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.