A hero in his day and all days

I just finished reading an article in the New Yorker (yes, the New Yorker) about Atticus Finch, TKAM, Harper Lee and the new Broadway production of it. The article summarozes the history of Atticus as hero and, more recently, as a less than heroic figure. It references legal attacks on him,

In “Atticus Finch, Esq., R.I.P.,” which appeared in the professional journal Legal Times, Freedman notes that Atticus only defends Tom Robinson because he is forced to do so by the court, that he willingly participates in the segregation of his society, and that he insists on the human decency of even overt bigots. The case against Finch was taken up by another legal scholar, Steven Lubet, in the Michigan Law Review, seven years later, and began to spread to wider audiences.

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First off, I'm ignoring the entirety of Go Set a Watchman as non-canonical. The Atticus that people admire should be viewed from within the confines of the seminal text, not an earlier draft which is effectively about a different character. Next, I want to argue that the criticisms of Atticus are downright foolish. You might ask why and my answer is that we do not improve ourselves by tearing down others and the reasons for the current criticisms are reflective of serious misunderstandings about how we should view history and its personages. Attacks like this speak more about us and how contemporary voices are uninformed than they do about the objects of their attacks. The whole the book TKAM is the Mockingbird. It should be above these attacks, unable to defend itself and serving only a positive purpose. So let me explain my position.

What (every English teacher, ever, has asked) is a "hero"?

The concept of hero has shifted and still defies a singular, fully explicative and predictive definition. A Shakespearean hero might fulfill one function which a 9/11 first responder doesn't, and vice versa. I would suggest that even a more refined construct, such as a literary hero also has shades of meaning. A hero OFTEN must struggle with societal norms and expectations that he sees as being in conflict with a more universal "good" or truth. He must rise above limitations and serve a larger force. But there must be 2 provisos attached:

1. The hero can only move a step or two beyond the social mores, legal tangles or other local expectations of his time so that his act can be seen as influential, reasonable and in-line with the rules of the universe in which he is written. If Atticus had suddenly developed super powers and used them, or if he got up and made an impassioned speech invoking the (not yet existent) Civil Rights movement, his heroism would make no sense. He worked to push society ahead step by step. So criticizing him because he was still a vestige of his time, and he did not rise to a level of twenty-first century consciousness is illogical. We can admire an 18th century Tory for embracing the freedom that will become the United States and not denigrate him as less than heroic because he does not embrace full equality for minorities, a 20th century ideal. A man must move forward, against a tide that would keep him in one place. This does not mean that he must reach the end, for, in truth, we never reach the end.

2. The hero can only be written based on the potential that the author envisions and is limited in his heroism by the understanding of the author. An author creates a world based on his or her experiences and expectations. Harper Lee saw a potential for a better world. Could she have foreseen the world of 2018? Should she then have created a character who satisfies what we, in 2018 look for in our heroes? Of course not. She writes someone who is consistent with the time period of the text (the 1920's) and with her own vision of a better society in 1960. To criticize her hero because she could not anticipate (in any realistic sense, a necessary component to a work of realistic fiction) the ebbs and flows of law and culture 60 years later is, as stated, foolishness.

So Atticus Finch is a hero because he works to advance understanding in his own time and because he becomes an archetype for a hero in any generation, and he does not lose one iota of that heroism because he is bound by the logic and laws of his actual placement, nor because he espouses ideas not currently in vogue.

So there. Mr. Finch, if you would please return to your position on that pedestal, I'll be much happier. Thank you, sir. And thank YOU Harper Lee.

A Blessing on your head

This afternoon, I spent some time at my big brother's house. It was a celebration. Beer was poured, pie was served and there was salmon. All the food groups were present. But the occasion for the occasion wasn't simply a Channukah get together -- it was the engagement party for one of his daughters. And some guy. Whatever. Anyhoo, it got me to thinking (danger, danger...yeah yeah).

While there, I watched my brother light the candles and usher in the 8th day of Channukah. Channukah is a celebration of the miracle of survival. The dedication and re-dedication of us as a Jewish people to a life imbued with the light of Torah and the vision to see miracles all around us. This eighth day, though, has an even deeper identity. This last day is called "Zos Channukah".

As I sat in the house, watching people eat latkes, tiramisu and sesame noodles, basking in the glow of candles, lights and each other, as I saw two young people who love and respect each other and who are preparing to dedicate their own house among the Jewish people, as I witnessed a testament to the survival of a people and its beliefs and practices, I understood this eighth day.

All of this, all this love, and light, all this starting new and continuing tradition, all the remembering those we have lost while re-dedicating ourselves to building a solid future, Zos Channukah - this is what Channukah is all about.

So to the future chatan and kallah, to their families and to the entire of klal Yisrael, I wish a mazal tov. May we all share in the miracle that allows the light which was supposed to last only 8 days to continue unceasingly into the future so that everyday can be Zos Channukah.

A Study in Science

I haven't seen my dog in a few days. Truth. While the missus (h/t to everyone's favorite, lovable abusive lush, Andy Capp) is away, I have dropped the dog at a friend's house so he can have someone pay any attention to him. I mean, I like him, but I go to work and he sits around all day plotting my demise. It is best to keep him busy with playdates.

I visited him yesterday -- it was a cold morning so I, as is my wont, wrapped my head in a scarf. He saw me and growled. "He doesn't recognize you" my friend commented. I removed the scarf and he stopped growling. So I thought, "I wonder how a dog recognizes a person -- whether covering one particular feature or another confuses a dog."

I decided to experiment so I moved the scarf to a different location, covering my mouth. He growled until I removed it. Over my eyes? He growled. In fact, it seemed that if I used the scarf to obscure any single defining feature, that was enough to make the dog unable to recognize me. Unwilling to give up on my theory that recognition is bound in the discernment of specific features, I have altered my original hypothesis and hope, some day, to publish the definitive study on why dogs hate scarves.

Second verse. Different attitude.

I don't like to repeat myself. I like to say new and different things and not repeat myself. Alas, sometimes repetition is, I repeat, necessary. In this current situation, I will be repeating and yet not - I will take a new tack as I explore a change of life which I have already addressed.

You might remember the traumatic moment that was my being labeled a senior citizen at Dunkin Donuts. It was so emotionally wrenching that, while I haven't stopped going to Dunkin (now, sans Donuts) but I have refused to look at the receipts. Today, i broke that streak and looked at the charges. I saw IT again (the senior citizen line item) but I didn't let that cow me. I am a strong, independent, woman (sans woman) and can deal with a bakery franchise deeming me over some metaphorical hill. Truth is, I'm a 49 (or so...math and I do not occupy the same space at the same time) year old, bald-esque, over, wait, not horribly fat Teaneck Jew-boy and no matter whether or not I feel old, I have learned to just go with the flow. But that's not the attitude adjustment I came here today to speak of.

So let use review the salient portion of my receipt. I bought a large decaf. Black, no sugar. All bitter and angry. A good cup of coffee should punch you in the nose on the way down. My receipt, listed as "Eat In Order: 216" in case your are keeping score at home, reads

1 Ht Cof LG Decaf 2.59
Black
1 Senior 5% (0.13)

To quote the bard, "that would be scanned."

Let's just say, for a moment, that I'm old. You needn't say it out loud, but grant me my senescence for a moment. If I have reached that lofty and exalted status of senior citizen, then I have proven my worth to society over a sufficient number of years and need to be recognized and rewarded for not currently being dead. And you know what? Five percent isn't going to cut it. Thirteen measly cents off after all my years of hard work aging? If you want the position of authority to call me a senior citizen then you are going to have to pay handsomely (so smile). Giving me 13 cents does not properly provide recompense for all the years I have had to endure. I now reserve the right to be a curmudgeon, a complaining codger! So give me my coffee and chop at least 25% off that bad boy's bill. Make me feel loved, or at least properly pitied. So, yeah, I'm old(ish) and want whatever goodies are coming to me before I get to the point when I can't complain publicly and loudly about it.

Fiver percent isn't even worth putting on the receipt. I am a senior. I want my senior swag.

My Green Shirt

I woke up this morning and got myself dressed. I'm sort of proud about that though I don't know why. I put the ensemble together myself, sans garanimals, put my pants on one leg at a time, remembered to put my underwear on first, and didn't wear my undershirt backwards. All in all, a win.

I put on my green, button down shirt. Neck size 16.5, sleeves, 34-35. I noticed the tag -- "Made in Indonesia."

I have never been to Indonesia but it struck me that somewhere in Indonesia, maybe in Indonesia City or something, there is a big building, and every day, some guy woke up in his bed in some suburb (the city of Indonesiaville?) and his day plan was something like this:

8AM -- go to work in big building
8:10 -- start making green, button down shirts.
5 PM -- go home.
Tomorrow -- repeat

That's it. He makes shirts. I don't know how but that's his life. Sometimes maybe the neck is 17 or 17.5 or the sleeves are 35. Maybe he specializes in green shirts, or maybe he can wake up on Tuesday and think "today, I'll make blue shirts" but once he is done with one shirt, he just starts on another. Shirts. He doesn't make culottes, or hats unless he has a second job (though I would guess that moonlighting as a haberdasher is rare in Indonesia).

I wake up in the morning with the prospect of engaging in meaningful conversations about intellectually stimulating topics. I will explore my spirituality, learn and change. I will go to bed a different person because I have challenged and been challenged. On some days, I will wake up with a completely different plan in mind. Maybe I'll go to the park, or watch a game. I could take a trip, or sleep late. I have places to eat and options galore. Tomorrow, I can make a completely different choice. And that guy is still waking up to make a green shirt.

But without that shirt, I have no shirt! My life of relative ease and freedom is contingent on the hard and consistent work or some guy in Indonesia. To a similar degree, pants! What the hey?

I need to take stock. I'm used to counting my blessings each day and appreciating what I have, but I also need to consider how I got what I have and on whose back I am standing when I reach for my shoes, my dishes, that pen, that orange juice. I enjoy my life because of the sacrifices they make to ensure their own. I am being blessed by the hard work of thousands and millions of nameless, faceless people in countries I will never visit, and what am I putting back into society that makes someone else's day, week or life more reasonable (and without any formal thanks)?

These should be humbling thoughts -- appreciate each and every thing you see and have access to. Take nothing for granted. It is too easy to forget that we only exist by the good graces of so many other people on this planet.

Not so late night thoughts

I tell my students that poetry can be defined as the overflowing of emotions on to paper and that the only thing that matters is the intent of the author.

I don't intend for this to be poetry. This is just a moment of me, alone, sitting and thinking about my year, my life and my everything. Feeling inspired, feeling empty, feeling sad and overjoyed. Living and dying through others and needing to spill it all out somewhere, just so that I can say, "it's out." Read if you want. I don't write for you. I write for me.

Sometimes I just take stock. Evenings when the wife is out working hard and Sparky the Dog is on a date, and there isn't anything in particular that captures my attention, my mind wanders and I think about, well, everything. I think about my luck -- a family, a home, a community, and my sadness -- what I have lost, what we have lost over the last year. What and who I miss right now. Where my ache is and how, despite all the blessings that are too numerous to count, I can still feel pain, and how that pain is often inextricably linked to the pride and love that I have inside me.

I'm thankful that there is kindness in the world, care and tolerance and that I can sit here in the relative comfort of my dining room, feeling tears when I have no reason to be sad, unsure whether I cry from joy or desperation, knowing that both are two sides of the same coin. I remember my dad, his smile and his sage advice. I worry about my mom, with her stubborn resilience covering an inside I cannot even fathom who must feel pains many years more acutely than I. I think about my kids, two strong women, finding their paths, both in Israel, with futures in which anything is possible and nothing is certain. I get a strange mix of fear and comfort knowing that they do and don't need me. My wife and I have succeeded despite our best efforts and now the payoff is a daily feeling of dread and emptiness.

I think about my faith and my beliefs, illogical and irrational as they are. How they hold me up and anchor me at the same time. How they make no sense and give me the joy of being frustrated by them at every turn. I feed off of questions and expect others to rejoice at the gift of the unknowable. How I am part of a chain and I bear an awesome responsibility in the face of a world which, at best, doesn't care, and how I have to be a light and carry a weight, how I have to yell to make sure others hear a thin, small voice. More confusion mixed with a fixed focus keeping me rushing headlong into the past.

I listen to a song, searching online for the one version that will touch me and drive me to understand something deeper. If you haven't heard it, the song is called Al Kol Eleh, For All This. Then I find a video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxzR9Z-kG6Q , which has strangers singing the song that unites, even as it celebrates that unique combination of mirth and sadness and what could drive us apart -- kindness in a world tempted by anger and division. Seeing people from all walks of life, all ages, and strata singing about the sweet and the bitter and recognizing that it all is what life is about gets to me. I'm a mess. I don't know what I want. I want to feel and not, to share and to withdraw.

For the loss we as a people
for the pain of just one man
for the child who learns to love
though no one says he can

for what's missed and what is broken
for the gifts we never see
for the mornings and the evenings
and what is yet to be

For all this, for all this
Please forgive this broken soul
Find my center, spread me outward
Let us learn to be a whole

For all this, for all this
Show my place among the stars
Or the sand, among the people
Let me cherish all the scars.

Be True

T-R

Sometimes I don’t know what to say to you and I’ll be honest – it is because you are smarter than I am and more complex in your thinking and I’m simply outclassed. It seems easiest then, instead of trying to write something of single substance, simply to list off some truths and wisdom which I have accumulated by watching my world over the last many, many years. Some is geared to you specifically, some to all people. I hope you can take from it only the best of intentions and even some moderate success. You are beautiful inside and out, your smart, passionate, strong and a true individual. I am proud to know you.

Don’t impute motives or tell others what they are thinking.

If you say “what I’m hearing is” or “it sounds like” realize that odds are, what you hear isn’t what the other person is saying – your hearing filters are as selective and subjective as you think the other’s speaking filters are, and you are probably more aware of a particular tone/intent because that’s what you are sensitive to.

You are in a different country. Carry an actual notebook with you. Before you need to buy anything, go shopping with no money on hand. Write down the prices of basic goods and what you expect to be frequent purchases from 2 or 3 different stores/vendors. How can you know if you are getting a good deal when you DO go shopping for real, if you don’t establish baseline prices?

Also, write down Hebrew words you learn. If nothing else, you can put together a list of “words you need to know” for others, the year after.

Your job is to get good at a whole many things, and as for the things you are already good at, get better. Different experiences and challenges make you a stronger person with great stories to tell. Great story tellers rule the world.

Very few things are the superlative – avoid excessive exaggeration in responses as it waters down sincere expressions.

Some of the classics still apply – say less and do more.

Get a good night’s sleep. Yes, in the short run this might eat into your social life, but less than a solid 8 hours makes you more susceptible to sickness, crabby moods, headaches and poor decision making.

Plan your naps wisely.

Speak slowly and carefully. The world exists by the virtue of each word.

Learn to make, eat and enjoy pasta. It is cheap, easy and fast.

Plan your laundry day – if you wait until you are on your last pair of whatever, and something comes up, you end up wearing dirty clothes.

Football is a real sport. Kadur regel (soccer) is a pale imitation.

Don’t rely on your phone for anything. Use it as a tool, not as a crutch. If you know and are comfortable with all the alternatives, then when the phone is unavailable you become the expert.

Do the walk to your classrooms and various other places BEFORE you have to. Know how long it should take to get there before you are late on the first day because you didn’t realize that there was a detour that wasn’t on the printed map.

Just because you are our second child, just because we treat you differently does not mean anything other than that you are your own person and need your own set of rules. You are Talia Ruby (TM?) and are a dang fine Talia Ruby who should be proud of herself.

You should be folding 2/3 of the Hold ‘em hands you are dealt and while there is glory in going pig, if you have the perfect low, take it.

If you hold yourself to high standards, that’s great. If you expect the same high standards from others, most will fall short, no matter how hard they try. Acknowledge that people try and make an effort. Don’t decide that if they are ham fisted or fall short, they shouldn’t be congratulated and appreciated.

Resentment lasts longer than appreciation.

Do one thing that isn’t “your job” every day.

Remember that family of all sorts matters. You don't have to like family but you need to appreciate family.

Look for reasons to say “yes” where saying “no” is easy, and look for reasons to say “no” when “yes” seems easy.

Politeness, respect and self-control are most admirable where they are least called for.

Get a good education. That includes watching the sunset in total silence.

Strategy – Problem: You ask someone else to do something and get mad that either

1. That person didn’t do it the way you wanted or

2. Why do you have to keep asking that person to do it,

Solution -- either sit with the other person/people when that thing doesn’t have to be done and discuss expectations and responsibilities, or just do it yourself without complaining. There is no doubt that other people are doing things instead of asking you. You just don’t see it.

Clean as you go. Trust me on this. And leave the kitchen cleaner than when you started.

Unscented soap confuses people.

Don’t be a bull in a china shop. Grace, care and subtlety are incredibly important in all situations, even when you are alone.

A car is a killing machine. A knife is deadly. Heck, an ice cube can be dangerous if you aren’t careful. Life requires attention to detail all the time. Take everything seriously, even your fun. Bad decisions last forever.

Focus. Multi-screens simultaneously is a bad idea and you need to disengage from screens and engage with life.

Situational awareness.

Baking requires precision.

Know your audience.

Do things without fanfare and not for the attention or the praise. If you make a difference behind the scenes you still have made a difference and haven’t forgotten that the difference is what matters, not the maker of that difference.

Choose battles very wisely and sparingly. Often, we respond to absolute rules with an absolute and opposite response. The long term consequences are rarely, if ever, a positive thing. Don’t let your reaction be driven by the tone or approach of another person’s action.

Stop saying like. Pick a random conversation and don’t say it. Make sure you still are in control.

Sometimes people give advice in the form of rules. This might be irritating but it doesn’t mean that the advice is wrong. We old folk have a slightly more expansive view and a nuanced appreciation of the big picture. We also tend to be insensitive louts. Don’t ignore our message because our delivery is off.

Express appreciation. Don’t assume people know you appreciate them and don’t take anyone or anything for granted. Even if you don’t feel it, say it because people need to hear it and the more you say it the more you will learn to feel (and recognize) it.

Fill the tank well before you are on Empty.

If you decide that it is worth your time to do, then do it well.

Learn some Torah whenever you can. There is a whole universe inside religious texts just waiting for you to jump in.

Everyone has something wrong. Some just wear it better than others.

In an argument, while passion and emotion seem to me more persuasive, they are fleeting in their victory. Logic and the intellect take longer to sink in but their effect is long-standing. Take a deep breath, rise above the hurt, sadness or other emotion, take a dispassionate look and piece together a rational response, accepting that people are not all alike but anticipating counter arguments. Allow others to lash out if they can’t control themselves.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, on the whole, Billy Joel is quite a lyricist.

You can be anything you are driven to be, but just make sure you are the best there is, and the only T-Ruby!

And more post ne'ilah thoughts

This is becoming a habit and I'll tell you why -- each year during Mincha, I imagine what I would say were I tasked with providing the inspiration pre-ne'ilah speech in synagogue so I force myself to come up with something and then I realize that no one spoke and I'm way behind...

Anyway, this year's "speech"

Ne'ilah is the scariest prayer.

I'll explain. The gates are closing and all that and the conventional wisdom is that these are gates of prayer and our prayers can't get through because, you know, gates. Meh.

I think of it differently. The holiday of Yom Kippur is an oasis in time, It is a refuge. It is a protected moment when we can explore spirit and commandment, take time to look inward and really focus on our prayers. In the prayers, we often read that Hashem gave the day to us. The Hebrew rod for "give" is the same root as the word for "present." No, not "stress on the second syllable 'to deliver' meaning" but the stress on the first syllable meaning a gift. The holiday is a gift because it allows us to step outside of the everyday and use our energy for something really special. The gates are closing and the holiday will end. And we are on the outside of the gates, left to our own devices, having to carry the mantle of spirituality into a world when it isn't Yom Kippur.

Man, that's scary.

God knows we need help. He gives us 3 prayer services a day during which we can carve some time and repent, ask, understand and praise. But that's not enough so on the sabbath and holidays, he gives us a fourth prayer (and these are the days on which we use that word "natan" -- gave, or some version of it to thank God for this bit of help, an opportunity to push off the world and reconnect with the divine.

But 4 isn't enough. We need more.

So once a year, God says, "OK kiddo, you tried to make due with 3 and struggled; you had some 4 but that isn't enough for you to rise the way I know you can so here's a softball -- one day a year, I give you 5, count 'em, FIVE prayers so you can really realize your spiritual potential." It's like he said "I'll give your training wheels training wheels and your crutches, crutches." The day is so joyous because with five prayers I can really make progress. Less time in between means less time for me to backslide. I feel an ecstasy at the close of day because I truly got INTO the experience. It was pervasive.

But the gates are closing. Welcome back to the world of 3 prayers a day. Try to keep this going with only 3 chances per day! Can I do it? I honestly don't know. I'm scared. I want more Yom Kippur (though, after a quick bite to eat, please). I want all impediments taken away FOR me -- I'm afraid I can't do it on my own.

But the gates are closing. I am being pushed out of the nest and told to fly on my own. And I'm scared. So I want to pour everything I have into that last prayer service, reach as high as I can, and as deep into myself as I can, so I can face tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow (sorry Bill) and stay on this level for as long as I can.

Please, God, let me stay inside the gates. Let me learn to carve that moment in time, that refuge of peace of spirituality everyday in my 3 opportunities and not lose myself in the spaces in between. I ask forgiveness for the times when I wandered away from path once the gates were closed, and I'll try to stay at the edge of that sacred space, basking even in the referred glow, so that when next Yom Kippur arrives, I will already be there, ready to jump in and reach even higher.

Some loose thoughts about this time of year

When Yom Kippur is just beginning, we will all say the Kol Nidrei prayer. This prayer is designed to absolve us from the consequences of unfulfilled oaths. I'm not going to get into the question of whether the prayer is on past vows, or on future vows, but on another point -- it doesn't absolve all vows. So, yeah, we chant it 3 times. It seems to be a really spiritual and affective moment. But it is incomplete. Then we have Yom Kippur. Full of awe and prayer and demanding of us that we deny ourselves food and other pleasures, we like to think that we emerge forgiven but in truth, it just isn't so! While we might be gain forgiveness for certain sins, there are others that are not covered by the prayers of Yom Kippur! (both these points are mentioned here and I'm sure you can find all sorts of other web pages which mention them including this one)

In temple times, we had sacrifices -- in fact, we had ones designed to bring about forgiveness. But the truth is, these sacrifices only dealt with a specific slice of sins and certainly not intentionally committed ones. What we have are a whole lot of incomplete systems. I'm going to couple this with another strange thing I noticed recently about Jewish ritual. These ideas might not really go together but to me they complement each other nicely.

There seems to be a fascination in Judaism with guests. Not only is there a biblical commandment to welcome guests, and not only do certain holidays include the giving of things to others and sharing meals, but there are a number of instances in which we actually invite conceptual/spiritual guests in to our practices as part of our obligation.

Every week, we say a prayer welcoming the Sabbath Queen -- the Sabbath, itself, is likened to a Queen or a Bride and we usher her in and we long for her to stay. Eventually, we escort her out. Elijah has a cup of wine set for him at the Passover seder as we invite him to visit. On Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles, we invite a series of guests, one each night, to join us in the Sukkah. Elijah gets another nod at each brit milah/circumcision. So we are constantly bringing in others -- human and supernatural alike, to share in what we are and what we have. It seems that, like our other atonement rituals, what we have on our own is incomplete.

The holidays are not about completing a ritual and moving on. We cannot be complete unless we complement our thoughts with actions. Our atonement must reflect a change, not a prayer, a repentance, not an ritual. Our celebrations have to acknowledge that we are part of a community which transcends time and space. If we want to have a complete result, we have to move beyond simply doing the letter of the law and expecting it to do the job.

Abraham didn't Screen his calls

On the second day of Rosh Hashana we read the Torah reading that mentions the binding of Isaac. It begins with a very strange statement (Gen 22:1) – And if happened after these things that God tested Avraham and said to him, “Avraham” and he replied, “Here I am.”

Then God goes ahead and tells Abe to drag the boy up the hill, tie him down and just go to town. In most counts, this command is the tenth of a series of tests – check out the lists in the ArtScroll Chumash (pages 100 and 101) if you want to check. But I disagree. I’m not saying that it wasn’t a test to be told to kill your boy, but I think the essence of the test is in the first verse.

God has spoken to Avraham before. He appeared in a vision, he visited after the circumcision, and he just shows up and gives commands or reassurances. One moment God isn’t there and then God is. Abe sits around and then, poof, God tells him the whatfor. But not here. Remember, Avraham has fought kings, moved his entire family, had his wife kidnapped, had to bargain for people and then save Lot, deal with famine and trust that he wouldn’t die childless. He was old. He was tired, and no doubt, he was still smarting from having to cut off his own foreskin.

Then the phone rang.

God didn’t just appear and give an order. God didn’t materialize in a vision or a dream, or even poof, show up as a disembodied voice and tell Avraham what to do. He called ahead. What was the test? At this point, Abraham figured that he was done and he just wanted maybe a nice nap. But he knows that if he picks up that phone, if he acknowledges that God is calling him, there is going to be a demand. He finally has a son and he wants some rest. The easy thing to do would be the ignore the phone, try to avoid any more conflict. This is the test. When you have a chance to think before you engage, do you still engage? Is it ever “enough”? God wants to see if Avraham has drawn a line and just wants to be left alone. But Abe steps up and picks up the phone on the first ring. He says “I am here – whatever you want” even when he knows that something difficult will no doubt be demanded. The superhero doesn’t get a day off. Being asked to sacrifice his son is almost anti-climactic after that. Of course he will comply! He picked up the phone knowing that God will want the impossible. By the time he says “here I am” he is already passing the test.

Compare this to a little bit ahead, in verse 7. Avraham is trekking with the boy, alone. There is an uneasy silence and then Isaac decides to ask the obvious question. He works up the courage “Then Isaac spoke to Abraham his father and said, ‘father’ –”

That’s all he says initially. “Father.” And Abraham, knowing what is coming, knowing the uncomfortable conversation about to happen chooses not to ignore his son. He doesn’t hum louder or pretend to be busy with something else. He picks up quickly and, again says “here I am.” Another test. Can he face his son when it all gets really real? Yes. The superhero mans up and engages. He doesn’t hide.

During this season, and in our lives, can we have the strength of Abraham and answer that phone on the first ring even though we know we will be asked something difficult? Can we answer the voices around us with equanimity and grace even when we know that conversation will be a tough one?

May we all find the strength to accept the charges.

Another Opening Another Show

A whole bunch of years ago, a wise man and I were discussing work. He was leaving his job, as was I (well, I was leaving mine, not his) and I explained that I had worked very hard at doing so much as to be irreplaceable. He said,

"The graveyard is full of irreplaceable people."

That stuck with me. We think of ourselves as performing a necessary function. Of being such an integral cog in a lurching machine that without us, nothing would move forward. But it would. Maybe with some initial fits and starts but life would go on. I am about to begin a new school year. For a teacher, that's a significant thing. If I were a lawyer or art gallery owner, the new school year would be somewhat less important. But I'm a teacher, so, yeah. That. This is going to be something in the range of my 25th year (I'm not good with numbers and it is tough to know what to count -- student teaching? The year I was only an administrator and had no classes of my own?) Regardless, it will be a major milestone, another new beginning - a chance to reinvent myself, rediscover what it is I do, and treat a new batch of students as if they are my first charges. I can't be the jaded pro who knows it all and just wants to slog through the year. The students have to get the impression that this is not my 25th year, but the 25th first year of my teaching.

I still get nervous. I still have trouble sleeping. I'm still scared of messing up, of being called out as not knowing things. I still wonder what it is exactly that I do. I'll still go in to that classroom and be that everything-guy, that actor, that mentor, that parent, that friend, that taskmaster, that resource, that jerk, that ear and whatever else any student needs me to be at any moment, whether s/he knows it or not. This is my task -- no matter how I feel, or whatever is going on in my life, I have to be there for the class. They deserve no less. Sure, there is new technology, but this dinosaur still has to drive the car and mix the metaphor for this nonsense to all make sense.

Over the last twelvemonth, since my last Opening Day, a lot has changed. I'm not the same person and in some ways, I'm sad about that. I suffered a loss and I have done so much that I want to share with my dad. But I have also learned incredible things that I can still share with my students, my family and friends. I have worked on independent projects, I have heard new songs. I have crafted new ideas and worded them in ways which capture more than I thought I could express. I have not gone gentle: I'm a teacher and I'm not allowed to.

So I'm off (way off) to work, to school, to have some fun and maybe, just maybe, motivate others so be better than they are right now. Ask me in June how it worked out.

See you on the other side.

"Rise" and shine

Later this week, one of my kids will be moving to Israel. I know, I know, she has been there for a while now, going to seminary, serving in the army, living in an apartment and (judging by the credit card statements) taking taxis every time she needs to go to the bathroom. But this week she makes it official and is making "aliyah" -- becoming a citizen of Israel. She will be going to college there and making her life there. I'm not as sad as you might think for a few reasons:

1. With technology, I can speak to and see her for free as often as time zones and her social schedule allow, much the same as it would be were she to be attending a college here in the states.

2. I have gotten used to the idea over the last 3 years as she has been there and carried a grenade launcher.

3. My credit card is solid enough that I can go visit or I can pay for her to come here whenever the mood strikes as long as the mood limits itself to once or twice a year.

4. She has a lot of family there now and knows how to get around so I am not as worried about her being "alone" the same way I was years ago. Sure, I'm sad because I can't simply swoop in and save her, but she's (effectively) an adult who can take care of herself. And knows how to use a big gun.

But this is a perfect situation for me to write another list of dad-based advice, some of which I might have posted before, but I don't read what I post, so I'm not sure. Apologies if some of this is a repeat but, hey, odds are, you aren't the intended audience. There are over 7 billion people in the world and only one is my elder daughter so for almost all of you, this isn't even written for your eyes, so take a step back and chill. Maybe even don't read any more; I already have record of your visit so my ego has been massaged.

Kid --

First, and I'll say this right off, we are so very proud of you. We are proud of the step you are taking and the way you are taking it. Sure, we're scared, sad and often hungry, but these days, whop isn't? So go, take wing and soar. But don't think that you can escape the fatherly truisms.

You are there to excel, not coast. Establish priorities and do excellent work.

Get ahead in your reading, and take notes while you read.

Get the paperwork done as soon as you can -- don't wait for a deadline to arrive.

Ask questions, take notes and write down who told you what.

Focus. Don't try to multi-task. Manage your time so you can take care of things on a long term, thought out schedule.

Anticipate what others will think, want, need or do and be a step ahead.

Don't wait for anyone to ask you to do a kindness. Do it before anyone knows it needs to be done.

When asked, do more.

When doing anything, do it better than anyone else, even if it isn't necessary. Excellence must become second nature.

Not every situation requires blame. Not every situation demands anger.

Make your first reaction a deep breath and a pause to consider.

Make your first thought one of compromise.

Make your first statement based in understanding, context and a wish to make things better for others.

Sometimes the only resolution requires giving in. Do it graciously and without reminding anyone that that's what you are doing.

Don't keep score. Be in the moment.

Folders, folders, folders.

Remember your family -- you will always have us in your corner, at least metaphorically, because sometimes, you will be outside and outside doesn't have literal corners.

A dad always wants to help but sometimes has to let you work things out. And sometimes has to tell you you are wrong.

A sister is the best friend you will ever hate. And verse visa.

A mom is sometimes like a sister and a sister is sometimes like a mom. But not always. And often not.

By the way, your sister will be visiting you occasionally [I have to start writing her sappy post...awesome!]. She needs you to be a sister while she is there. That should now be sufficiently confusing.

For every time you miss the dog, just realize that he wants to eat your face.

The world is a tough place full of mean people who are horrible. It already has enough jerks -- it doesn't need you to be another one.

Like finds like. Find and like people who are kind.

Save money. Seriously -- you have become really adept at scrimping and saving. Keep it up. If you just use it when you have it, then you won't have it when you really need it. Walks are free.

Give people another chance without telling them that that's what you are doing.

Most people in the world don't have it as good as you do. That may seem untrue, but it is. You have funds, a roof and a support network. Share with the world; more people need it than don't.

You come from really great stock. Make sure you know who you are and why that matters.

You are part of a fabulous country and a special religion. Cherish them both, celebrate them both, and be proud of both. Do not compromise who you are.

Text me before you video chat me because sometimes I'm trying to sleep or work. Not often, but it could happen.

-----------

I'm sure that over the upcoming days, weeks, months and years, I'll think of more cliches to throw your way, but remember (and this comes from an English teacher) they are cliches because they are true.

The Rise of the Web based Auto Didact

There are 2 kinds of experts: the first is someone who conducts primary research and investigation or has specific experience in a particular area and the second is someone who has read and reviewed the primary materials and can claim expertise (by proxy) in that same area, or on a larger area based on the ability to synthesize expertise by ingesting the material from a selection of areas. Someone, for example, who reads and speaks a language is the first kind. Someone who studies the language from the outside is closer to the second kind – sort of an intellectual version of that first, and someone who learns about the language and its history, structure and relationship to others is definitely the second type.

In years past, experts of any stripe were few and far between. They earned interesting degrees after writing dense dissertations with complex thought in them. The rarified realm of academia was rich with those who knew stuff that no one could ever know without their say-so. Who, other than a native speaker could become expert in Swahili? Someone with the means to travel to where ever they speak Swahili or the time and resources to study the language. Experts need access to stuff the rest of us can’t get so that they can transmit their findings to the rest of us so we can rely on their expertise.

But times have changed. Those experts (types 1a and 2, I guess you could say) are no longer limited to the holders of advanced degrees or dabblers in the higher levels of studies. The internet has democratized expertise by making the heretofore esoterica which informs the intellectual available to the everyman. Now, the trends and connections which could only have been spotted by ivory tower denizens who can read the studies or access the stacks of data can be viewed and judged by anyone. Buzzfeed can show us about the racism in movies from the 70’s. The evolution of languages in the middle ages can be charted using webpages, and pdf’s of documents, primary and otherwise. I no longer have to wait for a specialist to sift through documents in the Vatican, or the results of medical testing in order to drawn and present conclusions.

If someone mentions something online with which I am unfamiliar I can look it up. In the olden days this meant looking it up in a dictionary or encyclopedia in the house. If you had the time and transportation, you could go to a library. If you were wealthy or well educated, you could have your own library. So only an elite class could become familiar with material outside of a relatively small niche. But now that I can get most everything on my phone while I stand in line at the bank, I can read not just the summary and notes version of a text, but the critical discussion. I can read the source material even though I haven’t invested in a compendium of documents or don’t have membership to an exclusive viewing library. The internet is the great intellectual equalizer. It isn’t that our experts are less intelligent, but that the public is more well informed. Sure, there will be a gap between what is available online and off, but that gap is shrinking constantly. Surely there will always be a space between the intellectual 1 percent who are gifted with brains to beat the band and who can make sense of what is out there, and the rest of the world, but that one percent gets bigger as people who otherwise might not have the opportunity to expose themselves to the material are suddenly allowed access to the same resources.

This is fantastic and dangerous. The Wikipedia syndrome which allows us all to pontificate and fabricate does create dangerous situations where our supposed expertise is based on unvetted material. But the plethora of primary (and verifiable) sources online through the digitalization of arcane texts and images, plus the access we have to people from around the world, all coupled with the ability to construct assessments, surveys and ascertainments by which we can construct new collections of fact make most anyone able to raise him or herself to the level of expert. I no longer have to rely on the set of scholars who have seen the Dead Sea Scrolls. I can see them without leaving my house. I can read the papers they have read. I can learn the languages they have studied. And while there is some groundwork that an established expert might have that I lack, I can cite all the same resources and can present my own opinions and findings as substantiated by a similar population of bibliographia.

In fact, whereas it used to be denigrating to call someone an “internet expert” as it indicated that the person was taking predigested summaries and glosses for true fact and presenting the self as an expert, as more and more becomes available to the “internetional” community, an internet expert has much the same authority and power as any other. In the same way that online learning and degrees have moved towards the level of respectability of the traditional model, internet expertise is fast approaching the acceptability of any other mode of authority.

The fact is, I enjoy engaging in on-line argument but not because anonymous pontificating is somehow a reflection of any true power – it is because the test of finding and assimilating relevant and on-point evidence is energizing. I can speak with clarity and authority on subjects about which I was not formally trained and, because my arguments are buttressed by the evidence from the “classical” experts, my statements have force. I am not asserting empty claims, or even saying things that “I heard once, somewhere.” I am giving my reasons and my evidence and my statement has to be taken as seriously as the claims made by traditional experts in their hundred-year-old books. It is simply the case that I have access to the same breadth of knowledge that they did and unless someone can show an error in my thinking, simply stating that someone else is an accepted expert is not persuasive. Do I run the error of hubris in my interpretation? No less than anyone else, from any time. Theses and dissertations are, no doubt rife with misdrawn conclusions or tailored statistics to support whatever finding the author needed to reach. This is not to say that there is some post-modern de-emphasis on an underlying truth, but that there is the same opportunity for people to find (or obfuscate) the truth as there was. Now I don’t need to be physically tied to a university library to do it when I can get all the same materials without putting on my pants.

In the Jewish world this has been both a blessing and a curse. We like to think that our sages of yore were writing more than just logical treatises on text – they were somehow inspired and reached a level of intellect which the commoner today cannot reach. But when it comes to creating new and exciting understandings of text, not ones which necessarily contradict, but innovations, we applaud that more and more people can read the texts and research the ideas. So while we can access a little knowledge and that is dangerous when we try to adjudicate comp[lex matters which require a human touch by someone specifically trained to weigh the various variables, when it comes to understanding ideas, we can certainly be more equipped than the masses of the past who could barely read, and had very little to practice with.

Technology has allowed more people to become celebrities because we can blast our image and message across significantly more channels that have substantially more reach than in years past. In the same way, we can read material from more sources and level the access playing field when it comes to studies, reports, papers, literature etc. so we can become relatively fluent in much more than we ever could. Experts are now all around us. We make ourselves into them and are no less able to hold intelligent conversations than they ever were.

The Bad LieuTennant

Why I’m angry at David Tennant

This morning while I was lying in bed not being asleep, I scrolled through the gems my friends posted on Facebook. Fact is, my friends are brilliant, if for no other reason than their decision to befriend me. Anyway, someone (maybe Facebook itself, which would be interesting and troubling) included a “news” story regarding actor David Tennant. Let’s remember, I’m sort of a fan of Mr. Tennant’s. I know very little of his work but I really enjoyed the first season of Jessica Jones and I know that he has taken his turn as Dr. Who (a position required by law of every person in the UK). So here’s what I read.

In the interview, Tennant says (as the headline takes two quotes and inverts their order), “on 'behalf of the Scottish nation': We 'f--king don't' like you.” I will excuse the profanity but not the arrogance. Celebrities have feelings. I assume. They have political tendencies and preferences when it comes to flavors of ice cream. I have even written a piece or two about celebrities so I know they exist. But a couple of reactions:

1. Being a celebrity does not make you an expert – this is the crux of what I wrote in the above linked blog post from 2013. Chomsky’s opinion on the Mideast has no relationship to his brilliant work as a linguist. I wouldn’t ask Mila Kunis whether one should feed a cold or starve it unless she has independently become a certified medical professional.

2. It is easy for a celebrity (especially one who lives outside of America) to hate an American politician. Having an opinion when you have no skin in the game is simple, and when that politician is easily hate-able, jumping onto that bandwagon seems simple. I’m not defending Trump, mind you. I don’t support a lot of what he says or does, or is. But I also do support some of it and because I live here, my opinion matters just a smidge more than Tennant’s. BTW, I often vote third party because our broken and corrupt political system won’t be fixed from within if we continue to feed the two party monopoly. So there.

3. He can’t speak for anyone but himself or a given and limited list of those who have deputized him to speak on their behalf. A representative system requires that people choose their representative. He doesn’t speak on behalf “of the Scottish nation”. Celebrities have access to a larger microphone and can throw press conferences and give interviews to exploit the media and put forward their own view. But that doesn’t make their views the ones that stand in for anyone else’s. Are you telling me, Mr. Tennant, that Scotland, all of it, held a mass referendum and ALL don’t like Donald Trump, and they assigned you the job of publicizing that?

3b. The Scottish nation, like any nation, isn’t a monolithic and united voice. Many Scottish people might surely hate the president. Some might like him. Some might have no opinion. It is arrogant for ANYONE to claim not only to represent the populace but to represent the idea that the “whole” all agree on a particular position and the position is the stated outlook and feeling of an entire nation.

So please, celebrities and Mr. Tennant, stop thinking that you can speak for anyone but yourself and stop leveraging that spotlight in order to advance your personal feelings as if they were something other than just yours.

Purple Prose

It all began when the rabbi said “I’m not exactly sure how to translate this word.” Me ears perked up, as much as ears can. He was talking about the word “segulah.” We use it all the time in a couple of ways, but it is hard to translate. Well, I thought, anything that isn’t easily translated is easily interpreted. Without a definitive answer, fanciful possibilities are back in play, and that’s where I find my home – in the realm of the maybe.

So what I am going to present is as maybe as you can possibly imagine. I’m going to tie together things that have no right to be in the same room and I’m going to pull ideas together which are totally unrelated in reality, all because I can or indeed, must, in order to scratch that brain itch which started tormenting me when the rabbi said that there was room for make believe. Well, he didn’t exactly say that, but that was my take away. Agree to disagree on this, people. Just go with it.

The word “segulah” has two major uses currently. The second (I know…just breathe) is as a superstition-marker. “Do that” we say “as a segulah for good health.” It is a sign, or symbol – an act which will help with something. If you want to read more about them, see this.

The first way the word is used is as a description of the Jewish people: we are an “am segulah” which seems to be a treasured people. So we have 2 meanings for segulah – some sort of sign or rite and the idea of being “treasure.” So I looked it up in my handy-dandy Klein’s Etymological dictionary. For the latter definition, he has “possession, property, treasure” from the Aramaic segulta (property) and the Akkadian sugullu, herd of cattle. Good old Akkadian. Though he doesn’t seem to address the former definition head on, as he has “to acquire” as a definition of the three letter root s-g-l one could guess that a “segulah” is a way by which to acquire a certain positive end result. That’s a stretch, and I choose never to stretch, but there you go.

I started thinking about that three letter root. That’s the problem…thinking. Strangely, I know the root s-g-l because I just happened to be reading a thread on reddit which asked about the shade of color represented by the Hebrew word “segol” (same root). The answer is purple, specifically violet. OK, by itself that isn’t very interesting unless you are some sort of color freak and if you are, I’ll thank you to stop reading my blog. We don’t want your kind around here. But what else is segol? I realized that there is a vowel point in Hebrew (representing the “-eh” sound) called the segol . As you can see, it is shaped as three dots with the single dot at the bottom. And (and this is where it gets neat and fanciful) there is also a cantillation mark for those who read the religious texts called “segol” which is also 3 dots but eh single dot is on top. Weird, right? Well, it seems that both signs are named via the Syriac “s’gola” meaning “a cluster of grapes.” Good old Syriac.

At this point, I just want to go back to the second definition of segulah (that I presented first) and discount it. I firmly believe, in what is left of my heart of hearts, that there was a cross over between the idea of “acquire” and an English term “sigil” which is a magic symbol representing a desired outcome. I don’t deal in magic, kids, so let’s just dump this term for good. Using segulah to refer to some magical power through an action to bring about a desired end seems like it is just a combination of “acquire” and “sign” (the Latin origin) so fooey on that.

Next thing, I started thinking about the shapes of the “grape clusters” represented in those reading marks. Two under and one over and two over and one under. I wonder what would happen if I put them one on top of the other…
......O
0...........0

O...........O
......0

Connect the dots and you get a six-pointed star. Crazy, right? No, not those dots. I had to add them in to crate the space between the 0 and O markers. Ignore them.

So one could say that the 2 segols, together, create a symbol which conventionally represents the Jewish people. Maybe one could even stretch it and say that we as the Jewish people need both the vowel points of modern Hebrew and the cantillation marks of the Torah in order to be complete in our identity. But hang on, there’s more.

Remember when I pointed out that segol refers to a color, purple (maybe via grapes, who knows?). Sure you remember. It wasn’t that long ago. Well, anyway, what is purple as a color associated with? Royalty! (just check out the Sumptuary Laws for more). So is there a way to connect the purpleness of royalty (or is it the royalty of purpleness) with all this?

Well, there’s a line in the Shir Hakavod that we sing on Shabbat in synagogue (more often called the “an’im z’mirot”). The line beginning with samekh reads “segulato tehi b’yado ateret” – your treasured nation should be in your hand like a crown. It appears that the Jewish nation is equated to a crown by which we can recognize a king. We establish God as royalty by being segulah, that is, segol, that is, purple in the same way that a purple piece of clothing under Sumptuary laws would signal that its wearer is royalty! Our everyday behavior is an extension of that kingship we confer on God during the high holiday service – our task is to make that part of our daily behavior, not just to wait until the days of awe.

So, now back to the rabbi’s quandary and my permission to pull it all together – segulah is about being a crown jewel, being a sign of royalty, mixing the different aspects of our character, ancient and modern, literal and figurative.

He is baby, hear him RAR!

Hi baby. Welcome to the outside.

I call you baby because I don’t know your name – you are still fresh and have that new baby smell, or so they tell me. You are very far away, but I saw you through the technological marvel of video-chatting. You didn’t chat much. That’s OK.

I want to tell you about a guy you will never get the chance to meet – your great grandfather. He was niftar exactly 2 months ago. I have my reasons; I was a fan of his and today, your birthday, is a day with is an ultimate testament to his memory. Your great grandafather, Richard (Yitzchak Aharon ben Eliyahu Chayim, ZT”L) was a great man for many reasons, but which one really resonates with today? Well, for that, let’s talk about today, you little prickly pear.

Today, on the calendar that should have an important place in your identity, is the 20th of Av. (It also happens to be the first of August which is important for other reasons – you can ask your mom and Spiderman about that.) The 20th of Av is listed in the Mishna in Masechet Ta’anit, 26a as one of the nine dates on which people made a contribution of wood to the temple – as sefaria.org writes, “These were private holidays specific to certain families, on which their members would volunteer a wood offering for the altar.”

זמן עצי כהנים והעם תשעה באחד בניסן בני ארח בן יהודה בעשרים בתמוז בני דוד בן יהודה בחמשה באב בני פרעוש בן יהודה בשבעה בו בני יונדב בן רכב בעשרה בו בני סנאה בן בנימן בחמשה עשר בו בני זתוא בן … בעשרים בו בני פחת מואב בן יהודה

There were nine such days and families: On the first of Nisan, the descendants of Araḥ ben Yehuda; on the twentieth of Tammuz, the descendants of David ben Yehuda; on the fifth of Av, the descendants of Parosh ben Yehuda; on the seventh of Av, the descendants of Jonadab ben Rechab; on the tenth of Av, the descendants of Sena’a ben Binyamin; on the fifteenth of Av, the descendants of Zattu ben Yehuda… On the twentieth of Av, the descendants of Paḥat Moav ben Yehuda;

This isn’t about trees. It isn’t always about trees. When you are three and they cut your hair, then it can be about trees. This is not about trees.

These nine days signify an act of selflessness – giving of what you have not because you must, but because it is what is needed. These days are about stepping up and making tzeddakah a priority. I can cut and paste better than I can write this up [ http://www.sie.org/templates/sie/article_cdo/aid/2508069/jewish/Shabbos-Parshas-Eikev-Chof-Menachem-Av-5747-1987.htm ]:
…the donation of the 20th of Av showed a greater measure of ahavas Yisrael and Jewish unity than the other days. The reason for this: The Gemara relates that after the 15th of Av, the rays of the summer sun are weaker and no new trees were felled to be used for the altar as they would not be dry enough. (Taanis 31a)


According to this, the family which donated wood on the 20th of Av had to take the wood from their existing stock of fire-wood — they gave away their own wood for they could not hew any new wood for the altar. They donated their wood so that other Jews, poor Jews, even past sinners (Heaven forefend) would be able to offer their sacrifices on the altar. Furthermore, it was done in a joyous manner, since they set the day as a holiday. How great was their ahavas Yisrael!


Clearly this wood donation also shows the importance of the mitzvah of tzedakah — since the wood is donated for anyone who cannot afford his own wood. And as this wood is given to the wood warehouse it assumes the highest state of tzedakah for the “giver knows not to whom he gives and the mendicant knows not from whom he receives.” (Rambam, Laws of Gifts to the Poor 10:8)


If you want a good sense of who your great grandfather was, read that section again (what? You can’t read yet? I’ll wait) and pay special attention to this line (and I’m changing the number in the pronouns…let’s not quibble) “[he] donated [his] wood so that other Jews, poor Jews, even past sinners (Heaven forefend) would be able to offer their sacrifices on the altar. Furthermore, it was done in a joyous manner, since [he] set the day as a holiday. How great was [his] ahavas Yisrael!” Just replace the words “wood” with “everything” and “offer their sacrifices” with “have better lives”. The rest stays the same.

A side note – 9 days. Ahavat Yisrael. Dedication to the center of religious life. When you start studying you will learn about another day which has just passed – the 9th of Av. It is the culmination of a period of mourning for a national tragedy, the loss of that same spiritual and religious center. A loss caused, in part of a sin’at yisrael, a hatred of one’s fellow man. These 9 days of donation to the mishkan, maybe, in a sense, they can help make up for the 9 days which mark our religious loss. Maybe these expressions of love and giving, culminating in the most intense expression of love can (as it were) atone for the nine days which culminate in the consequences of our inability to show love to one another. Maybe, your being insprired by and acting like your Sababa-saba can help lead all of klal Yisrael into an era of mutual respect, caring and giving!

What you have, and you have a lot, is yours because others have given to you, starting with life. Hashem, your parents, your family, your friends, your nation, all have become partners in your existence. It takes a village and we’re all overjoyed to have the chance to be that village. Today IS a holiday – a commemoration of the joy of giving to others, of the new opportunities to provide to a new link in a chain what he needs to thrive and continue being a giver, not just a taker. Today is a tribute to tzeddakah, charity. Celebrate that and celebrate the life and giving, loving spirit of Yitzchak Aharon, Z”TL, by being that person with that spirit of love and selflessness, every day and all the time.

Inka Dinka Don't

I have been thinking about tattoos recently. Not so much getting one as why not to get one. Sure, I could invoke some rabbinic understanding of the biblical text about marking skin but that relies on faith and also depends on one’s exegetical schema when confronted with vague biblical enactments. So if that’s not it, then what keeps me (or, many people) from getting a tattoo?

I think it has to do with what should be accepted as a required aspect of humanity – we grow and change. I would be so bold as to say that to get a tattoo is to proclaim that one will not change and that’s an untenable position to take. Please note – I am not talking about the unfortunate tattoos which are poorly drawn, become factually inaccurate or which are full of other errors (like mistranslations). Those point to another reason to avoid tattoos, but those are never attractive so I’m excluding those as too obvious. I’m talking about the ones that seem like a good idea at the time. Thing is, times change.

Throughout my life, I have been struck by phrases, words and ideas. I usually jot them down and put them in a box to stew. Usually things don’t stew in boxes but words do, very nicely. Sometimes I just leave them sitting out to age in the harsh light of day. Either way, I get the words or somesuch out and then allow myself to forget about them for some period of time. Then I go back and I see if what I scribbled down still appeals to me and my creative sensibilities. Sometimes, I know that something “works” rather quickly. Sometimes, the bit of brain juice has to sit around for much longer before it ripens into anything. And often, the idea gets dropped. It ceases to inspire me, amuse me or tease forth anything else. Because I change. Because what struck me as interestingly alliterative, thematically engaging or stylistically stimulating gets stale. I move on. And if it does encapsulate who I am, and I create with it, that creation, a frozen moment, gets filed away as part of a continuum of my maturation. It catalogues who I was and is a record against which I can compare myself at other times to chart the various versions of myself which I have been.

I saw a tattoo on some guy’s arm recently. It read “Born Bored.” I am sure that at one time, point or moment, that sensibility really stirred that man’s soul. I have no doubt that that phrase resonated and made that person feel whole, even if just for a minute. But what happens when he gains a few more years and a different perspective on life? What happens when that cynicism melts in the face of his first child who seems engaged and excited about everything, even from day 1? And, again, let’s forget about the physical changes which make the use of our bodies, when young and taut, as canvas, short sighted considering the inevitable sagging and stretching that years of wear and tear will provide. That screaming hot devil way up high between the shoulders at 19 will look silly on the stooped and overweight, balding accountant who just wants to do his laps at the local pool to avoid heart attack number 2 at the age of 56.

We need to change. We need to reinvent ourselves and continue to explore what makes us “us” and how that is a flowing river, never the same twice. The tattoo is a snapshot but not one that we can put away in a drawer – one that we emblazon across our foreheads and have to live with long after it has lost its power of innovation. Are some tattoos so harmless that, despite age, political feelings or other changeable aspects of self, they will never go out of style? Maybe – maybe that rose on your ankle will be as classy when you are using a walker as it was when you were 18, and maybe it will still look like a flower and not a melted Mr. Potato Head. Maybe. Or maybe you will have moved beyond being impressed by tattoos and, no matter the aesthetic of appearance, it will no longer represent who you are in relation to getting inked on the whole. I guess you can always choose the laser route and hope that after you pay the money and deal with the resultant scarring, you will have a tabula mostly erasad.

I want to go out and be excited everyday to discover who I have become. I want to note the small changes. Yes, more hurts and less works, but I also learn things, see things in new ways, feel about things differently. If I am constantly the culmination of all events which came before, then I am constantly becoming something new and that’s amazing. To get a tattoo is to hang out a sign saying “stunted at ____ when I thought that this captured the essence of all I could ever be.” And that’s sad.

Was it good for me?

A colleague at work asked me if I had a “good” fast yesterday. Yesterday was the 9th of Av, the commemoration of a variety of ills that have befallen the Jewish people, including the destructions of the two temples in Jerusalem. We mark the day with prayer, self-denial and fasting. So he asked if I had a good fast. He probably meant whether I was able to complete the fast without gnawing at my own foot. I happen to have had what we like to call an “easy” fast. By the end I was a little hungry but not so much so. Whether or not that is a good thing (if the goal is to feel hunger pangs and I don’t have I evaded some required spiritual burden and lost the sense of the day?) is a separate question. That colleague then altered the wording of his query – he asked “did you have a successful day?”

Now that’s a question.

I answered “it depends on what the point of the day is, I guess.” That got me thinking and I have come to the conclusion that I can only hope that my day yesterday was successful, but I see that many of my practices and celebrations within my Jewish faith have been failures, at least so far.

Holidays and rituals in Judaism are often thought of in terms of what changes in the status of the day/week/moment that requires that I accommodate them. What do I have to do and what can’t I do because this night is different from all others? I have to buy this ritual object. I have to attend this service and change my sleeping schedule. I have to eat outside; I can’t eat this food or that; I have to change my liturgy; I can’t touch this (chorus). The success of the day is often measured in my ability to conform to these demands (yes, I bought a great Etrog, yes, I sold my leaven, no, I didn’t turn the lights on). The day is different and I highlight all those differences so that I can get through it. Success!

Insidious lies.

I realized that the point of the day isn’t to be different, but to make us different, and not just for the duration of the holiday. The goal of any religious observance is to affect me. A day is successful if I leave it qualitatively different from how I started it. Do I go back to being the same person, or was the event transformative. Are the words just words? Did the day change me?

Did I fast and cry for Jerusalem so I can ignore it now? Did I focus on the power of prayer so I could speed through it the next morning? Was I nicer to people, asking forgiveness, just to resume being a jerk then next moment? Did I refrain from plowing my field but then, the next day, ignore God’s hand in the agricultural process? Sure, this means looking at many of the literal practices and extracting the symbolic value that would apply to the self, but shouldn’t I be doing that instead of limiting my understanding of the practice to the superficial rituals and empty behaviors?

So was the fast day successful? I don’t know yet, but the chance to make it a success stays with me until I declare it a complete failure and stop trying to change, and I’m not ready to do that yet.

Dad Jokes

In memory of The Imperious Loudmouth and his pages of Mixed Grill puns, I present variations on a single theme, presented until you get sick of it – ad nauseum.

Ad nauseum – sick of commercials

Add nauseum – sick of math

Ad No See Ums -- I'm sick of bugs

Ad noseyum – sick of Pinocchio

Auld nauseum – sick of this year

Adenoidseum – Never ending sore throat

Ad noiseum – shhhh

Ad Nowseum – sick of contemporizing

Ad Museum – Noma Moma

Ad nausoleum -- sick to death

Ad newseum – sick of current events

Odd nauseum – sick of weirdos

Adze nauseum – Cut it out

Ab Nauseum – Quarantined

And nauseum – I’m not done being sick

Owed nauseum – if you get me sick, I’ll kill you

Ad NASAeum – Space sickness

@ nauseum – too much spam

Gymnauseum – This isn’t working out any more

Eid nauseum – All Ramadone

Sloan Rangers

It all began when the phone rang on Thursday afternoon. It was Shmom* (names of my mom have been changed to protect me from her particular threat of violence if I named her) and she said that some of her blood numbers were low so she was going to have to go in the hospital in the morning. Shmom has cancer and recently when she has gotten chemo, her hemoglobin (really, Shemoglobin, because she's a girl) has dropped. This is frowned on in this establishment so the doctor types are watching closely and are concerned. She didn’t want to go in immediately because she had a guy coming at 9am and she didn’t want to reschedule. Some things are important. Going to the hospital can wait. Anyway, what are numbers anyway? Just numbers, Right? She was glad because she would be able to go into Sloan Kettering and not the local hospital. Lawrence is nice, but the food is no good and why else would you choose one hospital over another, anyway?

So I got to her house at 8:15 on Friday morning and fell asleep. That’s what I do, and I do it well, so don’t judge. We left the house at 9:20 and were in the city by 10. I dropped her off at the front door of the hospital and pulled into the underground garage. The attendant asked “how long are you going to be.” That might, sometimes, be a reasonable question, but at 10am on Friday it wasn’t. I told him candidly, “you’ll have to ask the doctor – either 2 hours or a lot longer than that.” This was not an answer he wanted to deal with. I don’t know exactly what happens after you leave your car with the guy in the garage so I just hoped that he wouldn’t take my sass out on my car.

I met my shmom in the Urgent Care Center. I was carrying my bag and a suit, just in case I had to stay. I hadn’t made plans for accommodations because I still wasn’t sure how long I was going to have my car in the garage, so I kept my stuff with me. I found my way into the back of the Urgent Care Center where shmom was getting checked in. We moved to bay 12 and sat there. Thus began the waiting part of the show. Sitting in bay 12, being visited by the various nurses, aides, orderlies, and even doctors, explaining the exact same story over and over. Most, she made up because last time she was in the hospital she wasn't paying attention, or being awake. Shmom confirmed and reconfirmed her name, birthdate and various other pieces of ID. By the end of this ordeal, even I knew her birthday! Crazy, right? By 11:30am they asked her to move into the bed in the bay instead of sitting in the chair next to the bed. Progress, I calls it. So shmom worked on her ken-ken and crosswords in the bed instead of a chair and I got to sit in either of the two chairs. Woo-hoo!

We met so many people there! There was the tag team of Trevor and Dana who were the nurses who did lots of stuff. And there was the Nurse Practitioner and the GI guy and other doctor and the ICU doctor and a bunch of other nurses, and x-ray technician who did a real nice photo shoot and the phlebotomist who phlebotomized all over the place. Shmom has a port so they took a lot of stuff from her via the port and added lots of other stuff right back into the port. Some stuff is not compatible with other stuff or the port so they started sticking her like a pin cushion and attaching things to her til she looked rightly goth. Her blood pressure was ridiculously low, consistently. In fact, the NP insisted on rechecking it with a manual cuff instead of the computerized one that was checking every 3 minutes because it seemed so low. Bottom line, the computer was pretty much right. Very low blood pressure. This, along with the relatively low iron count was cause for concern. Doctors checked for blood in places where there should not be blood and thought they saw a little and hoped that this explained, oh, EVERYTHING. So along the way, they pumped in whole blood, platelets and red blood cells, all contained in baggies affixed with codes and numbers, all that have to be double checked against her wrist band, her recall of her name and a set of secure codes carried around by a guy with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. Well, not so much the last one, but it seemed like it. I tried to be extra-special annoying so as to drive up her blood pressure but that was not as successful as actual medical approaches. Live and learn. There was talk of admitting her so I thought that I could make accommodations, but then the talk shifted. To a room on the 17th floor? Maybe, or not. The thing is that with each expert, there was the same uncertainty, so no one really had any idea what the next step was. Maybe some imaging or testing…but not if she doesn’t stabilize. Maybe the ICU…but not if she does stabilize. How long will it take to see if she stabilizes? We don’t know. And anyway, no one does imaging after noon on a Friday. Or on a Saturday. Or Sunday. So hang tight…bay 12 in the Urgent Care Center, over and out. Had we come in Thursday night, we would have been sitting around for longer with the same "no one is around today" result. Three cheers for inaction.

In this hospital, it is important to remember that there is a hospitality room for those of us who keep kosher dietary laws. Now, before I go any further, let me apologize to those of you who are less familiar with the various laws of Judaism, food and otherwise, and caution those of you who ARE familiar that my actions and decisions are mine – I am not issuing edict, making rules or passing judgment. I did what I did and you are free to do what you do. While mo—- I mean shmom was sitting around with various bags of stuff and tube and wires attached to her and a techno-IV pole with machines blinking and beeping like some sort of living Christmas tree I figured that that would be a fine time to go and get some food. Off to the hospitality room with its door code and hidden mysteries. The room, a small kitchenette with 2 refrigerators, 2 microwaves and on Friday evenings and Saturdays, two warmers of food that actually smells brown. I got there early in the afternoon, while stocks were running low, and grabbed some tuna and egg salad sammiches for me and mom. I also filled my pockets with cakes of various sorts. Shmom likes cake but I couldn’t know which one she would prefer so I got 8. I also got water because I didn’t need all the calories of soda or vegetables. We shared a light lunch in that I ate most of it. Because I’m a good son, that’s why.

When it became clear that, one way or another, we were staying for the sabbath, I made the call to get a room at the Friendship house. This took some time because they generally don’t answer their phones after 2PM and it was 2:30. Eventually, they called back and I sent the necessary information and all was resolved. The Friendship house is a building next to the hospital that makes rooms and food available to sabbath observant families who are stuck in the hospital, even on Tuesdays. There is a dining room with all sorts of food (I grabbed some cheese and roasted almonds) and some games, and books and very large teddy bears which I did not take because you can’t eat them. Well, at least you shouldn’t eat them. That’s a mistake I won’t make again. My room was in suite 6. This was a 5 storey walk up on narrow stairs and I’m really, really (really) out of shape. In the olden days, they didn’t have elevators so people had to walk up stairs like this every day and that’s just plain N-V-T-S nuts. I vowed not to leave and return very often for fear of anything resembling exercise. It was brutal. I also forgot the combination to the suite so that took a few minutes. Last time I was there I was a floor lower but the room had no windows to the outside. This time, I had windows so I could look out on 66th street. It wasn’t very interesting. I ran some soap and water over my face and through the place that used to have hair, and headed back to the hospital, ready for Shabbat. I had davened though it was only 7PM because, what else was there for me to do. But I was decked out for the evening -- this means I tucked in my shirt and put on proper shoes. Back to urgent care and my chair and a whole lot of waiting. I ate more cake. I saw that she was now on oxygen because when you get too much saline, you need oxygen (I learned that this isn't the same as Saltine). It’s a vicious cycle as all cycles are wont to be.

Another couple of hours passed and I took a walk back to the food room. What else is there to do? I got some grape juice and made kiddush, had some challah and ate a fine entrée of chicken with two starches. There was potato kugel and couscous under a piece of roasted chicken, all wrapped in a layer of plastic and snug in a plastic container, tasting like brown plastic. The main ingredient was oil. Then more cake. I went back and reported this to my mother and in an hour, she sent me to get her a similar meal. Along the way, I confirmed with the nurse that it would be OK to bring in food for her. She said that she thought that one of the many doctors had limited shmom’s food intake but she was sure that it wouldn’t be a problem – she would have it resolved by the time I got back. So I walked, collected food and returned, entrée and orange juice in tow. My mom got one bite in before the nurse (this was Nicole, I think) came in and told her that she was restricted to clear fluids, so as not to exacerbate any potential GI issue. She left. Shmom snuck a bunch of her dinner with a casual “to hell with all of this.” I heartily ran away. I’m not getting in trouble over this. I came back and saw that she was done with the little bit she was interested in and dutifully ate the rest. Because I’m a good son.

Long story somewhat shorter, the numbers crept up and eventually stayed up. The constant infusion of saline (some more rapidly than others) and who the heck knows what else got her to be as stable as shmom ever is. By 9PM I decided to say something And true to the name “urgent” care center, they had a room ready for us at 11PM. Thirteen hours in the Urgent Care Center. We went upstairs to the 12th floor and settled in to a semi-private room. “Semi” means “not.” She was hooked up to whatever needed to be hooked up (and unhooked from the various things going in to her arms). And I wished her a good night. I walked down the 12 floors and headed back to the hospitality apartment where I had left no lights on.

A digression – Sabbath in the hospital:

If you are strictly sabbath observant, there are some challenges to being in this hospital. The biggest one has to do with the elevator. A religious Jew will not go into an elevator and push a button for a floor. Fortunately, the hospital has one elevator which it puts on Sabbath mode, which means that it stops on each and every floor on the way up and down, no matter what button is pushed. Many authorities accept this as an option on the sabbath. Those authorities are as out of shape as I am and I thank God for their lack of interest in getting into shape. But this mode makes the elevator very slow. Eighteen floors (1-19, skipping 13). The elevator takes about 15 seconds to get to a floor, open, wait, and close. This means that if you are on floor 1 and miss the elevator, you have to wait about 36 iterations of 15 seconds until it comes back to you. That’s like 8 or nine minutes of waiting. And once you get in (and are going to the 12th floor) that’s another 3 minutes of riding the elevator. Food you collect for everyone in the room often gets cold, or more likely, eaten before you get there. And pity the poor non-Jew who rides, not knowing. This is how blood libels start. I would recommend having it stop at every floor on the way up but go express from floor 19 to floor 1 on the way down. I have done the math. It is much faster and reduces wait time and I’m OK walking DOWN stairs with the whole gravity assist thing going on. But no one asks me, so things stay as they are.

The next issue is that of the electric eyes (I am ignoring the video cameras everywhere – those are passive and being filmed is a less problematic issue to me. If you don’t like this, stay in your house on the Sabbath.) The electric eyes and the motion detectors control most entrances, many internal doors and most every toilet and faucet in the hospital. So even if you take the Sabbath elevator to the 12th floor, you still have to wait until someone else triggers the door out of the elevator vestibule so you can get out of the area. The doors to the Urgent Care Center are opened with a big push button on the wall on one side, and a motion detector on the other. It is important to wait around not looking like you WANT the doors to be open, because there are legal concerns if a non-Jew specifically does a forbidden activity for you. It isn’t simple and the easier method is to know how to get around things. So for that:

1. The entrance on 67th has a regular ol’ door and was open late at night and early morning. They were going to close it because of construction this evening, but they let me use it anyway.
2. There are staircases that can lead you down to areas like the garage. Those areas also have electric eyes, but there is more foot traffic and there are guards who clearly know the Sabbath laws because they nonchalantly, and without being asked, wander past the doors when they see Jews coming.
3. There is one bathroom which I found which had old fashioned plumbing – S104 I think it was called, the men’s locker room. You walk past the back entrance to the UCC (I’m down with UCC) and past the Clinical Decision Unit (the famed CDU) and the radiation image reading room and then down a ramp and there’s a nasty door which says “Men’s Locker”. Of course, it is inconvenient to have to find it and sneak in (I don’t know if I am allowed to use it but no one stopped me) each and every time I want to use the lavatory, but the options are either religiously suspect or hygienically questionable.

I got back to the room at about 9AM. My reading material was primarily Kaddish by a guy named Wieseltier I think. It was recommended to me by The Maggid of Bergenfield so I read it. Meh. Five nuggets of gold surrounded by 500+ pages of stylized narcissism. Then I read a James Patterson book. Gratuitous and simplistic in its style but with a twist at the very end. The room has a big chair, and I looked forward to sitting in it and leaning back, listening to the whooshing of the air, and pretending I was on an airplane, unable to sleep there. Shmom’s room didn’t have that kind of chair. This one had a foot piece that could be pulled out and the chair could be converted into a bed, but it did not recline. So I sacrificed my back and knees for a place to sit. Unsure if shmom was still on a liquid diet, I remembered her request of the previous evening and picked up a bunch of corn flakes-esque cereal. When I found out that she was still limited in her intake, I grieved by going back down to the hospitality room, getting milk and a bunch of cake and coming upstairs to eat all the cereal. Because I’m a good son. Every trip downstairs was sure to eat up at least 20 minutes of elevator waiting and I’m sure that my walk down burned at least a million calories, right? More doctors visited and said much the same thing after asking the same questions. She’s feeling fine. The numbers are holding, pretty much. Nothing is being done today or probably tomorrow. She kept asking if they would loosen up the regulations on the diet. They said “no” but encouraged her to order some clear liquids. She asked for a menu. While we waited, I find the least-awkward awkward position and napped in the chair, looking forward to the aches and pains when I awoke. She had more blood taken and saline infused.

When I awoke I found that I had missed mostly nothing and took the opportunity to celebrate by going downstairs and getting more food. I tried the chulent and kishke main course and found that the chulent was brown and the kishke had the consistency of a sponge – I mean that it was like a sponge with consistency. It never got any better. Better have some cake. And a diet Coke because I don’t need the calories. When I returned, I learned I had missed the ICU doctor who came buy to reassure shmom that “they” were still watching her. Spooky and not at all reassuring. Hooray! Diana the nurse dropped by to keep shmom full of good cheer and clear liquids and we chatted about movies and books and why I’m a great son. She got into the spirit of aggravating shmom and shmom kicked us both out. Side note – the nurses are all uniformly awesome. Being serious now, they came in just to say hi, they listened to Shmom (which I stopped doing like 35 years ago) and they answered our questions recognizing our frustration. It is a thankless job (not really, I did say “thank you” once) and they take care of the people we want taken care of, and not in a mob-hit-man kind of way. So, super to them! Shmom was put back on one of her medicines that sounds like a dinosaur name (velociraptor, I think, but I don’t recall if that is the medicine or the dinosaur). The roommate spent most of her day complaining about itching, pain, and how she dropped her Chapstick. She also kept calling and video chatting with her extended family and her cat. I know more details about where in her bedroom her backscratcher is than I should.

Shmom got her menu and wanted to make choices off of it. I want to link to some pictures because I enjoyed the reading material and thought you would, too. This Clear Liquid Diet Menu

So we had some fun with that. When shmom ordered Jell-o, she made sure to get the stuff which had sugar, not fake sweeteners because that fake stuff can give you canc- oh. Oops.

Not much to say about the next 6 or 7 hours. The vampires kept visiting, extracting tubes of fluids that were all, no doubt, very important in order to ensure that shmom doesn’t have too much stuff in her. Shmom eventually took a couple of walks to the bathroom to produce more evidence for the boys down in the lab to test and confirm that she is still going to the bathroom. They want to rule out “not going to the bathroom” as a cause of her discomfort so she obliges. She has to poop in a “hat”. I find this troubling. I will try to do the same when I get home but I fear that the strange ways of the big city will not make sense to my small town friends. There are so many weird abbreviations and technical jargon in a big city hospital. For example, if I want to order someone to have only Clear Liquids, I might say, “you are on a CLD” but in the big city, the letters they use are NPO. Crazy, right? I went and had some gefilte fish and challah and cake just to help me absorb all this new information. As the Sabbath ended, I went back to my walk-up, gathered my stuff and headed home.

I’m sure I am forgetting stuff, or confusing the precise order of details. I’m certainly omitting little things, like the names of all the other nurses (like Anjuli and Cynthia) and helpers who transported shmom or answered her call bell. I didn’t even mention all the other people in the UCC (in the surrounding bays, and outside…I met people whose kids I know from work) and all their medical issues, or the in-house TV choices (videos on what a clinical trial is….excellent). Shmom is still there and we will keep visiting her and monitoring her victuals (no, that’s not a mistake).

Any questions? I don't care. I'm going to sleep.

The readiness is all

Sometimes I feel that the rabbis of yore fought with each other for no good reason. Think about it – you want to leave your mark by commenting on an ancient text but all the good comments were already taken. One path would be to assume that readers don’t understand WHY the other commentators said what they said. Another would be to innovate some new understanding (and explain why the older commentaries are either incomplete or flat out wrong). But sometimes they “find quarrel in a straw” (in my humble opinion), arguing over something which, truth be told, is more revelatory when one sees that there is actually no need for arguing.

So to do my part in the unbroken chain of commentators making remarks about those who came before, I wish to explore the variant meanings of a particular word and explain why those who were fixated on defining shouldn’t have wasted their time. No – I’m not being arrogant. Well, yes, I am but to think that I have anything to contribute to the canon of great Jewish commentary, especially anything remotely innovative requires a level of arrogance. So here I go.

The word in question is “right” or in Hebrew “nachon”. The word appears in various forms at least 8 times in the 5 books of Moses. I say “at least” because it is tough to say what various forms are so intrinsically related that they can be said to iterations of the same root.

The first use is in Bereishit 41:32 where Yosef interprets Par’oh’s dreams. He says that the prophecy contained in them is “nachon.” Onkelos translates this as “takin” (which is its own question for later). Rashi explains the word as “mezuman” (prepared) and cites Onkelos as his source, even though “takin” may or may not mean “prepared” as it finds more use in forms like “letaken” (to fix) or “tikun” (fixing). The word “mezuman,” from the same root as “z’man”, time, seems to mean “is set for a specific time” (established). This sense of preparation is similarly invoked by Rashi in Sh’mot 34:2. Moshe is told to be ready to ascend Sinai and is commanded “heye nachon” – the Targum here has this as “zamin” and Rashi says, again “mezuman” (though, strangely, he doesn’t cite Onkelos). So Moshe is to prepare in the same way that Hashem has prepared to fulfill the prophecies. The Mizrachi says “lo mechuvan” (which he also says on 41:32) and the Siftei Chachamim concurs and says that the word means “prepared” as opposed to its other meaning of “right” as used in Devarim 13:15.

The Siftei Chachamim must like that verse as he also uses it in his commentary on the Bereishit verse and points out that it does NOT mean “right” in Yosef’s case but it does mean “right” in the Devarim verse. But in that verse, which discusses investigating the testimony of witnesses and discerning the truth of a court case, the text says “”v’hineh emet nachon hadavar”, that the matter is true and nachon. So the Siftei would be saying that the event is “true and right,” or more properly, accurate. The Aramaic here (and on the similar 17:4) is “keyvan” (which some have as “certain”) and Rashi runs with this sense and writes on 17:4 “mechuvan ha’eidut” that the testimony is corroborated. Now, “right,” “certain” and “accurate” are distinguished from “prepared” or “fixed”.

But here’s here I have a problem. All these voices trying to assign specific and therefore diverging definitions when the words are all from the same root and have a similar underlying meaning. The root kaf-vav-nun is at the heart of these words and also “kivun” – direction and kavannah, intention and focus. I would suggest that they are all the same word. Think of the word “right” in English. It means both “correct” and “to correct.” It refers to accuracy and rectitude, agreement and even guiding in the proper direction, and setting up something so that it will be in accordance with an accepted set of understandings. Establishing intent and creating focus are part of “righting” the self. You can check the OED if you don’t believe me – the word “right” has had, historically, meanings related to being correct, correcting after the fact, and preparing something so that it will be correct in the future. This, then encompasses the kavannah (intent), muchan (preparation) , nachon (correct) and mechuvan (confirmed) senses.

Moshe had to prepare himself, and get himself into the “right” frame of mind. Yosef was telling Par’oh that the matter had been prepared and was deemed the appropriate course of action. As Rashi says, the time has come. As others write, when everything is set, one direction or choice must accord with the overall setting and needs (the Jews were afraid to sacrifice sheep in Egypt since “lo nachon” – it wouldn’t be right to do so – this is explained as their anticipating a negative reaction are saying that this path is not the one to take if one wants to be right and ready to meet with Hashem). Eventually “being” right requires “righting” yourself before the fact. The use of t-q-n by the Onkelos points to this: “fixing” is both establishing and repairing, before and after. An ounce of prevention and all that. The meforshim need not argue; they are all right (as it were). The preparation to think right, the intent necessary to be right and the eventual “being right” are all tied together in the same way that the preparation, invitation and the ultimate event (the mezuman, hazmana and the z’man) are all connected.

Being right doesn’t happen by accident. Making the right decision is the culmination of considering all the sides in advance and forming the intent to follow a correct path. Thinking the right way is a function of hard work and preparation, learning and understanding. Deciding what is right comes from a study of the issues and variables beforehand and judging something as right and confirming it requires an intimate knowledge borne out of deep investigation. If we see all these as related aspects of the same process and theory, we can see how the commentators were all working towards the same conceptual goal.