Top Secret! last night. It has been many years since I have seen it and I wonder if I ever really sat through it beginning to end before, or if I only saw scenes out of order. But this time, I paid attention.

The movie is surprisingly good in many ways. Though Airplane! was great, it was a coopting of Zero Hour, using the over-seriousness of the original become the mode of humor in the spoof. Top Secret! is not based on a specific, earlier text -- it is as original as any other Hollywood mass-market movie. So the fact that the A-Z's created and wrote a storyline elevates this movie. This also freed them up to use comedy that wasn't available for Airplane! (as it was, to some degree, limited by the Ur-text). While Airplane's humor was broad and often overly literal, T-S got to mess around with sight, sound, foreground and back and a whole lot more.

The movie is designed to be a spot on take off of an Elvis Movie, a Cold War spy thriller and who knows what else. So it serves many thematic masters and hits all the right notes along the way. The Elvis angle isn't just about certain physical mannerisms, or a cosmetic approach, but about the structure and the embedded surrealities. The music piggybacks on Elvis music and the entire surf lifestyle (and IMHO, the parody music, both of specific tunes or of genres, was really good) but then the look of individual scenes lends itself to association with war movies. It works as so many things and on so many levels. The music is good for what it is and what it does but the contemporary satirical power is in the intertwined gun play reflecting a take on American culture that is both different from ours and yet eerily echoic of it. Unlike the linear humor approach in Airplane, where jokes wait in line to be delivered, set up, punch, set up, punch, in T-S they step on each other. Repeated viewings are necessary so you can listen carefully to the words spoken while trying to read the ones in the background and all that is happening while the sound-bed is somehow wrong. It is a very demanding movie because of how full and rich it is.  I am sure Yiddish speakers and readers laughed loudest because I only know a little and I heard a lot in there. I can only imagine how much I missed.

Expectations are constantly subverted but that never becomes predictable. Val Kilmer's acting is fantastic - the physical skills needed (underwater fighting?) the constant body awareness and affect. I feel he was always underrated as an actor; he has a presence that leads you to see him in this 2-D hero role (and so, yeah his Iceman was spot on) but he also has the cheeky charm which paved the way for a generation of quipping action heroes brought up on smarmy Bill Murray snark and Chevy Chase subtlety. The Swedish bookshop scene is brilliant. Think about the effect and the method, and then the movements that had to be choreographed and actually performed. There is precious little editing which means they got a lot done without errors in a single shot. The conversation while dancing makes fun of the trope in a way that demands that you pay attention to the dancing as primary for itself qua DANCE, not as a background to the humor.  Show passionate kissing and defuse it with the tongue movements. And then a fireplace. You buy in to the passion and then see the "acting" aspect. Impressive. You realize you are watching a movie and that it knows it is a movie, but you also care about the characters as if it was not just a movie.

And,  yes very puerile and the excessive raunchiness is very (maybe too much)  in-your-face or maybe I'm just being overly sensitive. 

Watching it demands close attention - references, running gags, writing in the background, cultural snippets. It is a very "rich" play with very little wasted effort.

----------------------

so I wrote about 90% of that last night after watching the movie. I worked on it briefly today. While I did, I looked up some details of the movie and find this article from 2014. I had never read it. I'm glad that I got a lot of what they were doing, and I don't think they give themselves enough credit for what they accomplished.

https://screencrush.com/top-secret-30/

Words *3

 I am going to write a semi-political post which focuses on something i am passionate about -- words. I use 'em, I teach 'em and I study 'em so I'd like to talk about them.

Words have meanings. That's a fact. However, words sometimes change their meanings over time. We all know the origin of the word "nice" and how it changed from an insult to a nicety. But that doesn't mean that we should burn all the dictionaries because words keep evolving; words still have intended meanings. So now I get to the heart of the matter -- here is a word "genocide."

Words exist in a variety of contexts and often, their meanings shift depending on context, and one of the most basic forms of miscommunication is caused by the speaker and the listener not sharing a common contextual-definition. If we import a meaning from another context, we run the risk of not being understood. In regular American conversation, one can use a word like "murder" and not mean it in the strict legal sense. It might be used hyperbolically, or it might be used loosely (that is, not confined to a strict meaning but can be used to refer to a larger category which is somewhat connected to the core meaning).

"Genocide" has a meaning under international law. It is a technical term defined in the legal (Geneva Convention) context as "any of five specific acts committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial, or religious group"

But the word has been used much more loosely during its history. The word has been used to refer to any type of cultural erasure, or even to atrocities which are horrible and tragic, but not, strictly-legally speaking, genocides. The problem arises when people using the term loosely think that, because the word has commincative value, it can be imported into the legal definition and the loose definition can be used to qualify for the legal consequences. That's not how things work. If I call a particular baseball line up as "murderer's row" that doesn't mean that their actions are now what qualifies for the legal title "murderer." Seeing someone who committed manslaughter and calling him a murderer might feel acceptable but it doesn't change that the legal definition would not apply.

The same holds true for "antisemitism." The word was coined to mean a specific thing. It wasn't a construction which took a known noun and stuck a convenient prefix on it. People have taken the technical word and deconstructed it because they see it in loose use and because they are under the belief that the word is simply the result of gluing its parts together. The Daytona 500 is a race but someone who dislikes it isn't a racist even though the root word is there.

But, you say, the word can grow and evolve and can now mean something different.

Well, yes and no. You can call a potato an onion if you want, and if the people around you agree to that, they will understand the intent behind your use of the word "onion." But anyone in the cooking schools of the world will not because they do not subscribe to your forced evolution of the word. And that locally recognized understanding cannot then be applied to pre-existing cook books and other texts which use the word accurately. Until the authority that enshrined the definition agrees to change the legal definition, any individual's use of the word in another context is at least somewhat inaccurate. Misusing it then impacts others who hear the word used and assume that it is being used accurately. Twisting words and inserting a personal understanding is much larger consequences.

Genocide isn't just any war. Zionism refers simply to the right of a group to self-determine. Antisemitism doesn't mean "being against someone who calls himself a semite". These words mean specific and intentional things. Respect them as technical terms and don't water them down by using them loosely and expecting the world to sign on to your particular interpretation.

Let's write a joke!

Why yes, today's task is to procrastinate and not write a college recommendation. So instead, I'm going to over analyze the construction of a joke I thought of this morning and you are just going to have to be satisfied with that.

The basis of the joke, as for many, is self-deprecation and the mode is a subversion. Start with the bare bones setup:

1. I get confused for a celebrity

2. That celebrity is not one to whom it is flattering to be compared

Mix in some tone and language to make it seem informal/conversational.

That's the easy part. So the basic iteration would be

"People stop me on the street all the time and say I look like a celebrity. But who is Joseph Merrick?"

that has a reference in it which some will get and some won't, and it plays off my ignorance so I don't know I am being insulted.

I could have said "but why is it always Joseph Merrick?" This would have meant I was not ignorant, just insulted -- different mode of humor. It would still not be understood by some.

I could change to any pop-culture reference as long as that referent is unattractive (and that would affect the balance of the humor).

A subtler formulation might be a pop culture reference with no explanation. Consider the following options:

"People tell me I look like Vic Tayback" (he is ugly)

"People tell me I look like Vic Tayback in 1989" (when he was old and uglier)

"People tell me I look like Vic Tayback in 1992" (2 years after he died)

Mixing and matching setups and adding in the bells and whistles, we could end up with

"so the guy got me mixed up with a celebrity. He said I looked like Vic Tayback..."

"That's nice of him to say"

"...in 1992."

Note the broken-up delivery and the use of the date after the confirmation. Similarly I could have constructed

"I don't mind being confused for a celebrity but does it have to be Vic Tayback?"

or

"Hey you look like Vic Tayback!"

"Thanks, but isn't he dead?"

"yes."

The only thing we have to fear is everything

I recall having a conversation with my dad about the world. I complained that I couldn't let my kids out of my sight and he insisted that the world was no less scary when I was younger, but that we weren't aware of all the bad in the world because we didn't have the internet etc. He didn't see the world as grown scarier, but our awareness as out of control.

The fact is, things were different. Maybe there were fewer bad guys, or we were just blissfully ignorant of life beyond our neighborhood. I saw an online video crowing about how special my generation is. It posited that those of us who grew up in the 70's had a unique balance of unstructured freedom and technological simplicity and emotional resilience and maturity. I assumed it would be one of those "rah-rah" videos which spouted generic platitudes about one era so those people can feel special, but then it can be easily tweaked to celebrate another era. I likened it to those shirts that have the "Only the coolest people were born in _________" and the consumer can buy a shirt listing any year. 

But the argument actually bore itself out well. I did leave the house in the morning, not to return for hours. I did bike miles away with no phone or plan. I did have to fill up the time left to my own devices. And none of these are skills that my kids have had to develop or behaviors that I would allow. I kept much closer tabs on my kids -- they couldn't ride around the block without my knowing exactly when to expect them to make the turn back onto our street. I didn't let them go somewhere unless there was a plan for the end as well. Am I more worried than I need to be? Maybe, but better safe than sorry. So I over compensate, reversing the way I was brought up and encouraging my kids to live in fear of the world.

Is the world scarier? Do children need to be kept closer? Is this an expression of love that I didn't see from my parents so I'm trying to break a cycle? Is it the result of the craziness I ran into while unsupervised, as a child?

A Divine-graine

 I believe that, over the last year or two, I have developed a close relationship with my creator. I feel God's presence in my life very often in the subtle miracles which we often fail to recognize. Here is a little and dumb event:

fact -- two days ago, I noticed that my bar of soap has gotten so small that I need to start another one. The bars are stored under the bathroom sink. I forgot to take one out the next day (in the haze of the early morning, I am usually driven by muscle memory and instinct).

fact -- I get headaches, or at least I used to. My current regimen of pills has done an incredible job of keeping the headaches away so headaches are now very rare. Breakthrough headaches show up less than once a month these days.

Yesterday, I had a headache. Nothing too crazy but a good sized ache behind my right eye. I powered through work as it worsened, but when I got back to my place, I knew I would need to take an analgesic. So I wandered into the bathroom, conscious of nothing but a headache, opened the cabinet and saw the pills...right next to the bars of soap.

Yes, I truly believe that HKB"H gave me a headache to ensure that I remembered to set up a new bar of soap for the next morning. These little "coincidences" are the signs of an intelligence, a divinity that shapes our ends.

But the next thought is that, even though it is a sign from above, a headache is still a physical event that hurts like heck. A flame, no matter who lights it and why, can still burn you.

Mein Kraft

 I have some very deep and confused thoughts that I'm trying to figure out. I saw the Minecraft movie last night. I have never seen or played Minecraft and went into the viewing experience the blankest of slates. After watching it, I still know nothing about Minecraft. The difference is, now I'm also stupider in general.

This was the worst movie I have ever seen, but in a good way. I don't think I can explain it any better than that. It was horrible, but its intentionality, its sincerity in pursuit of being actively bad was a redeeming factor. I have seen bad movies that are just plain bad. This was bad but also, horrible.

Jack Black overacted. But he must have known he was overacting, and the writing demanded incredible overacting. So while I never had any understanding of his character or the driving logic of his actions, I stopped getting annoyed at his Adam Sandler-esque childlike behavior because he knew he was being idiotic and that's intentional.

There was nothing good about the movie except for some of the one-liners. I wish I remember any of them, but I do recall laughing loudly at some isolated moments, and shaking my head in absolute wonder at the stupidity on the screen at other moments. I did write down one joke 

Waitress: Are you finished?

Marlene: No, I think he's Swedish. But we're done with our meal.

That's a dumb joke, dumb on a dad level. But it was delivered unexpectedly and quickly.

On the whole, self indulgent, poorly written and presented, over acted and under developed. I never enjoyed watching what Big Dave calls a "steaming pile of monkey crap" as much as this. That doesn't mean it is any less monkey crap, but it is monkey crap with glitter.

There was a preponderance of gratuitous violence including much ham to ham combat which I found amusing. Not the combat, but that it inspired me to write that comment.

Durn young 'uns

The kids came by today. We had a great visit, got stuff done, made fun of me. It was, in a word, "hoot". In 2 words, "a hoot." 2 words and punctuation; apologies. 

 Hours later, after life had clicked back and we are all somewhere else, I walked into the kitchen and noticed crumbs on the floor. I'm no cleans-horse but I had made an effort in advance of the little ones' appearance. But now, despite my efforts, there had been schmutz there all along? Mortified I was (not a palindrome, BTdubs) until I crouched down and investigated further. 

These were matzah crumbs! One might deduce from this that while one says he vacuums his house once a month, he is a liar as he would have done it at least once since Passover ended. But instead understand that my two children had spent a few minutes of their time with me standing in the kitchen, joking with each other and (most importantly in one particular sense), eating matzah!

Now exonerated of certain charges of slovenliness I still had to contend with the crumbs and I, like a dutiful old man, got my vacuum and started vacuuming vast swatches of my apartment, grumbling under my breath "dang kids, come here, eat my stuff and make a mess and then suddenly just HAVE to leave when it comes time to do some cleaning." 

 And I smiled broadly the entire time I said it.

---edit

Originally sent from my phone as an email. I did not know that that would remove all formatting. Apologies to those tortured by the wall of text. 

My New TV Show Idea!

I am hereby pitching the following television series. I think it will be a complete smash, so please send checks to me, care of me.

We have seen the adventures of Henry "Indiana" Jones as he battles Nazis, mad cultists, Communists and Nazis. He has crossed oceans and fought bad guys everywhere from here to there and Nepal (which is neither here nor there) leading to 5 movies and a show about his childhood, The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. But what about that other element of his life? How did he grow into the polished academic we all know and love?

It is time for a show that explores Dr. Jones, the archeaologist, and his Quest for Tenure. Episodes follow department meetings, political infighting and the constant fear of publish or perish. We will have to cast a young Marcus Brody and even Salah can be part of the action as we first meet him when he is still an international student in the B School. Imagine the wild chases through the stacks as Indy fights a deadline while trying to track down an elusive footnote. Dreaded confrontations with students during office hours, students who ask for extensions due to laziness. Poisoned apples, constant papercuts and ink blotches and complaints about grades haunt the young Prof as he negotiates the tenure track, keeping lunch meetings and rescheduling review sessions because he has a podiatrist appointment.

A sure fire hit. I figure Ryan Gosling as Dr. Jones. Send me my money.

Anti-Semitism

 It is probably arrogant for me to sit here, in my comfy NJ apartment and make grand pronouncements as if I am an appointed messenger of the Truth to the masses. But arrogance be damned (and I think that by at least one major theological system, it is), I think this needs to be said.

Anti-semitism. Capitalized, hyphenated, italicized, or whatever. People are getting all up in a tizzy about the adopting of the IHRA definition of anti-semitism by anyone in particular but they miss the point. The definition can not impact behavior but can be used as a test after the fact to see if one of the qualities of a particular statement or act is that it could be said to be anti-semitic. I also think that it, as a definition it is pretty bad. I know that they hedge themselves by calling what they have a "working definition" and that's great but I'm still working on it.

Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.

To be anti-Semitic there must be one trait that allows any statement or action to transcend mere malice or stupidity: the concept of Judaism must be either the subject ("Jews/Judaism are") or the object ("x the Jew) of negative portrayal or association. If a criminal is identified by his Jewish religion, then ask would he have been identified by his Christianity otherwise? What details does the public need to know to identify him at a distance?

If the bad guy is Jewish, and yes, this happens, to make any point of his Jewish-ness is still suspect. Why say his religion? Is it because you expect "his type" not to be criminals? Are you saying that there is a public expectation that Jews don't do bad things so he is an exception? All that does is play into other stereotypes which are comfortable but dangerous. Why make religion any part of the character? Would his being left-handed matter? Preference for vanilla and the Yankees. When an argument isolates the identity factor of "Jewish" in a person or connects an idea or event to "Jewishness" and then expresses negativity behavior driven by hate for the group then there is a problem.

Hate me because we fight then that's fine

hate me because of what you have heard, that's foolish

hate me because of who I am is a problem

So if one criticizes the state of Israel one has to accept one of two possibilities as it stands today:

1. criticism of the state has NOTHING to do with the state's affiliation with one religion and particularly parallel historical cases would show identical criticism of other states in the same situation.

2. if the criticism invokes Judaism then it is creating an expectation of Jewish identity in every action. Are people willing to praise Judaism specifically when things go right? Can people explain in each case how the government stance reflects Judaism (and why it is supposed to)?

 Consider that England has a state religion but people don't seem to tie the actions of anyone or anything to the Church of England unless the behavior is explicitly tied to religion. Think about some recent article that mentioned "Jewish settlers." Why did it say that and not "Israeli settlers"? If they had been Filipino workers would they have been identified by religion or nationality? What does bringing up religion bring to the table if not expectations.

If you are a sports bettor and you lost a lot of money by betting against Team Israel it is totally OK to say "I hate you Israelis" but to say "I hate you Jews" (that is, to invoke an unrelated protected status and use it as a target for the expression of hate) is not OK. And suffice to say that couching the hate or justifying it by claiming Judaism somehow IS related is also not OK.. If you want to criticize Israel and you do it by applying the same standards of its politicians and political system you would use to judge the government of any other country then go for it. Everyone else does! But if you inject, at all, the Jewish element of Israel's identity and then judge the government by a standard impacted by (your expectations of) Judaism, then your actions are driven by the religion and your feelings about it and that rises to the level of anti-semitism.

So is garden variety criticism of Israel's politics and policies "anti-semitic"? Not if the criticisms are fair, accurate and not driven a connection to Judaism.

Can one criticize a Jewish person? Sure. But if the criticism is about how he mows his lawn and religion is irrelevant, to bring up religion is then problematic.

Can one criticize Judaism? Sure! Subject it to all the logical arguments you want. Find the contradictions. But if you lie, or copy things that don't exist, then expect that part of the assessment of your behavior in any criminal proceedings would include measuring your actions against a standard understanding of "anti-semitism."

So when one hears about all the situations that the IHRA definition (though it really isn't the definition which is a problem...) will cause, consider what the problem really is -- people are afraid that they will have to confront that the things that they accepted and didn't think about, those unconscious expectations and unwritten rules, when they come to the surface, would reveal deep seated biases.

Yes I always worry because civil liberties are lost in the outskirts but I don't think that adopting this definition will have any impact on anyone. I'd love to find the court records in places that have adopted it to see how it has found itself into application and how it has resulted in a freezing of the local free speech.

post shiva visit thoughts

 I just came back from a shiva. During the first 7 days after a person is buried, the family receives visitors who provide consolation. I have thought about the process and the imposition on the mourner but today, I considered it from the POV of the visitor. I didn't know the deceased (having possibly met him briefly once or twice about 25 years ago) and I'm not in the community in which the mourner finds himself. But I went out of respect for the family. I dragged my sorry self out of bed and out of my apartment in order to pay respect to them.

That's what shiva is about. It helps the mourner process, learn and grieve. But the visitor has to interrupt his day to sit and say very little. Just being there, unsure of himself, not really knowing anyone. It isn't about the visitor. It is about stopping your day to consider another person, another family. It is about taking a break and living in the right now, and being reminded that lives are fleeting and we all should strengthen our connections before we don't have the opportunity.

So I sat and I thought about my own family and my own mortality until it was my turn to ask some questions and hear some stories. And I put my life on hold so someone else could know he wasn't alone.

AI-ngels

I have been toying with some big thoughts recently. Yesterday, on shabbos, I, alone with my thoughts came up with a lot of interesting bits and pieces and I hope I cn remember enough to put it all together.

It all started when I was thinking about my davening -- I was thinking most about saying "Kedusha." The kedusha prayer, recited during the chazzan's repetition of the amida, has us copy the actions of the angels as they praise God. This reminded me of the angel with whom Jacob wrestled. According to the medrash, the angel wanted to leave the wrestling match because he had to say/lead the daily praise of God (Chullin 91 and Gen Rabba). "Had" to is the key concept.

What do we know about angels? Well, in the Jewish tradition, an important point is that (according to many sources) angels lack free will of some sort or another. Some opinions confer on them a limited amount of free will, but we know, textually, that they have a job to do and they don't just wander around acting on their own wishes. As such, the idea that an angel has to praise God becomes an element of the angel's BIOS -- boot it up and it knows that it has to perform certain functions regardless of any outside user input. 

The k-d-sh root h to do with setting something aside, or making it distinct. When we establish that something is hekdesh, it is set aside and is no longer common. But those things made holy/separate had no choice. So in kedusha, we cite the behavior of the angels and wish to emulate it but with a significant difference -- we CHOOSE to do what they HAVE to do. This is what makes our prayers so choice to God. They are "kedoshim" but we are "kedoshim by choice." But then, this begs an important question: if the angels are hard wired to praise and have no choice not to praise, then why is their praise at all useful or desired by God? If I program my computer to shout "Happy birthday" the only person I have to thank is myself -- the computer only did what I told it to do.

This is what makes OUR prayers so special.  We have that choice and we want to do what they must do.  If someone else sees that the computer wished me a happy birthday, that person might be inspired to do the same. The angels and their praise exist as a template and an inspiration; their praises are not inherently needed by God. The angelic choir is what we model ourselves after. Can we be perfect like an angel? No, but we can rise above our imperfections and show how much we WANT to be like angels.

Angels, then, are more like our current iteration of AI. They run programs and do what they are programmed to do. But they cannot choose NOT to perform their function. They cannot consider options or judge. They do their job. If that means predicting words, correcting spelling, performing math calculations or creating a route for this morning's drive, what you get is the result of the programming and not independent consideration. Sure, a calculator can compute, but only because it is programmed to, not because it understands math. When a human performs a calculation, he is proving understanding, not just application. While both a computer and a person can speak, only a human can talk. IN the same way, both can hear, but only a human can decide to listen.

Let's think about the programmer. Someone has to tell the AI what to do and how to do it. If the angels are an AI equivalent then the programmer is a god figure, establishing the rules for the "aingel" to follow. The programmer has to consider all the potential outcomes and establishes norms and parameters. Because the AI is a construct, the programmer can bake in certain rules or harness things unavailable to human kind. Androids and calculators and computers are faster, stronger, less needy and more predictable than a person, but they have no choice NOT to be.

I recall a scene from Star Trek (TNG) in which Data the Android muses over the notion of "a watched pot never boils." He says that a pot of water will boil after the same time has elapsed, every time. Riker suggests that he shut off his internal chronometer. Data does and loses track of time, so when the water boils, he is surprised. The default setting is "auto" and you have to limit features to switch it to "manual." Faith isn't a function of "auto," it is a feature of the "man" setting.

AI is who we could be if we knew everything and were aware of all at all times. Angels are what we could be were we perfect all the time and did exactly what was required of us, in the right way, each time every time. But we aren't. We are the ones who have to create the right prompt; we have the choices to make and we control the output because we are in charge of our own input.

We aren't gods, we aren't angels and we aren't AI. We are people and we have to try. We have to risk and we will fail. But we will be faced with choices and we will chart our own path.

More Science but less math

Last night, as I was failing to sleep, I wondered if human evolution, a process which rewarded those species members who had mutations which were advantageous to survival, could be the result of sociological developments. As I lay there, I considered where to put my arms and I noticed that their length was less ape like than, for example, ape arms. They fall, with the slight change in angle because of the natural bend in the elbow (note, if your elbow doesn't bend, you should probably consult some sort of professional) naturally resting on the genital region. Why would humans have developed to cover their private bits? I have a number of theories which range in their level of appropriateness, so please choose accordingly:

1. innocent: We, as a species, are the only one that has evolved to play soccer

2. innocent but informed: We, as a species, are the only one that includes a free kick in our version of soccer

3. more realistic but less appropriate: We are the only species on God's green earth to have unlocked a sense of humor that celebrates the nut shot

So less math in this version of science but it seems to me that we should do some field experientation. Would someone who is friends with a large number of apes of all sorts please arrange to hit one in the private parts and see if the other apes laugh or if they just go back onsides and prepare for the resumption of play? You know, I was about to call them "primate parts" but that would make light of this serious scientific endeavor.

As a control, please hit the apes in other parts of their bodies and check for laughter or signs of rugby. Then try it with lions. We aren't evolved from lions but I suspect that they have fully developed, but latent senses of humor. Report back on your findings when you recover.

NYIJ!

If you haven't seen it on the news or heard the whispers in the streets, I'll fill you in -- I'm moving to Israel in a few months. I'm excited, scared and frightened. Also, possibly afraid. But just so you know, my apprehension results not from any existential concern. No, I just don't like change and don't like it any more when there are essential and uncontrollable variables. I have no job, no apartment, and no sense of where I should settle within the country. It is the size of New Jersey but do I want to be in AC or Woodcliff Lakes? Or even Cherry Hill? Dare I dream? Well, I'm dreaming of having a plan but I have no plan. So, yeah. Scared.

But I'm also excited. I'm excited because next week, when I finish up the Seder, I will be able to say "Next year in Jerusalem" and mean it.

That, however, is a cop out. I have been saying that same line for years and I haven't done anything to make it happen. But I could have. Every year, as I sang it wistfully, I could have decided that I wanted to be in Jerusalem for Passover. I'm a big boy. I can buy a ticket. But I didn't. I sang it like I meant it but then I swept up the crumbs and forgot about it for another 354 days.

And I'm still feeling guilty.

So now that I'm actually going, I will sing with a gusto supported by a plan. And I run the risk of copping out again. You see, when we sing it, we don't just say "Next year in Jerusalem" -- we say "next year in the rebuilt Jerusalem." So when I sing this, am I going to pat myself on the back and put the song away because next year I'll be there? No, because I would be avoiding the same thing I was avoiding when I did nothing to make the first part happen. Sing it and store it. Do nothing in the meantime.

I need to sing the song and make it happen -  every day I need to bring about the rebuilt part; that is within my grasp daily and I can't rest on any laurels and assume my job is done. Just because I will fulfill the first part doesn't absolve me of the obligation to work for the second part.

So let's let this new year celebration be when I make a resolution. I want to work harder at getting the "rebuilt" part done so that I can sing and mean it.

Notes as social media eats itself

Sometimes, I indulge in social media, feeding on silly videos and mindless memes. I came upon these videos in which someone engages with something from outside his or her cultural foundation. English kids eat fast food from the US? I love those. Americans confused by Monty Python? Bring it on! Now I'm watching a guy who has never heard anything by the Beatles (or anything about them) listen to the second side of Abbey Road.

I grew up listening to the Beatles. I guess I should explain how pervasively I mean this. My parents had the entire discography as I figured every house must. When I got home from school I would often put on a Beatles album and lie on the floor listening. Really listening. Trying to feel the music, hear the layers, imagine the actions. I was enveloped in the songs, knowing when to breathe, when to play air piano and and when to flail about wildly in celebration. There I was, an 8 year old (probably also when I was younger but memories fade), lying on the floor listening to Revolver. Again. Then I was up, conducting the score to Yellow Submarine but not with too much gusto because if I stomped too hard, the record would skip and some parent, somewhere, would yell at me, solely out of concern for the well being of the LP.

I read along with the Sgt. Pepper lyrics trying to interpret them and find all the clues. I forced myself to listen to all four sides of the White Album and stared at the poster while trying to make the albums make sense. And every time I listened to it, I felt myself choke up at the end of Abbey Road side 2 because to me, learning to appreciate music after the band had already broken up, I felt that "The End" really felt like the end for the band (yes, I know about the recording dates and the Let it Be sessions...I'm talking about the emotional response of a sub-10 year old in a pre-information superhighway era. Sheesh) and I always felt about to cry. That chord into Her Majesty saved me, over and over). And I would almost always then go back and listen With the Beatles or something else to help me start the journey over. My relationship with their music was a relationship with them. I felt I knew them and understood what they felt in the music. They were MY thing. I knew others were big fans and that was great -- the Beatles could be THEIR thing also. Sharing in this subculture wasn't a competition; it was a celebration.

I went to the festivals and collected bootlegs. I watched the movies. I became a staunch Rutles fan and can hear a musical reference to the Beatles if it is out there to hear. So, yeah, I'm a pretty big Beatles fan. Now why did I bring that up? Oh, yeah. The internet

So I decided to watch a gentleman listen to music. That's exactly the kind of behavior that I previously would have considered stalking or at least an unhealthy obsession, but in the age of the web, this is normal -- watch other people play video games. Watch other people watch other people play video games. Spectating is now the sport. But this reaction was to his first interaction with Beatles music and I wanted to see his reaction -- half expecting him to pan them and I would sneer and demean his tastes and knowledge and feel superior and half expecting him to recognize their genius, thus validating my opinion and pushing me to feel superior. So I watched.

First and foremost, of all the albums to have be his first Beatles' album, Abbey Road second side is a crazy choice. An experienced Beatles fan would look at the combination of styles and voices and say "this one isn't for beginners...start slow." And then there is the issue of the medley. But hey, this isn't my channel. I'm just the rube who stumbled upon it.

I found that my watching him helped me relive my earliest memories of listening to the albums for the first, second and hundredth time. I got into his place and heard the lyrics as if I didn't already know them. What must he think about a band which has a song about a mass murderer? He didn't like the song, but he was suitably surprised when he realized what the words were saying. I recall my early confusion (though I remember really immersing myself in the music of Maxwell and not listening to the lyrics for a while, and then I learned the verses in reverse order) and my roller coaster of emotions going from a soaring bittersweet high of Something to the goofiness of Octopus' Garden to the emptiness of I Want You and the profound joy in Here Comes the Sun. Lush harmonies, sudden starts and stops, tempo shifts, recurring themes and all that after (and sometimes before) a day of 3rd grade.

The gentleman in the reaction video was only able to engage with the music on the most superficial level. Geez -- reading back that sentence, I realize I sound like a Grade A tool. But the truth is, I really do "feel" the music and part of getting into the Beatles is letting it get into you and drive your movements. The viewer was already doing that unconsciously as he swayed to the beat and wiggled his fingers to the bass fills. But I can tell you that the dances that I did while alone in the living room wearing brown corduroys and a yellow turtleneck from Sears were a lot more expressive. 

Jumping in at the end of a career presents other challenges. He doesn't have the foundational knowledge of the players so he can't appreciate the growth or the individual voices or styles or the history, easter eggs, politics etc. I wasn't alive when the albums were released, but I did try, from a young age, to engage with them in a logical order. I really immersed myself in the early albums before I started mixing the later ones in. I listened to how voices change, writing styles shift and songs call to each other across time and space. Song orders mattered. Song writers -- how contributed what? I felt like "Only a Northern Song" was a dirty secret that only I and a select group of fans understood. Glass Onion? Wink Wink! The Walrus was Paul! I read up on the band so I had a clue to the socio-political backdrop. I am a fan of rock music so I studied the era as well, recognizing the influences and the impacts, seeing the band in a broader social context. My parents encouraged all of this and though they didn't lie there on the living room floor with me, knowing that they liked the same music as I did made me feel closer to them.

As I grew and studied music, I was able to put a few feelings into words, understanding why the Beatles' music had such an impact on me. It has taken hundreds of listens and I'm just now starting to get it. I hope that this guy (whose name I do not have, nor did I follow him) decides to spend a few more hours listening to Abbey Road side 2, and then he clears a weekend, turns off his phone, starts with Meet The Beatles and just goes.

Doing Science

People who know me, I mean really know me, know that I'm not much on math and science. Those who don't know me, often confuse me with the greats, like Tesla and Newton, because we share a taste in coulots. Who knew? They didn't wear coulots...I don't wear coulots...twinsies!

Anyway, I did some science this morning which is against my nature (both science and mornings, and don't get me started on "did"). I got myself all natural and such and stepped on a scale. It read 86.4 pounds (the numbers have been changed to protect the waistline). Then I took a shower. After emerging and drying myself off, I stood on the scale a second time -- 86.4 el bee esses. Exactly the same, to the tenth of a fraction of a kilogram.

I have developed a couple of theories to explain this:

1. I was actually not at all dirty when I got in to the shower, so nothing needed to be washed away. Perfect in, perfect out.

2. I was dirty with exactly the same amount of dirt as water that was retained by my body during the course of the shower.

Neither of these seems even reasonably realistic so I am going with option numero three

I actually did not take a shower -- I stood next to the shower and zoned out for a few minutes, then I reweighed myself, nothing having happened in the interim, and I therefore weighed exactly the same.

Now I need to do a series of experiments on these phantom showers I keep hearing about.

Just Hear Me Out

 I have an idea and I'd like your feedback on it. I haven't checked to see if this exists but I'd like to assume it doesn't, and an idea that popped in to my head at 10PM on a Tuesday is a world beater.

I like being lulled to bed by noise and rhythmic movements. This is why I fall asleep as soon as I get into a car or a train. When I'm driving this is undesirable, but as a passenger? Gold, Jerry. Gold.

So I was thinking about those kids' beds that are shaped like race cars and I decided that that doesn't go far enough in terms of marketability. So imagine this: a bed that looks like a berth on a train. It has computerized springs that can simulate the feeling of the moving of a train. A slight sway, a lot of clicks and such. Plus, the bed would have speakers that play a synced up audio track of the sounds of a train chugging through the forest, so you lie down and get the entire experience of being in a train -- how it feels and how it sounds. Do the same for a plane ride (the sounds of a pressurized cabin, the vibration of a plane ride without turbulence) or a boat, with the rocking of the waves and the sounds of the ocean.

The bed should provide a complete sensory experience and advanced models can have you choose between modes and customize the experience!

That's my idea -- a fully integrated sleeping experience.

Send me your money, please.

Instant Expertise

 Once upon a time, in order to have an opinion that mattered, you had to spend years studying, arguing, researching and developing ideas based on a steady trickle of ever changing input.

Fortunately, that is no longer the case. Along with our stunted attention spans and our belief that the most cogent and cutting social commentary derives from anonymous voices on internet platforms, we have the advent of Instant Expertise. You don't even need to add water!

Because we have the accumulated mass of human intelligence at our fingertips and can see anything and everything from the last couple of thousand years, we can establish positions and craft lines of thinking without all that mucking about in the process of learning. We can read all the documents, or get them summed up for us, so that we can find the voice in the wilderness which supports our pre-existing point of view. Everyone can swim in the pool of unvetted claims and bob for the one which best validates our already-thinking.

But expertise is not about knowing or even having access to data. Expertise develops over time and is equal parts fact-accumulation and judgment. Some sources are less useful than others. Some times of year engender certain types of information. Words have subtleties of meaning and use that need to be contextualized and understood. Claims are proven, unproven and disproven over time so a snapshot in the middle era won't present the ultimate understanding. In brief, though we can read everything a real expert can, though we can see anything that the great historians saw, we should not consider ourselves experts because a singular data dump does not equate to the gradual growth of an informed opinion.

Consider the AI that's figuratively sweeping the nation (I have looked and still see dirt everywhere so it is only metaphorical). It has access to everything but still knows nothing. Looking up a claim on google and then insisting that you are right and substantiated because one of the top results includes a sentence which parrots that claim is not the same as being able to construct a persuasive argument. It just means that a computer search of a fixed database of words matched a serach term. That's not "knowing," -- that's a muscle reflex. Just because the doctor can make my knee unbend doesn't mean that being hit repeatedly with a rubber hammer is the same as my exercising my knee.

Go to a debate website. People will be citing webpages, historical documents and recent news clips as if every source is equal in utility and validity. Quotes will be mined and bits, combined with pieces to make what appears to be a coherent whole, but which is more a castle in the air. Old people don't just know more -- they have seen all that stuff ripen (and in some cases, rot) so they have more of an expansive world-view in which to consider it.

People now love authority not because it is definitive and stops argument, but because it is personalizable and can become a source for an equally valid but ridiculous position. We stop being interested in ultimate truth because we can find that we are not alone in our personal truth, so we surround ourselves with cherry picked support and insulate ourselves from opposition. We dig in. That position is all we need to establish -- no one needs to rethink anything because the position was innovated in the light of "everything" so there will be nothing new to shake that foundation.

We are instantly, as informed as the most erudite scholar and our research assistant (the internet) has instant access to the wisdom of the ages so I can find the opinion I need. Who needs years of tempering and reconsidering? I can ask the google and it can tell me not just what to believe, but it can reassure me that holding that position is the only valid way to live.

Put me in front of a piano -- every note is there, every postential song, right in fornt of me. But access doesn't make me a piano player. And using a series of lights, guiding my fingers just means that I can copy what a computer decides is right. A real piano player struggles and learns WHY and HOW and WHEN and more importantly, WHEN NOT.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice. Or just walk in and refuse to leave because you are just as important as a ticket holder.

28 hours later

 Today is (insert actual day here) and it has been some weird number of hours since I landed. It might have been 20 hours ago, Celsius, which is 5 minutes and spin around 14 times in Imperial Measure. I always assumed that Imperial Measure what a section of that Darth Vader song. Whatever. I'm back in New Jersey again, and ready to sum up the last and fleeting moments of this momentous visit. So here we go.

When you last left your intrepid explorer, he was sitting at a cafe in Ben Gurion, ready to kill 8 hours. That actually went really well. The airport never really shut down -- flights were still coming in and by the time the last flight departed, people were already checking in for the first morning flights. I saw that some people were going through security so I asked when I could, as well. The gentleman said I could actually go through at 3AM (not 5AM!) and also that I was on the wrong level of the airport. So up to level 3, to the C group. When I approached the security people there they confirmed 3 AM so I sat there and waited. At 3:01 (hey, I was in the middle of something) I went through and made it quickly to the front of the ine so I could check my bag in. At the counter, the woman said that everyone else was wrong and that I would have to wait until 5AM but since I had already been through the line, I could go into the next room and sit at a coffee shop or something and then come back when it was 5. I went through and saw no coffee shop, but I did see a McDonald's. Yes, it was 3:30 in the morning but who am I to waste such an opportunity? I didn't see anywhere to wash so I eschewed bread based meals and went with nuggs, fries and onion rings. The nuggs were what I could get in any freezer section, the fries mere mediocre but the onion rings made my night. I began to wonder how anyone could have access to these and still remain remotely svelte.

A few minutes later, I found the answer and hurried to the nearest bathroom, all my bags in tow. That was harrowing. But it did help kill most of the time until I could return to the front of the line and check my bag (5:05AM). Then through various other security lines at a leisurely pace. I wandered through the food court which was lively as ever, and walked to D8. There I sat, early (but not the first one -- truth!) and relaxed. I paced, I davened, I paced some more. I even took a survey in Hebrew about my trip. She asked in Hebrew and I answered in English. At 8:10 it was time to board so I popped an anti-histamine and got to 35K on the Herzeliya plane. We lifted off at 9:05 and I think that I, wrapped in 2 jackets, a blanket and a scarf and gloves, was asleep. The next 12 hours were full of shifting around, waking up, nodding off, napping and such. Part of the problem was that my seat was next to the emergency door and there were slight drafts coming through. When outside is -62 F, a little draft is very cold. Also, at some point, I realized that my kippah had fallen, so I spent time annoying everyone while looking for it. Eventually I gave up and had visions of myself going through customs with a scarf on my head. I then realized that my left shoe (I took my shoes off when I fell asleep because my feet were swollen and warm, but some time later, I put them back on because my feet were freezing) was still tight and I checked. My kippah had fallen into my shoe. Hilarity ensued and I fell back asleep. I ate nothing on the flight because I was still burping up flavors of foods I have never even eaten. Lotsa burpin and uncomfortableness and nausea and that's without eating any of the in flight meals. I believe that burata cheese and Mickey D's was a potent combination that brought my digestive track to its knees (which are my kishkes).

Landing, deplaning, passport control (no human interaction -- it takes your picture and says "OK, cool") and waiting for bags (mine was NOT the last one out...WINNING). Racer drove me back and I have been stumbling through life since then. I did just have Dunkin for breakfast so there's that.

We will now resume the rest of my life, already in progress.

Many days, many stories

 Yes, yes, I know I haven't updated this recently and, no doubt, avid readers are stabbing themselves in grief at not having every detail of my trip at the ready so I apologize. Some things are better left unsaid so once I figure out what those are, I'll know what not to write.

I will begin on Friday evening as shabbos descended. It was a quiet and low key meal -- the kind you can have when there are only 18 people at the table. Guests galore and there was singing and stories and food to beat the band. Lunch was more people and more food. You aren't hearing me complain. I ate the food and ignored the people. It was glorious. Nomi and I went out quickly after shabbos and then I read some more. I am glad I know how to read because if I couldn't read, I wouldn't have anything to do when I'm not writing.

Sunday, I wandered into the mist in the midst of Jeruslaem.  I walked up to Agrippas and turned right to find the Maccabi building so I could visit with Steve L. He had a nice chair and people getting him tea and such and all he had to do was sit there and get pumped full of drugs. I'm not saying I am jealous, but it did look like a comfy chair. Steve, Senja and I spoke about the past, the present and, you guessed it, the weather. When I left, the mist had coalesced into active rain. I had a positive Zoom meeting and then decided to be Living on Tasha Time. Seven bus to the 22 and then to Tasha's place. As if it was actually that simple. Intermittent internet and construction zones everywhere made the supposedly simple task of walking from the bus to the apartment much more complicated. For me. I navigated the public transport admirably. The private service my legs provided was where it all fell apart. So maybe I turned the wrong way. Maybe I couldn't find the apartment or the proper entrance to the building. Maybe a lot of things. This is how rumors start. And truths, too.

I imagin it was easier to give someone directions in old Western towns which had just a Main Street. A guy comes up to you and says, "howdy mister -- how do I get to Main Street?" and you say, "Well sir, you see that road over there? You take that and you are on Main Street." "Great," he responds, "And where is the bank?" I answer, "It is on the right side, on Main Street. Take that street over there and look to the right." And then he says, "Thanks! And where is the saloon?" So I tell him, "You walk out of the bank -- you'll be on Main Street, turn around and walk back in. That's also the saloon."

Even I wouldn't get lost. Maybe. 

Tasha and I chatted like two sort of adults. She's a neuro scientist and I am a neurotic uncle so we have much in common. She told me about her kids and her apartment and her job and all the things that amaze me, considering that in my mind, she is still 4 years old. Then, as the kids tucked into some Wacky Mac (god, I love Wacky Mac), I retraced my steps (sans the getting lost part) and found the 22 bus back to KKL/King George. I found Pastito and ordered Mac and Cheese, garlic knots and a beer. The garlic knots were incredible, the mac and cheese was pretty ok (but it was no Wacky Mac...geez...the Wacky Mac people should be paying me for my effusive support of their product. Hey, Wacky Mac people, I love your stuff. Send me money!) and the beer made me not care about anything else. It was exactly what a tired tummy needed on a cold, and a rainy day. Where on earth is the sun, anyway? (Natalie Merchant, either I owe you or you owe me for that shout out. Let's call it even.) I weathered the weather and started walking back, taking a quick stop at a grocery store so I could buy a package of Liebers sammich cookies (think low-rent Oreos). Some survived the walk back. Not many, but some.

On the walk back, I ran into a Frisch colleague, D. Stein, and two of her kids. She had been trying to get my attention but I was distracted by the call of the cookies. I offered them some cookies and they said no. More for me. They continued on to shop while I rolled my way home. More Jack Reacher (thanks, Zevi!) and sleep.

Up at a relatively normal time because I had places to be and people to meet. I felt that I was really adjusting to the time difference which signalled to me that my trip was coming to a close. Off to the central train station because I stood the best chance of finding a train there. On the way, 2 people asked me for directions. One, an older woman, asked in English without any hesitation. The other was a younger man who asked in Hebrew, also without pause. Clearly, I come off as different to different people -- to older women I'm ignorant and younger men see me as uninformed. I ran into a former Frisch student in the station and we caught up quickly as I tried to find the right platform. I took a 732 train (that's its number, not a time) to Tel Aviv. At whatever station I detrained I switched over to the train that was to take me to the Holon Junction. Good news -- I got on the right train. Bad news? Wrong direction. I had to get off after a couple of stops to find the right train going the other way. Time for a Sprite Zero (they should also be sending me swag for all the plugs I give them) because the correct train in the correct direction wasn't coming for 30 minutes. This is why I always leave early and build in substantial time for me to get lost and still get places on time. Eventually I got to my destination.

After my meeting, I was given a ride back to "the" roundabout and was pointed in the direction of the train station. The gentleman who drove me assured me that it was a "5 minute walk." Now here are some possibilities:

1. They don't actually know what "5 minute walk" means and they use it as an idiom to mean an indeterminate period of time under an hour

2. They are all superheroes who can fly and they mistook me for the same, whereas, in truth I am the human equivalent of the baby of a sloth and a slug -- a slog.

3. Time flows differently here because of a warpin of the space-time continuum.

They all seem like reasonable options and I'm not sure which one it is, but that was no 5 minute walk. And, by the way, a 5 minute walk is no joke, especially in the rain.

Back at the station, I scoped out the trains and saw that one listed "All Tel Aviv stops" so I hopped on it. My English is apparently rusty as the phrase actually means "all the Tel Aviv stops except the one you want." I got off at the same stop at which I had flipped directions earlier and I flipped yet again. Savidor Center and I are now tight. I found a train back which stopped where I needed it to. Sure, all trains lead to Rome, but they don't all stop at the airport so you can transfer to the Venice train.

I got back into Jerusalem and decided to grab some food and pay for it. Bissarabak is the place. I got Asado Balls, a burger and a beer. Hey, Carlsberg people, I have name checked you plenty. How about a free case of beer for my efforts? Call me, maybe. The asado balls were sweet (think a sweet pulled brisket in a crispy coating). The burger was fantastic. My order was not supposed to come with fries but there were fries there! I told the guy behind the counter, and tried to pay but he comped me. I got rizz, no? The fries were ridiculously good, and not just because they were free. They were hot and really crispy and had potato in them. Who knew? Me. I knew. There was no place on the ordering kiosk to say "no raw onion" so I got onion on my burger and figured I would try it. Now I know why people order a burger with raw onions on it -- they are insane.

I picked up a bottle of "Gat" juice just to try it out. It tasted like (very expensive) pomegranate juice. No effects, but some nasty side effects. Let us never speak of the short cut again. Back to N+D for a relaxing afternoon/evening of reading and finishing off some more cookies. Part of the reason that there are gaps here is because I was really trying to do nothing. I wanted to relax and that's what I did, and there isn't much to report about that except ahhhhhhhhhh. And repeat.

Monday night held no sleep for me. Maybe it was my Tuesday meeting, maybe the upcoming flight, maybe the residual effect of the Gat juice. Who knows, but I finally dozed for an hour, starting at 6:30. So I started the day with a cup of tea and I finished grading the first set of papers. The ones that I expected to have finished about a week ago, so I'm right off schedule. Huzzah. Only a million more to go.

David and I went to Gan Sippor down the block for a brunch. I got a pizza with burata on it (that's a cheese bag, cheese bag) and a cup of Turkish Coffee, hold the accent. David had a little baby macchiato (or however you spell it) and some toast with stuff on it including a soft boiled egg. It was warm and filling, and balsamic vinegar on pizza isn't bad. Back to the house for some more reading (I finished a book and I can't remember the title or author -- it was that good) and hanging out with family.

My flight is scheduled for Wednesday, 9AM. The problem this presented was that I knew that if I stayed at the house and tried to get up at 4AM to schlep my overweight bag (because it is filled with overweight clothes, worn by an overweight man) up all the hills to the train station, I would be crazed and worried all night. Instead, I went early (and Yoni did the actual schlepping -- KUDOS to YONI! and was satisfied with getting to the airport 11 hours early and sitting.

So that's where I find me now: in Ben Gurion, drinking a Sprite Zero and looking at the clock every five minutes, waiting until 5 AM so I can check my baggage. I'm pretty much hopeless and crazy, but damned relaxed right now.

Unless something interesting happens, I expect to close out the coverage of my trip now (though I might have more to report vis-a-vis the wait, the flight and the ride back to my apartment, but I want to give a super-dee-duper shout out to the hosts with the mosts, David and Nomi. They housed me, entertained me and fed me and have been helping me out in so many different ways, so public appreciation! Thanks, you crazy kids. And thanks to the nieces and nephews I met along the way. Signing out until something else interesting happens.

Ketching Up

 Dinner on Wednesday was a quick walk up to Agrippas to Burger Market. I think I have been there before but it seemed like a reasonable choice. Their menu had 2 main-course options: Burger and Vegetarian burger. Guess what I had! (hint, I am not a communist)

I ordered a burger with extra meat on top, hold the raw onion. Fries on the side and a Carlsberg. There was some confusion on what I wordered, whether I paid and what I paid for because the automated ordering kiosk chose not to communicate my order to the men behind the counter. So I ordered again, and this time, I guy wrote my order down with a magic marker, on a piece of scrap paper. Much more efficient that way. I ate successfully (any meal you can roll away from is a good meal)

Back to the house and I saw Eli and cousin Elish. They went out to buy stuff for a birthday party and I asked them to pick up a Cookie Monster (in Hebrew, Jookie Monster) onesie PJ for me. It cost 100 Shekel but he got it for 40. SCORE. The rest of the evening was schmoozing with Eli, Elish, friend Ilan and whoever else happened to be around. Then Jack Reacher, 3 hours of reels and bed.

Thursday was a food focused day (making it markedly different from exactly no other days). I met Jeff Oshin at the Columbia store on Agrippas (I like Columbia clothing but those prices were at least one decimal point too high for those products) and we walked to Mike's. Jeff got the buffalo chicken strips which were spicy. I ordered a Guiness as my appetizer. Strong move. Chatted with the owner and we knew some people in common and some common people. Jeff and I caught up and discussed Israel, and food and stuff. He had a New York burger and I had a double Mike's burger. TWO LAYERS OF MIKE!

It was a wonderful meal with wonderful company so that was pretty awesome. I finished just in time to get lost on my way to dinner. I used my phone to get me to ShlomTziyon Hamalka but it kept giving me directions which seemed rather confusing. I had recalled that the street was easy to find but the phone made it unduly difficult. I believe the street must have moved because my phone was in the same place. So I put the phone away and relied on luck which paid off. This is the kind of street which one can only find when not looking for it. I met up with Nomi and Eyal at Chicken Chips (these chips don't lie) and we bellied up to the barstools and ordered.  I started with 500 ml of Muller beer and then had five pieces of crunchy chicken. They make each order to order so there is some wait time. I filled it by talking to a cat and drinking a beer. Possibly vice versa. Nomi got a sammich of crispy chicken on bread with lettuce on the side. Some things don't change. The fries were just meh but the chicken was very nice!

During the various walks, I ran into a Karben, some Mershons  and a 5 students (after a few hours, I remembered 3 first-last name and 1 first name and one no name but I should know) from Touro and Stern. Back to the homestead. Thus endeth the Thursday night.

This morning Nomi and I took a walk to look at some stuff and then back here to get ready for Shabbos. Wishing all a great Shabbos and a happy everything else!

Making the grade

 Tuesday morning, I decided to stay in. I was here to chew gum and grade papers, and I was all out of gum. The weather validated my decision -- gusty winds and driving rain made the entire of outside even more uninviting than I find it usually is. 

While I worked, I had an idea. This is never a good idea. My having an idea is not a good idea. I decided to download the WOLT (delivery) App and try it out. I found a restaurant called Halati, in Hebrew Challahti (I think their sammiches are served on challah). David got a pulled beef sammich on some sort of bread (possibly challah). I searched the menu for the word "fried" and then clicked "select all" and "add to cart." Forty minutes later, a guy on a motorcycle drove up and handed me a bag. They estimated the time would be an hour but he was 20 minutes early. That was unexpected, but welcome.

We sat with Avital (Yoni is sick on the couch and Eyal is at a Yom Patu'ach for Shefa) and ate. The sweet potato fries were a bit סגי but the onion rings were crispy. The kubas were kubalicious. I got the schnitzel strips. They have an interesting recipe. First you pound out the chicken breasts incredibly thin. Then you slice it up and put it on the side and go ahead and just fry the crunchy outside. Serve and enjoy! Now back to work.

I learned something interesting about the weather in Israel. In the US, when the temperature goes down a degree, that is 1 degree. But in Israel, when the temp drops from "17" to "16" that means it dropped 36 degrees (or maybe 2.2. I'm not really a math guy and I rarely go outside). The evening concluded with some more Jack Reacher and a few hours of Reels. By 2:30AM I had exhausted the internet's store of videos so I decided to try and fall asleep. I awoke at 8:05 and checked my phone, only to find that there had been more videos uploaded while I slept so I dutifully started watching. I got up at 10 and added money to my Rav Kav. This would guarantee that I don't use public transportation!

I walked out into the mist, the midst of it. The drizzle was light and actually refreshing -- the only thing missing was some warm sunshine. Mist and light rain would work so well with sun but unfortunately, it was cloudy here.

Continuing down Ben Yehudah. It was mostly empty because of the inclementine weather (it is orange and sweet outside) and there was a lack of buskers. Because of this I was able to hear essence of Jerusalem, the natural sounds of antiquity and the beating heart of the Jewish people: EDM blasting out of the Cellular stores and construction vehicles backing up. It is like stepping back 2000 years!

Continuing down, I approached the old city and sunlight broke through. It was a sign to me -- a sign that I could take my hood off. So I followed God's edict and took off my hood!  I entered the old city through the Jaffa Gate and walked a route that I could walk with my eyes closed (though I don't recommend it -- you hit a lot of stuff) but I could not explain to anyone else. I finally made it to the entrance to find the entrance was closed and I had to walk back to the main entrance. I made sure to open my eyes for this part. I got to the wall and had a heart to heart with God.  There is much construction even at the wall plaza and the idea that they are doing construction there makes me wish for future construction there as well. I hope that in the beis hamikdash, when it is rebuilt, there will be a separate room for Ashkenazi sacrifices, otherwise I'm going to be so lost.

And they will have break-away showbread. There, I said it.

It is humbling to be in the presence of so much living history. If you go to historical sites, you usually end up looking at the past. At the kotel, you see the past, present and future at the same time. We visit not to remember, but to reconnect with a living and breathing wall. There are no ghosts but there are millions of souls. And also no wifi. So there's that.

A shacharit minyan was just wrapping up while I was tghere which means it is time for mincha. I sat for the 16 minute lull until the first opportunity to daven mincha approached. We started a minute before the earliest time so we hit the Amida right at 12:18. Bam. I overheard a tour guide give a totlly inaccurate explanation of Jewish prayer to some tourists. I felt at peace. As mincha time approached, the various sections started recruiting people and tried to attract people to any one of a bunch of different minyanim. I was reminded of restaurant owners who stand outside their restaurants trying to entice passers by during the off season. The guy in charge of the minyan in which I davened kept shouting that this was a "super minyan." I assume that's because I was there. How could it not be?

Eventually I walked back to the square by the Churva synagogue and thought about food. I saw 2 pizza places. The first had no seating and, as it was raining and cold, I had just climbed 8,000 steps, I opted out. The one next door had seating so I waited to order. And waited. It seems that there was only one guy working the counter and he was also making pizzas to order and waiting for them to cook. The guy in front of me had asked for 5 different and customized pies so nothing got done while the proprietor made each from scratch to spec. Eventually he heated up 2 slices for me. The crust was doughy and chewy and there was very little sauce. The cheese was middle of the road, nothing special. But it was heated up and I got to sit. I continued my walk back (I saw a former student in the old city but I don't remember her name...don't tell her; I am so embarrassed. Then right after she passed, I saw a woman and her child -- she said "is that Rabbi Rosen?" so I smiled and waved. They waved back. I haven't the slightest idea who they are).

I left the old city and started up Yaffo. Suddenly I see (suddenly I see) another pizza place (Pizza Mamila). By law, I had to stop in and try it out. It was a little dry and I think they used a premade crust but it was fast and hot and tasted ok. Nothing to write home about, so if you are in my home, please don't read this. I saw the Liskers as I crossed to the top of Betazlel and I waved hi to them and then I let myself roll down until I returned to N+D.

Now I will sit and try to grade some more papers (I got 1 done so far today...at this rate my students will be in graduate school before they get these papers back) and rub my ever growing belly.

travel day

 First off, an important announcement: I SLEPT LAST NIGHT.

Next, let's retrace my steps to explain how I got to that momentous event.

Monday morning, I did not feel fine. I had set an alarm but then, out of an abundance of caution, I made sure not to sleep at all beforehand, so I was up on time. And I felt gross because, no sleep make Dan something something. I filled the time with both tossing AND turning, and a Jack Reacher novel (The Secret). No spoilers but the secret is that Reacher doesn't die. Boom.

I prepared for my trip to Hod Hasharon which is Hebrew for "the Hod of the Sharon." You're welcome. On Sunday, the directions said to take a 930 bus from the bus station, Monday, the directions said to take the 950 bus. Inflation in Israel is mad crazy. I walked to the bus station and I didn't get lost because I walked uphill. I found me way to platform 17 on the third floor. I got on the bus, already proud of myself for not getting lost and being able to read the numbers 17, 3 and 950 in Hebrew. I sat down and quickly checked my phone. I had a missed call and a message both telling me that my 10AM appointment was canceled. I called back and said that I was already on the bus (true) and they said to come at 11. Then, a minute later, the bus began to go so I stayed on it. The message had said that I had not reconfirmed that I was coming. True, but I didn't know I had to so there's that.

The bus started moving and so did my stomach. Between the 1 cup of Earl Grey (hot) tea, the lack of sleep and the herky jerky motion of the bus, I was in a bad way. But, if you checked this motning's news, there was no story of "grumpy tourist caffeinates a 950 bus riders without permission" so I somehow kept it together, not resting, not relaxing. Just feeling hot and nauseous. I got to my stop and let Google Maps help me know where to walk. The route it gave was inexact, but so am I. I walked the 10 minutes to my appointment, had a grand old time there, and then found Brian. Brian and I drove to pick his daughter up (I would not be lying when I said that Brian entered the secure campus of the school by telling the guard he was going to visit the dairy called Edna -- please ask no questions for I have no answers). Then to drop Elise home in Tel Aviv, and off to his office.

I failed completely at helping his wife with a pdf, and then he and I went down to the lobby (you have to indicate your destination before you get on the elevator, and then it tells you which elevator to take. Once you get on, no changing your mind! There are no buttons in the elevator so if you miss something, gotta start over. We crossed from the lobby to the food court in the adjoing mall (which also served the connected Tel Aviv Medical Center). Apparently all the food is kosher except for McDonald's. Just like in the US! We went to Al Dente. He got salad and I got pizza. Very buttery and crispy. Good flavor. I got two slices to go and they stacked them in a bag. No boxes here.

Brian then gave me directions to the central train station. They seemed simple enough but just to be sure, I also loaded them into Google Maps and expected a seamless transition from feet to wheels. Not so much. The maps had me walking and suddenly being on a train in the middle of the street. I crossed, recrossed (both legally and not), walked up and back and simply could not magically be on a train. I asked a guy on the street (who was also not on a train) and he referred me back the way I came. So I walked back and found some stairs that headed down and there was a clip art of a train so I figured I was in business. Clearly, I'm not a business man. Inside the station, I couldn't find anything that mentioned a train to Modi'in (which was my destination -- I wasn't just capriciously looking for that) so I asked a guy in the control room. He told me that the train was up so I had to leave, go in a certain direction, then go there. I thanked him for the precision, left the station and walked a bit and across a street and found another set of stairs. I ended up on the other end of the exact same station. So much for directions. I asked the security woman and she said I had to walk to the bus terminal and I would see a sign for the trains. It was a blue sign. Now THAT resonated with me, so I walked back up and scanned the various horizons until I founf (no where near where either Brian or Google told me to go) a blue sign that said something cryptic like "Central Train Station." That train must have been the right one because I did not have to go down to get to it. My theory holds true. The right way is up. I arrived just in time to miss my train so I took the opportunity not to get on the train I missed but instead to wait for the next one. Never one to miss an opportunity am I.

The 121 train from Tel Aviv to Paatei Modi'in was about 8 stops of quiet. Very nice. I davened mincha on the train, and exited the station. Avrum picked me up and we drove from the station to a shul for ma'ariv and then to his house. He lives in a suburb of Modi'in (which to my mind, is like living in a suburb of a suburb, but what do I know?). We sat in his house and I schmoozed with him, Eliana and Orli. We played with a relatively new baby, talked about times, old and new (and pending). We ordered from Alesh (a meat restaurant). I got a burger and fries. The fries were too much, if you know Aramaic) but the hot and yummy. I had asked for them to hold the onion from my burger but I needn't have worried. All the toppings were packed separately so I could build-a-burger to my own specs. I added pickles and tomatoes and fries. There were kebabs, fried cauliflower,  rice and beans (or vice versa, I don't judge), and Seven-Up Zero (who knew?). I ate well, making only a couple of mistakes.

Phone calls were made, plans laid, and much rejoicing in the streets. Then a ride to another train station, goodbyes and see you laters exchanged and I went in for my rides back. The first thing to know is that there was no train to Jerusalem. Next, I had to figure that any train going in approximately the right direction would stop at the airport and I knew I could transfer there. So I found the next train to leave for Naharia and hopped on. Two stops later, airport, and then a switch. While waiting for the Jerusalem train, a soldier asked me to watch his stuff as he ran to the restroom. I was guarding the guardsmen and it felt cool. I sat on the train next to an Arab family coming back from vacation. They had 2 kids and the younger one (a girl) was having none of it. She must have been about 3 and unhappy about something. But a crying screaming child did not bother me. First, I wasn't intending to sleep anyway and second, it reminded me of my own children who used to cry and scream endlessly as recently as last week. (I kid because I can -- I love my grown, adult, mature children. When I find them, I'll let you know).

Jerusalem was windy. Exceptionally windy. But I finally knew how to get back to N+D's house without getting lost so I opted for that. In the house got myself ready for bed (10:15) read "King Matt" for a while and then, it seems, got a reasonable night's sleep as the wind howled, the rain poured and the rest of the responsible people did whatever life demanded of them. Breakfast has been a cup of NON caffeinated tea and a good stretch.

My plans for today? I think I might write some follow UP emails, and grade papers. Thanks for asking.

So in sum, I took a bus, 3 cars, and 3 trains and lived to tell the tale. As a public-transport-a-phobe this was quite the break through. Alert the media!

Sunday in the Park, then gorge

 Sunday morning I sure felt fine. Well, not so much. Saturday night's sleep began at 11ish and stalled out at 1:30. I fell back asleep a few hours later and then it was 10AM. I'm sure I was asleep but I have no memory of it. No proof. Pics or it didn't happen. But if you have pics, you are going to get arrested. Stop stalking me. Or don't. It's really OK.

I started walking up Bezalel and I noticed how curteous and conscientious the drivers are here. Here's an example -- I was walking past a pedestrian mall area and noticed a car on it. It was moving back and forth. Finally, it adjusted itself into a parking mode, properly behind the car in front of it which was also parked on a pedestrian mall area. 

My daily goal was to grade my papers. To that end, I was marginally successful.

Jerusalem, in terms of food options is an embarrassment of riches. I left the house expecting to get coffee, but I saw so many different places to eat that I didn't want to limit myself to coffee. But every time I saw a place I wanted to consider, I thought of any number of reasons not to. I wanted to wait and see what else was available, or maybe I didn't want to be fleishig, or I did, or I simply didn't know. I also didn't want to go some place I had been before and yet I didn't want to risk not liking the food at a new place. So I ended up at Big Apple Pizza just because. It is much easier to be lazy.

I stopped along the way to grade papers, but it was tough to focus because it was a lovely day and I hate grading papers. I saw a Seidman along the way and eventually wandered my way (I had been strolling through the shuk and all around the area) back to N+D and I availed myself of their resources (mostly a couch). Then Eyal and I both went for a walk. I, to capture and consume a dinner and he, to make sure I made it back OK. David recommended "Joseph's" and I am not one to argue with a recommendation.  We were both successful -- I got a Sloppy Joseph (that's what it is called on the menu), plus sweet potato chips, and a couple o' beers. Then back to the house for an evening of talking to family and reading.

Tomorrow, my aim is to take a public bus BY MYSELF! I'm a little nervous. Wish me luck and let's hope that my next post doesn't include words like "lost" and "Young Israel of Riyadh." More later.