Missing opportunities

 

It isn’t as much about being wanted as it is about being missed. Sure, it is nice to have someone say “Hey, I’m having a party and I want you to be there” and it isn’t even about similar praise to a third party (“I’m having a party and I really hope Dan can be there”)

It is about being missed. That at the party, in the moment, even with all the other sources of amusement or distraction, the person says, “Gee, I miss Dan” and afterwards, when recounting to that third party, the person says “I wish Dan had been there – I really missed his absence.”

We appreciate the mail that solicits our business, but we relish the one sent after we cancel that says “we hate to see you go.” And part of it is, we didn’t have to remind the mailer that we weren’t subscribed anymore. The mailer, UNPROMPTED, misses us. No one has to walk over and say “gee, it would have been great if Dan had been there” to get the host to agree. The host can’t get it out of his mind, on his own, that Dan was missed. Every day, all the time, he remembers a missed opportunity. He has regrets and concerns and everything else is tinged with that.

Look, I love Israel and Jerusalem and the notion of biblical theocracy sits just fine with me but right now, that is just based in “want” and don’t get me wrong – that’s really important. That’s what drives us forward so we can make our “wants” happen.

They say, “you never know what you got till it’s gone” (Yes, I’m quoting Mike & the Mechanics) and maybe that’s true, but the real sad part is that we often forget that it’s gone or assume it will come back so we don’t get that ache of missing.

Now, in relative safety and protection, with good jobs, strong communities and kosher pizza, we are able to make our wants happen. You want a mikvah? Boom…mikvah. And if we talk spiritual wants? Well, we want Moshiach now, right? And yes, we do mitzvot, and we keep that bag packed and we study the laws of the temple and its sacrifices, keeping track of our local Kohen and Schwartz. But want is not enough.

So at the height of our joy, we step on the glass – why? Because we have to remind ourselves not of what we want – that’s what weddings are all about, actualizing want – but because we need to remember what we miss. So we install an external, a reminder, a prompt so we can feel a little sad amidst our happiness. We also take a day and remind ourselves also of what we miss. Of how our lives are actually incomplete.

But the real goal? Remembering that we are missing every day – not just on the day we fast, but even while we are eating our pizza. Not just when I have to sit on the floor and not listen to music, but when I’m enjoying standing by my floor seat at a concert. And not just when we have an external reminder, but all the time.

The loss of the temple and our autonomy is present in our davening, our holiday rituals and in our daily lives (just ask those people who do anything Zecher L’Churvban). Why are we so focused on it? Not just because we have to see what we are working for, but because we have to make it a constant fact that we are really missing something and since we know Moshiach isn’t coming right now, I have to feel sad right now. Every right now.

May we all reach the point of missing the temple without having to be reminded.

This is what I'm like when I relax

 

Dear Sigmund, via Sidney,

I haven’t been worrying as much recently and I can’t tell if that is because I’m learning to worry less or that I simply have fewer things to worry about recently. Now, I know that the response to that, especially the latter part is that “if you are serious about your worrying, you will find something to worry about regardless of the reality.” I’m not sure if that’s true. I DO have things to worry about but they are categorically different from the usual cycle of worry that I have perfected over the last 25+ years. All the professional worries (I am, you see, a professional worrier) that are endemic to the summer are not as soul-crushing this summer, either because I am mastering the summer (and its parts) better or because I have set lower goals so I have less pressure.

And, yes, I have supplemented the standard complement of things I worry about with a revue of all new material. Fortunately, I am the father of two humans who present me with more to worry about than I know what to do with (something I also, then, worry about). You’d think that, as I can’t shake a stick at the volume of things to worry about, that I would be my usual bundle of frayed nerves. Frayed? Not. But am I worrying less because I have grown into someone who takes more things in stride (evidenced by my being able, albeit occasionally, to sleep through the night)? Or is it that they are not giving me the same quantity and quality of concerns that I have grown to know, love and expect? Because when I stop and count my stressings there do seem to be ample opportunities for some expert level, stomach turning problems.

The familiar (by this time familial) butterflies have alit for the time being and I’m borderline concerned that I am not concerned. The world is still on fire and, no, this is not fine. While I have no travel plans, others do and vicarious worry is at least 80% as effective as first-person worry (according to a recent study that I just invented). I still have aches, pains and all the mystery troubles that men of a certain age have to look forward to (including my propensity for ending sentences with a preposition or two). Work still looms large in my front view mirror and the bank has not taken a holiday nor have my bills been postponed. Is it possible that I am mellowing? My sense is that that isn’t the case because when push comes to shove, I still end up on the floor in fetal position. My quota of indignation is consistently filled and people still point out to me that my obsession with being obsessed is a raging success.

Is this a matter of reigning in neuroses or having to look deeper for fish to fry?

 

I want to be rich

 

I have been musing about what the toughest mitzvah is to do. This morning’s research points to the last of the 10 commandments, Lo Tachmod (Tit’aveh). It means “don’t covet” and some reading in the classical commentaries makes it seem pretty reasonable. Don’t look at what someone else has and even think of ways of getting it from that person, legally or not. Sure, there are different levels of understanding about what it means to scheme to get something, pressure someone into giving it up, or make plans to buy it, but the bottom line is that you need to focus not on what someone else has and how you can get it but on your own life.

How tough could that be?

So I spent the morning dreaming about winning the lottery. It is a side hobby of mine (not even my main hobby!) to think about what I would do if I hit a HUGE lottery. Whom would I tell, how would I act, what would I do. All that stuff. And, according to what I was reading about that last (and according to some, most important) of the 10 commandments, just day dreaming isn’t so horrible. I’m not making any plans to take someone else’s winning ticket. Heck, I’m not even making any plans to go out and buy a ticket! Laziness, one, ambition, zero.

But there is another idea within Judaism that stays with me. In the Ethics of the Fathers there is a statement, eizeh hu ashir, hasame’ach b’chelko. Who is rich? One who is happy with his share. There is a lot to say about that phrase, but I want to focus on a couple of things. First and foremost, this saying is easily echoed by “money doesn’t buy happiness.” But so what? I also think of Moonlight Graham’s statement about his career path – he says, when Ray Kinsella says that being a big league ball player for a short time was a tragedy, “if I'd only gotten to be a doctor for five minutes... now that would have been a tragedy.” Doc understood what it means to be rich – respecting what really matters. Nice sentiment, but how does that relate to my happiness?

Then I think about all the horror stories I read about lottery winners. They get swindled. They lose friends. They go broke. They kill themselves. Apparently, they haven’t found the happiness that they thought money would buy. Being (monetarily) rich, it seems, is not what happiness is!

There is actually another commandment from the Torah – v’samachta b’chagecha, you shall be happy with/on/in your holidays. On one level that accords perfectly with the statement from the Ethics – our “lot” as a people is our commandments, including our holidays. We shouldn’t want to celebrate anyone else’s holidays, but should find happiness in ours! But this doesn’t make me not want to win the lottery. Then I thought about it: how can we be commanded to be happy? Much has been written about what happiness is and isn’t and about the various times we are told as a people and as individuals that we should be happy. Weird commandments, they. Am I supposed to feel happiness in my holiday because holidays are what make me rich? How do these things fit together?

I think that the hardest commandment is to be rich.

OK, maybe that jumps a step or two because the hardest thing in fact, is to be happy, mostly because we are all so confused about what that means, how we get there and how we know we are happy. We associate happiness with material possessions, so we think of richness as happiness. But the last commandment is pointing out that if we spend our time plotting about how to get riches, then we are pursuing the exact opposite of happiness. And, trust me, it isn’t easy being happy with what you have. But that’s the challenge; that’s the commandment.

Don’t look at what others have – count your own blessings. Don’t be simply satisfied with what you have, but find a way to feel actual joy in who you are and what you have. Don't daydream about the lottery, not because it violates the 10th commandment, but because it destroys any possibility of happiness. That is tough, I know. But if you can recognize, appreciate and enjoy what you have at every moment, then you will feel a true and sublime richness.

I want that kind of happiness and I want those riches and I struggle every day to get there.

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

edit -- another thought popped into my head. On Sabbath mornings, we say in our Amidah service "yismach Moshe b'mat'nat chelko" that Moses was happy with the lot that he was given. Connect that to the Ethics of Our Fathers and we see the standard: we are to be happy to emulate Moses, and he was happy even though he didn't get to enter the land of Israel. He never won that lottery and yet he was still happy!

About face

 Let's talk about hypocrisy. Let's talk "double-standards" and let's talk about my favorite weasel response, "it's different."

And before I get started, I'm sure that my opinions are unpopular. That's how I know that they are right.

If you are a long time reader, you know that I put little faith in Hollywood and celebrity. The concepts make no sense to me. But I do respect actor as professionals, doing a job. So finding the right actor to do a particular job can't be easy and I understand that part of the job of an actor is to pretend. Great so far, right?

But what about when that pretending is aided by a good make-up department? Do I think that all the responsibility for becoming a character rests on the actor's shoulders? Is that fair? Would Chevy Chase's President Ford imitation be better served if he had donned a wig or fake glasses?

I read an article recently about Bradley Cooper. I like him as an actor and enjoy some of the roles he has played. He is filming a biopic of Leonard Bernstein, the composer who wrote such jingles as the songs in West Side Story and "I Hate Music: A cycle of Five Kid Songs for Soprano and Piano." To play the role, it has been reported that he has had an enlarged nose stuck on his face. This has brought up some questions. So let me break down the line of argument.

There are two kinds of characters which actors play, real people and fictional people. Mostly, the "real people" are interpretations of reality and the resulting portrayal is of a person based in someone's memory of reality but at least the person existed. Fictional people did not. If an actor wants to put on a nose in order to look like a particular real people, the argument goes, that makes sense. If he puts on a nose to look like a made up person, that might be wrong because, why does he need the nose. Bernstein was Jewish but he existed, so the nose is to portray Bernstein. But a fictional Jew needs no extra nose because that would be putting on Jewface, linked to a long tradition of using the stereotype of a larger nose to act as shorthand in presenting someone as recognizably Jewish. You can look online -- the stereotype is very, very old (mid 13th century, apparently).

Except for the hypocrisy.

1. Rostand created the character of Cyrano De Bergerac. Yes, he was inspired by a real swordsman but that person, at least according to Wikipedia, did not have a romance with Roxanne nor did he have an enlarged nose. To play Rostand's character is to play an imagined being so adding a nose should be wrong. But everyone does it (or uses some other shorthand for physical aberration, as casting Peter Dinklage in the role).

2. Cooper played Joseph Merrick, the "Elephant Man" in 2015. He did so without prosthetics. He would have been more recognizable as a misformed person had he, but he chose not to. So to play someone who existed, he decided NOT to add anything. So it isn't necessary to add on things in order to portray an historical figure.

So, so far we have a general rule that playing a person is different from playing a non-person. OK, what about the question of "must someone from a group play a member of that group?" That brings up the whole "must a Jew play a Jew" and the answer is "of course not".

But.

When playing a Jew, any actor must decide what in his performance must say "Jew." Is it the dialogue? The accent? The appearance? If it is any of these, and the actor is not playing a particular Jew upon whom to model, the actor is opting for something that is externally recognizable shorthand for "Jew." That thing requires looking into the author's vision of (and opinion of) Jewry and the audience's familiarity with tropes and cues to decipher a role as "Jew." So throw on the prayer shawl even if not in prayer? Have the role include some greedy actions or ethical blindness? Or play the righteous morality card and have the Jew be the ethical center. Either way, play the extreme to convince the masses because if you play a Jew as most Jews really are, the portrayal would be absent anything that makes the Jew any different from anyone else. You see, Jews are a sizable group with a range of physical and behavioral traits.

Where are we now with the argument? Ah, yes, playing a Jew requires that one adopt some sort of visible hint or marker of Jewish identity. But playing Bernstein isn't playing a Jew because there is no attempt to use that visible sign as a religious affiliation, just as a reference to the person. 

Except for the hypocrisy.

So here it comes -- the question of "blackface." Look, I know that there is a long history (though minstrel shows don't date back to the 13th century as far as I know. Wikipedia has the practice of wearing makeup to portray someone with darker skin as dating to the mid 15th century) and is associated with racist iconography. But so does the "Jewish nose"! Why would there be any problem with a white actor putting on blackface to portray a black character not because he is ridiculing the racial identity but because he is presenting the author's understanding of the character? Shakespeare invented the Jew Shylock, He invented the Moor Othello. Same author. Why is it OK to have a white, non-Jewish actor adopt Shakespeare's "look" of a Jew for one, but not the "look of a Moor" for another? Is either doing so in order to tap into a history of bias and racism? And, historically, both have been done, to varying levels of public censure or applause.

Everyone loves to say "but it's different." Except that once you break it down, it isn't. If an actor can assume anything external in order to be identified as a character, living or fictional, but without the intent to tie into any negative history of that practice, then it should be OK for all. And if it isn't, then it shouldn't be. Simple as that.

I'm not advocating blackface. I'm advocating consistency in applying rules and expectations and I am criticizing the case-by-case judgments that people make because they want to assuage the sensibilities of one group but not of another. If Cooper needs a nose to be convincing as Bernstein, but nothing to convince as Merrick, then there is something wrong. If Cooper can put on a nose to play Bernstein, and Richard Mulligan can stick a beard on to be Lincoln (great movie by the way) then I won't look at anyone putting on blackface and ask "where do we draw the line" -- instead I ask "why do we draw a line?" If an actor is tasked, as a professional, with the responsibility of playing a black person who actually existed, why wouldn't the application of cosmetics to darken the skin be as desirable as amore accurate, enlarged nose for a Jew from history? I have yet to find anyone who can give me an answer which accounts for actual history and which cannot be subverted by the many exceptions which are right under our...well, you know.

The Gold-Dan rule

 While I put off grading tests, I figure I will set down an idea that developed over this past Sabbath/Shavu'ot holiday. Now, in the spirit of a good play, I begin with an apology.

Sorry.

I might be completely wrong with this one -- it relies upon a particular knowledge of biblical Hebrew which I don't have, won't get and don't have. So if you want to poke holes in my thesis, feel free. I won't be any more offended than I already am.

There is, according to some (and I have done a lot of reading on this...the best I can surmise is that everyone argues with everyone else about this) a peculiar feature of biblical Hebrew. The prefix indicating a conjunction ("and") is indicated by the letter vav (or "waw" for some traditionalists). Put it in front of another word, and voila, you have "and" in front of that other word. So far, so far, or so they say.

But that vav prefix has, in certain situations, another power. According to those some, it changes the tense of the verb that follows it. So when the text reads literally "and I prayed" it means "and I will pray" (though I have heard those who say that sometimes the "and" disappears when we read the vav as changing tense.) I'm ok with this. It presents a lot of problems and questions and there is a lot of subtlety in terms of the vowels and the stresses on the words, but the bottom line is that sometimes, according to some people, some words change their tense. But that change (to my young and innocent senses) should just be a simple flip, past to future or future to past. And yet, in at least one very important situation, people assume that other stuff happens.

There is a central idea in Judaism, and in fact, it is central, in one form or another, in many religions: the "golden rule." One source for it is from the verse in Leviticus (19:18) which reads (courtesy of Sefaria)

(יח) לֹֽא־תִקֹּ֤ם וְלֹֽא־תִטֹּר֙ אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י עַמֶּ֔ךָ וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ אֲנִ֖י יקוק

Leviticus 19:18

(18) You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your fellow as yourself: I am the LORD.

The phrase that pays is וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ which is translated here as Love your fellow as yourself. There are a lot of translations out there (https://www.biblestudytools.com/leviticus/19-18-compare.html) but they all seem to do the same thing: they change the tense and also switch the form into a command. A command! The tzivui form (the imperative) makes a demand on the person. So the Hebrew word "and you loved" becomes "you SHALL love". But why? Why would the form change along with the time-tense?

I would like to suggest that it doesn't. Yes, I know that the Rambam counts this as a commandment so it should be thought of as a commandment. I can't argue with the Rambam. But still, no. The way I see it, if the Torah wants to tell us to do something, it has a perfectly good imperative form to work with (cf the commandment "Honor your father and your mother" which uses the tzivui verb in the Hebrew "Kaved"). So why here, where people love to see it as a commandment, is there no choice to use an imperative form of "love" (like aheiv or something)? I know that some commentators struggle with the idea that one can be commanded to love. Love is a feeling, a sense, and not something you can turn on or off, or which cleanly translates to discrete actions.

Maybe it is because the verb/verse is speaking of inevitability. If you follow the other rules then the natural conclusion will be a purer understanding and love of others. The first part of that verse is a clear commandment -- DO NOT take revenge and DO NOT hold a grudge. So what happens when we follow and obey those laws? The natural consequence of appreciating each other and loving others as we love ourselves. A new reality of seeing ourselves in others and others in us. But we don't need to be commanded to do this because it is the most logical conclusion which will inevitably come to pass if we follow those things which we are, explicitly, commanded about.

Maybe we shouldn't be trying to force love, but instead, try to be more conscious about the actual things that we can control and the love will happen organically afterwards.

Storytellers

Stories are lies. As Tim O'Brien wrote in The Things They Carried, true stories are lies also. And moreso.

That's because story telling is lying, even if the story is true. Ultimately, it boils down to the truth that story tellers are liars. Unpack that one.

The story teller looks you in the eyes and bares his soul. He makes you feel that he is speaking only to you, yes, YOU, and when he turns his back and walks towards someone else, you are convinced he is still thinking of you. He has you wrapped up and rapt, the balance and flow of his words moves you in a way that has you held fast.

He is at once a child -- a voice innocent, walking into the world for the first time, seeing it as you do, fresh and adventurous and fearful, and still the sage, with the wisdom of experience and the experience of wisdom, comforting you that the world goes on. He reminds you that the whole world is a story, a lie, a blanket and he suffers it and celebrates it with you.

The story teller spins a tale when there is no one there to hear it because the story must be told and the lie waits for no audience. The story teller needs to tell his story more than he needs anyone to hear it so he finds his medium wherever it lies.

More important than the look in the eye of a listener is the setting free of a story to breathe on its own. So the story teller speaks to the void because with his stories he is never alone until he is.

To know that every moment is a story for tomorrow and that each second is a first step forth, the story teller collects and arranges and breathes feelings into narrative. Where there was only life, now there is soul. 

He measures words understanding that the life of a lie hangs in the balance of each phrase. He risks losing the ears and hearts so each syllable has to be considered and each pause, an effect.

But later, when all is quiet and the story has ended, the story teller is empty. His story is no longer his and he belongs to no one. He is the lie of his story. When that story becomes the province of the world he finds a life in having given himself over and his lie, shared with all, has the chance to define a new truth for them to tell to others.

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

Inspirations

The Things They Carried

A word is dead

Constantly risking absurdity

Julius Caesar

Another random Torah Thought

 This is an extension of something I wrote almost 8 years ago here.

The shabbat morning amida begins its central section with the phrase yismach Moshe b'matnat chelko. Moses was happy with his portion. The nest phrase is "ki eved ne'eman karata lo" because (or when) you called him a loyal servant.

That seems strange to me -- the wording is flowery and its biblical reference isn't clear. But then I remembered what Ben Zoma is quoted as saying in Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers 4:1 "אֵיזֶהוּ עָשִׁיר, הַשָּׂמֵחַ בְּחֶלְקוֹ" Eizeh hu ashir? Hasame'ach b'chelko. Who is rich? He who is happy with his portion.

The wording in the prayer isn't random - it is a specific call back to this definition. Moshe, who knew he would not enter the land of K'na'an, who would be buried in a secret grave, who would hand over the priesthood to his brother, be insulted by his sister and would have people challenge him at every turn still was satisfied with his role and his portion in life. He typifies this incredible wealth through happiness. Even when an entire nation challenges you, if you have faith that this is the portion you are supposed to have, you attain richness. But beyond that, Moshe didn't do one specific thing. He never asked "what's in it for me?"

The Ethics also have a statement (1:3) from Antignos from Socho (who heard it from Shimon the Righteous): "do not be like servants who serve the master in the expectation of receiving a reward, but be like servants who serve the master without the expectation of receiving a reward". What portion is the most coveted, the one that Moshe seemed to crave? To be a loyal servant (hence the "because" connecting the two phrases in prayer). And how could he be that? By not asking for personal reward as a condition, or even an expectation of his service to Hashem.

Moshe was humble but he knew a serene level of joy, a transcendent understanding of his place and the true value of service. By celebrating the sabbath not in terms of what it can give us, but in terms of how we can serve God through it, we can emulate Moshe's selflessness and maybe get a fraction of his happiness and "wealth."