My Channukah

 Apologies in advance -- this will be less about Channukah than about the creeping intrusion of Christmas into the mass consciousness and its effect on Channukah (among other things). But I just couldn't waste the delicious pun in the title so there you go.

I got into a conversation on an internet forum (ok, an argument, I guess) about the decision in Dedham, MA not to have (and then, yes to have) a Christmas tree put up in the local library. You can google it -- I'm sure the story is out there. I am a firm believer that all religious symbols, for any religion, belong in spaces reserved for the private expression of belief. Your house, even your lawn are fine by me. Your car? Great. But public (i.e. municipal) spaces which are supported by and affiliated with government should be devoid of such imagery. Grinch much? Yes, and I'm OK with that. I'm not in favor of "have one, but have them all" because we can never get "all" and people start to chafe when the "all" includes religions (and modes of expression) which the majority decides are inappropriate. Then it becomes a popularity contest, with each group either vying for the approval of the (Christian) majority or going to court to force itself down the public throat, breeding resentment. Here is an article which relates.

Am I being overly sensitive? Well, I'm not in the majority and I'm not especially popular, so maybe my sensitivity is borne of experience, personal and historical. To say that I'm being overly sensitive is to discount the validity of my experience, something which is easily done by those who don't share that. If I have been stung by a bee and I freak out when I see another bee, someone who has never been stung might think I am being overly scared. No, I'm being properly scared based on my own interactions with bees. Don't tell me they aren't scary because YOU aren't scared. Feel free to speak out of your frame of reference but don't you dare discount mine as equally valid.

Anyway, in this discussion, it was brought up that the tree shouldn't be worried about because the courts have decided that it is a "secular" symbol and not one that represents religion. Bosh and/or piffle. No, strike the "or." Just bosh AND piffle. A Christmas tree is a religious symbol and this can be demonstrated in 2 ways:

1. Its name. "Christmas" Tree. 

2. Its affiliation in thought and timing with a Christian holiday.

If you disagree with my logic, then I would suggest trying to put a tree up in July with the statement "Happy Summer's Day" (or even on Arbor day!) and see who shows up to put tinsel on it, wearing a Santa hat and depositing presents. These are trappings of Christmas whether or not they have any biblical connection to whatever the day is supposed to mean (and, trust me, there is plenty of controversy over the actual religious/biblical value or authenticity to Christmas, but for over 1500 years, the holiday has ben adopted and inextricably linked to Christian mythos).

The statement that the tree is a secular symbol is the height of arrogance. And trust you me, I know from arrogance. To decide that a symbol which has value to only one subgroup is not religious, but representative of a larger, secular culture is manipulation which develops from a Christian-centric view of the world. The idea that Christian symbology is synonymous with American culture is due to the pervasive presence of the tree in the mass consciousness and the resultant monopoly Christian thought has in deciding what it is to be American. Yes, one can make all sorts of arguments about the existence of solstice-awareness in the stories of many religions (Judaism included) and ecologically minded actions, but all of this is a posteriori rationalization.

For the tree to have value as a cultural and secular symbol in America it must speak to the experience, values and identity of the American people. July 4th is a secular and uniquely American experience because it commemorates a defining moment in our collective history. I, as an American am, BY DEFINITION, included in the group that Independence Day created. A day celebrating the presidents, veterans who live and died for this country, or even the social and economic achievement of American worker makes sense. Democracy celebrating democracy. Capitalism celebrating capitalism. Maybe it smacks of a Hollywood awards show, celebrities giving each other prizes for being celebrities, but at least it stands for something specifically American.

Where in the annals of US history is the tree an important or formative item? G. Washington chopped one down (no, he didn't, at least not in the "cannot tell a lie" way...a story which, interestingly, sounds like a revisionist version of Abraham and his father's idols) but other than that, the tree comes from an outside culture which adopted it from another outside culture. And, yes, I feel that the 10 commandments is similarly still a religious symbol. Did our secular system of laws pay homage to a biblical concept? Maybe, but then let's have an image of the signing of the Constitution in our courthouses and not a statue of anyone with the 10 commandments. Like here.

When we embrace the idea that Christian superiority allows that mindset to impose its symbols under the guise of "it equals the American experience" we exclude all of those to whom (and for whom) that symbol does not speak. And what if a Muslim was the one to decide that he tree is no longer religious? Does anyone outside the group have the right to strip the religion of its symbol? Or is that the prerogative only of the insider who wants to see what he values in every location, so he plays word games in order to get around law?

And, yes, I feel this way about "Secret Santa" and its Jewish equivalents. Tis not the season for presents. There might be a Jewish value to giving coins specifically ON Channukah, but the influx of imitative traditions ("Mystery Maccabee" I'm looking at you) is nauseating. Do we really want to be like them so much that we will turn our holiday experience from being a celebration of unique identity into an opportunity to lose that identity and co-opt a non-Jewish practice? We might as call Channukah the Festival of Lies then. Songs about hypocrisy, irony and capitulation would needs be composed.

My Channukah is a religious experience; it has no "Channukah Bush." It is defined by history, codified in religious texts and driven by my obligation to follow the laws of my religion and my pride at being affiliated with both the historical events and the chain of transmission and existence which keep that history vital and relevant. I light candles. I say blessings and change my daily liturgy. I might sing songs which celebrate the divine and his miraculous presence. I will not ask anyone to value this if that person doesn't share in my experience and, in truth, I don't want him to (see here). Being asked to share in someone else's religious values, or even buy into the lie that will force me to be part of another's religious experience by pretending that it represents me on a different level is patently offensive.

If this is a war on Christmas because people want to claim that Christmas is a secular/cultural holiday, then so be it. You want it to be secular? Rename it "Giving-Day" and put it in June. Tell churches not to have any special services. Somehow I don't think that this will happen.

In Judaism, and mainly in the dietary laws of Kashrut, there is a notion that a minority is subsumed in a majority and loses its individual identity. By allowing the "melting pot" to mix us in, we will start tasting like the majority. We have to hold on to what makes us "us" and keep our distinct flavor while separating from the others. Even our "minor" holiday (rabbinic and not requiring much in the way of cessation of creating actions) needs to be a holy-day, and we should stop aspiring to be like Christians in our observances because we are accepting that this somehow makes us more American.

More Human Thoughts

 The Chatbot making the rounds has inspired a sheaf of thought and writing, and the irony isn't lost on me. A few have even begun to try and contextualize the quantum leap forward in natural language chatting and essay writing that the GPT 3.5 system has introduced.

If you recall, my concern isn't that students can pass work off as their own, but that those who receive the work will be ok with that because the skill of writing qua writing will no longer be deemed essential. As such, we can leave the essay writing for the computers because students will have ubiquitous technology to perform such menial tasks as composing a response to literature. My fear is that by exempting students from learning the skill, we will miss the opportunity to inculcate fundamental and exportable thinking skills. Paralleling this technology to the use of a calculator, students can rely on having a phone or a computer or an actual calculator so they need not understand either how to add 2 and 2 or what it means to compute and consider the relationships between values. There is a utility of mathematical thinking which is lost if we can jump to getting the answer automatically. Understanding what it means to solve for x is as valuable as actually solving for x. The same holds true for writing.

It isn't about comma splices and tense agreement. It is about organizing thoughts in your own brain before you commit them to paper. We have to train the brain to make the choices which will most efficiantly distill experience and emotion and help us create with others. Writing is a tool towads thinking so we can't expect one without the other. Writing is, like any applied grammar or vacabulary, a method of acculturation and assimilation into a society. Following the agreed upon norms demonstrates an ability to integrate, to subsume the self within the greater good of membership in the collective. It shows a consciousness of the decision to encode in a way that can be decoded by a particular audience. Only by understanding the rules of rhyme and rhythm can one choose to exercise poetic license and break the rules. Only by understanding sense can one choose to employ nonsense as a communicative tool. To be illogical, to express on whim and not by dint of algorithm is a cultivatable skill, unless we decide that we don't value the individual voice.

Maybe we need to rethink the value of writing for the regular person. Maybe we have to be bold enough to say that the average person does not need to think and the stratification of society which we apply to every other field applies to English as well. Not everyone is an artist. Not everyone is a mathematician. Not everyone is an athlete. And the product each of the experts can create is approximatable by technology. But the value in the human expression is something we admire and which is resident in only a small group. Anyone can learn to play a scale on a piano, or do basic addition or even to stack bricks. But not everyone has a complex story to tell, or any interest in computing interest, or designing a building. So maybe we should rework the entire educational curriculum. Eliminate all that can be performed by technology and leave only the specialized and advanced classes for those who gravitate to that. So for the "math people" out there, by the time 7th or 8th grade rolls around, the few left will automatically struggle and succeed through more advanced classes because they WANT to, and they won't have to waste any time learning about covalent bonds, the French Revolution or the ablative case.

Should we start by assembling data from other fields? Do we ask math teachers if students are having more or less success at the more advanced levels of math because/despite their inability to interpolate logorithms, solve formulae or multiply two-digit numbers in their heads? Can we expect students to be able to evaluate, assess and even correct material that they can't initially create? Should we be expecting a continued dumbing down of society and yet still complain about it?

And all of this broaches another reality -- the AI relies on both programming and a data pool of information. Though it can be programmed to evaluate the content, it cannot judge on any sort of humanistic level. Its rules are rules and it has no gut to follow. If it does, in any sense, have that "instinct" it does only as a function of the programming and the programmer. Thus, its built in value system is a reflection of, even a projection of the person who put in the code and set the rules. This, then, reinforces the social structure -- the well educated computer person imposes his vision of right and wrong, good and bad and valuable and useless onto the measuring system, so the computer, when it generates text, simply expresses the views of its creator under the guise of impartiality.

I have no doubt that by now, computers can generate lovely melodies, draw pictures both highly realistic and incredibly abstract. A computer can produce beautiful writing. If not now, then soon, computers will generate combinations of words which follow grammatical rules and even embody the stylistic and inexpressibly emotional elements which we cannot teach but which some programmer used as a driving ethos when he taught the computer to create content, and the pool of raw data and precedenting material upon which the computer bases its creations is broad enough that the computer can invoke styles and types which run the range of human experience. But all that means is that we will exempt humanity from the struggle to do the same thing and find its own level on a person-by-person basis, develop its own voice and create content of which it can be proud.

So let me bottom line, tl;dr it for you. The English classroom must continue and writing must needs continue to be taught not because we think that the creation of essays and responses is necessarily a valuable skill, nor because we worry that students will be without technology, stranded on a deserted island, and yet still need to write a cover letter for a job application. But writing must be taught because we want students to be able to rise from their status as intellectual have-nots and unlock the more complex thinking that stands on the shoulders of whatever genius lives within each of us. We won't know who is "not a writing person" if we abandon the activity before it has a chance to blossom.

previous thoughts (even tangentially) on the matter

https://rosends.blogspot.com/2013/08/blenderized-learning.html

https://rosends.blogspot.com/2014/12/look-it-up.html

https://rosends.blogspot.com/2017/11/what-hath-internet-wrought.html

https://rosends.blogspot.com/2018/03/2-rantz.html

Shall We Play a Game?

 Thanks to the hard work of the Tech Rav I have been informed that there is an active chatbot which uses artificial intelligence and can do things like parse code, hold conversations and write stories and essays.

I'm not jazzed. Let's discuss.

I'm in favor of intelligence. I think one of the smartest things we can do is be intelligent. And I'm even OK with aritifical intelligence. I think of it like artificial ingredients -- as long as the food tastes good and can last in the car's glove compartment for an extra coupla weeks, then I'm good with it. The problem is in the impact (and I'm turning teacher now) on the educational process and the development of the adolescent brain. When applicable.

So, first thing -- I tried it out, and saw the results of others' attempts to use the service. My assessment is "good but not great." The chat service has limitations built in and it knows it so it admits those at every opportunity. It is very careful about explaining that it cannot think or opine (though it insists that it can synthesize and innovate, claims I find hard to test as it would require that I know all extant conclusions and can spot if the AI provides something heretofore unrecorded), and somehow is programmed to avoid (whatever the programmer's agenda defines as) hate speech or speaking too admiringly of people that it is not in vogue to admire. It ends up in a circular loop when you ask it about how it assesses sources it uses. But it is a very powerful natural language research tool. The essay/book summary I read was pretty poorly "written." I have to wonder what sources the AI borrowed from in order to produce the content (as I doubt the computer actually read the book in question), but the sentence structure and word choices were not good at all. I say this with a caveat -- to a casual reader, I would guess that the sentences sounded fine. But to an English teacher, or one really inspecting the structure, they were below average in composition.

Years ago, I envisioned a scenario in which a computer wrote poetry. The masses loved it (the pretend poem, not the idea) and this was the saddest part. I also saw a TV program on which an elephant painted a picture and a child created something which passed (to the uninformed) as a Jackson Pollock. The line between brilliance and crap seems awful thin sometimes. Art is always subjective so if an AI wants to create, I can see that creation passing all sorts of tests and vetting because the end result either resonates or doesn't, source be damned. The fact that a text is not driven by actual experience and insight might be troubling but if we calue the end product over the process, then so be it. I did try out one of those AI-art websites at which you describe the image you want and the system creates it for you. It didn't. Major fail so I'm still in need of an illustrator for a side project. That's a story for another day.

But over the years, I have heard, too often, about skills which are no longer relevant because we have technology which can replace them. How many people think that any of the following is still worth teaching (or learnng)? Note -- this list is not about physical skills but intellectual exercises:

reading maps, doing basic math, using a library/research, interpolating logarithms, reading an analog clock, learning to spell

Odds are, you saw at least one item on that list that you don't think we should spend time teaching because of the ubiquitous technology which makes that no longer a valuable skill. So, next question -- would you be ok if any of the items on the following list fell by the wayside in the same way?

driving a car, writing an essay, reading a lengthy book, diagnosing an illness, doing advanced math, designing a bridge, umpiring a baseball game, providing emotional therapy, ruling in a court case

Some of you would be more than happy to hand any and all of those items over to the ersatz mind of silicone. Others might try to draw a line somewhere and explain why "yes to this but no to that." Hours could be spent arguing but that's not my point. That's just a hobby...

Here is where I see the problem -- NOT in that a student might employ an AI system to write an essay and then said student might hand in the essay pretending to be the author. Yes, that's bad and, yes, teachers will have to find ways to detect artificially constructed material. But the big problem will be when people say that teachers DON'T have to detect constructed material. At a certain point, I suspect that people who say, "It is fine that no one has to learn how to read a map because we have computers  which hcan tell us turn-by-turn directions" will say, "It is OK that no one has to learn how to write an essay because we have computers who can do that just as well." Those people insist that we are freeing students up to apply themselves to more complex thinking and learning because we aren't bogging them down and wasting their time with easy stuff that technology can do for us. And to the concern that the AI created responses are not very good (and if a student were to turn one in, it would be cause for learning and inmprovement, not as a static end result) too often people rely on the "but it is good enough so since it seems like a student could have written it, it shows that a student doesn't have to waste his time writing it."

What people don't understand is that knowledge is a progression and the advanced and critical thinking skills that we all say we value only exist on a solid foundation of basic skills. All those higher order thinking skills cannot be built on staircases of sand. One cannot play chess on an advanced level without learning the basics of the game and memorizing how the pieces move. One cannot be a successful NBA player without learning the basics of how to dribble. All advanced knowledge and all advanced skills come as the result of long term hard work, standing on the shoulders of practice at the fundamentals. If we cut the legs out by saying a student doesn't need to know how to do addition in his or her head because he or shee will always have a calculator nearby, then not only are we disadvantaging that student when he or she is in a tech-free environment (yes, they exist), but we are not demanding that the student understands the mechanics of arithmetic which will allow for the model of thinking which unlocks advanced math. Not knowing "how" leads to never understanding "why" and that presents a problem. A student who lets a computer do research never learns the value of the hunt, the struggle of thinking unpredictably in order to find something unexpected, or the need to evaluate sources and prioritize data. A student who lets the computer write never learns to organize thoughts, or communicate persuasively, or work reflectively and struggle to improve -- there is no respect for the rules of grammar so all communication becomes tainted by ignorance. These are exportable skills which can't really be taught in a vaccuum. They are part of a brain-growing mindset. How can we expect that we will have a next generation of advanced thinkers if we don't demand the development of thinking skills but instead, assume that at a certain age, never having had to grow, those brains will be ready to be advanced?

I'm no luddite. I'm not even ludesque but I like my pedagogical change like a like my roller coasters -- slow and predictable, without sudden changes and with not a lot of vomitting. AI has a place, and, yes, that place will grow as we figure out the most effective way to incorporate the advantages of machine thinking without losing the elements necessary to keep human thinking staying steps ahead, so that we can design the next generation of AI.

Meanwhile, I, a human wrote this. So there. 

Who are you?

Ultimately, ultimately, ultimately, we will come into conflict with ourselves. Bottom line is that the various shards and facets of our identity cease to co-exist because there can be only one at the top spot. And we can dance around that eventuality and skirt it most of the time, it will find a way to make itself known. Who we are is so convoluted and complex but peel it all away and there are truths that are mutually exclusive and we have to choose.

It isn’t fun and it isn’t fair but it is the way it is. While we can try to reconcile all those disparate elements, some run so counter to others that being both is impossible. We can pride ourselves on being “modern-Orthodox” but on some base level, that hybrid is doomed to failure. Once we allow certain behaviors as functions of our modernity, then we have sold out the underlying thread which defines us as Orthodox. And, yes, to some degree, all of life is compromise for most people. Shabbat isn’t 25 hours of straight and consistent focus on the spiritual or the divine. We live in a world in which many have found how to justify reading a newspaper, chatting with friends about life and walking the dog. But the moment we employ whatever leniency in our understanding to allow that inch, our logical application of extensions tries to take the mile. If there is an eiruv designed to allow me to carry a holy book, can I carry my keys? Once I allow my keys, what about a newspaper? Or a game? Or a ball?

If I am in a building, so I don’t have to worry about the limitations of the eiruv’s rules, can I do something which is not inherently breaking the rules but isn’t in the nebulous “spirit” of the Sabbath? Am I keeping the day’s intention with or without inspecting the minutiae?

A current question surrounds a sports figure who, though he seems to abide by the various trappings of religion, chooses to play on the Sabbath. Does this encourage young people to opt in favor of competition on the Sabbath as the new and accepted/sanctioned normal? Is it bad enough that we silently condone, but this elevates the behavior through institutionalized approval? Or do we criticize the choice because it is at odds with traditional practice and we refuse to moderate our hold on the past? When is it authentic? When it evolves into modernity or when it resists change and rests on traditional laurels. This tension can never be resolved but we lie to ourselves and tell each other that there is a golden mean, a path amidst the mighty waters. It cannot be.

Sometimes we just have to choose, and let one adjective which describes our character come in second and that has to be good enough. It is only through this crucible of choice that we find out who we really are. We are not both and we are not serving two masters and while we can find ways, on a daily basis, to lead a life which exploits the overlap and downplays the friction we have to accept that this will inevitably and consistently lead down that slippery slope. And when it reaches a red-line we will have to accept that, in that moment, at that tipping point, we are either fully modern or fully Orthodox.

A Skin in the Game

This morning, while in the shower and looking around I spied the label on one of the hair products the wife uses. Usually, showers are a scenic rest stop but this morning the label caught my eye. It said "Vegan" on it. Color me confused.

I thought "vegan" was a label for people who don't EAT any animal based product or for food products following this same set of strictures. I'm not saying that I relish washing my hair with filet mignon but I really thought this was about eating. So I'm going to raise some questions and all you vegans out there (we know who you are) can explain stuff to me.

First, is veganism(ology?) limited to eating? Do you wear leather shoes, belts of kippot? Is any aversion to leather simply because an animal had to die? Or would you be against a company that produced leather from the carcasses of cows that, it can be verified, died of natural causes?

What about other animal products that aren't food? Does a vegan wear wool? I have heard that sheep NEED to be shorn for health reasons (read this article and see). Though I must admit - were I to live in a world filled with over-sized balls of fluff wandering around, that would be neat-o! What about snake skin that has been molted or antlers that have been shed? Can these be used by vegans if the animals CHOSE to get rid of them? Squid ink pasta where the squid ink is harvested ethically? Tzitzit using a blue dye from some sort of snail? Coral earrings? (Coral is alive) Beauty ingredients derived from urine which the animal "donates" willingly? (and you can do your own googling about this -- it is a thing. A gross, gross thing)

A step further -- and no, I'm not going to ask about yogurt, though I once tried to explain to a vegan that her plant-based yogurt might still have active cultures in it and those little guys are "alive" in some sense. If animal products and ingestion are the problem then what about mushrooms and strawberries? Each, in its lifecycle, benefits from the application of cow poop. Or to be less scatalogical, plants grown using mulch which requires little guys to live and work to break down stuff. And if the food products being composted are animal based?

Feather/down pillows, comforters or jackets? Petroleum products which develop from the all sorts of micro-organisms? 

Looking forward to some clarification. And I should probably take fewer showers.

Clear!

 Allow me to complain for a moment. Well, actally, I don't really care if you allow me -- I'm going to complain. This is what the blog was originally designed for so I'm going back to my roots and complaining.

I wear glasses, and this is usually something I'm ok with. Sure, no one makes passes at me, but also, fewer people hit me and I can take them off or put them on for dramatic effect. So there's that. Over the years I have had a bunch of pairs of glasses so I have gotten a bit expert in dealing with them. My most recent pair was purchased about a year and a half ago. The prescription is (to my mind) a little stronger than I need but I'm dealing with it. Possibly by weakening my eyes. It's all good.

About 2 weeks ago, I noticed that there seemed to be (for lack of a better term) schmutz on the glasses that I couldn't clean. I looked the glasses and saw that both lenses have a whole lotta little marks. They don't feel like scratches (I ran my nail across and fely no nicks) and there are really so many of them all over the lenses. Now when I use the glasses, every light source has a halo and everything else is smudgy.

So I went to the store (well, first, I made plans to get new glasses but the plans fell through) to complain. Not that I'm expert at complaining in person but I thought that this would be good practice. When I showed the "Lab Technician" my glasses and explained that I treat them well, only wearing them, placing them down NOT on the lenses, or putting them in shirt or jacket pocket, he said, "well there's your problem. These are pocket scratches." He 'explained' that cloth like shirts can scratch glasses and one should always put them in a micro fiber bag before putting them one's pocket. I don't know if this is true but I'm skeptical.

Here's the thing -- I have been wearing glasses since before this "technician" was born. Really -- I'm that old and he is that young. I have been wearing glasses and putting them in my pocket for over 40 years and never have I ever seen this happen to a pair, even ones which I used for significantly more than 1.5 years. So it is a hard sell to tell me that putting glasses in a glasses shaped pocket causes spontaneous scratches.

I mentioned this to a co-worker and he said that he had the same problem and it had to do with a flaw in the lens, or the coating or something. I'm no scientist but I think that this is, indeed, more likely a lens problem and not a pocket cloth problem. So I still need to spend the money to get new glasses, and in the interim, I will be squinting, so stay off the roads. One thing is certain, though, and that's that I will be going to a different store next time. One with older lab technicians.

No Thanks for the Currency

I was trying to construct a line - you know, a humorous one off, as I am wont to do. Sometimes the muse descends and gifts me a completed joke but other times, I have to tinker and revise so the balance and flow are crafted to elicit the exact kind of reaction I need (a laugh, a groan, a punch in the nethers). I was also inspired by a gift from my family, a book called Letting Go Is All We Have To Hold Onto. This book is a collection of witticisms, some approaching Zen Koan-like status in their paradoxical nature. Often, when I write a line, it, too, has that same self-contradictory, or at least self-aware approach.

So I had something like "the only things I can't remember are my memories" but I didn't like the use of both "remember" and "memories" so I switched to "the only thing I can't remember is what happened" but that also presented as "I remember everything as long as it isn't in the past." It is still a work in some sort of gress, though many will deny that progress is the apparent direction. But it did get me thinking, and that's always a bad thing.

It isn't that I'm against reunions. I have developed an aversion to them because of how they have been presented to me. Time was, you had an experience and you let a requisite and necessary amount of time pass before you revisited it. Reunions were on anniversary years like 25, or 10. And I can accept "5" even. But then my kids went to camp and came back, ready for school. Note -- the camp situation that my kids went through was markedly different from mine. They went to camps that were favored by many of their friends from school and from the neighborhood. They fit in because they were like everyone else. I rarely went to camp, and when I went, I knew no one, and it mostly stayed that way throughout the summer. I was an unhappy child and that contributes to my sparkling personality now. Hurray.

My elder asked me if I could, on some weekend in September, drive her to her "camp reunion." She was having a reunion with people whom she knew well and many of whom she still saw frequently, weeks after returning from camp. Not years, and not even months. Weeks. I was reminded of the practice on one of our school retreats: students go on a bus together on a Thursday. They do activities on a Friday, spend a sabbath together and then have a bonfire on Saturday night. On Sunday morning, they watch a video recapping the weekend. They relive memories that are still happening.

It takes time to digest and consider, though maybe that's a vestige of an old fashioned way of thinking. In the era of instant gratification and computers that can pull up anything in the bl- of an eye (that's like, less than half a blink), maybe the new way of being is to reunite before there is any separation.

So why does this come to mind now? I got a message from my roommate from my first year of college recently. He showed me a picture of a hall mate of ours and we got to chatting. For the first time in over 30 years, we talked about some of the stories that developed during that year. We have spoken once or twice in the interim but those conversations were about current family and life concerns, not about 1987. We laughed (virtually) at strange things we did and I was able to thank him for being exactly the kind of roommate I needed at that time. It was nice, but it was also 30+ years in the making.

I needed to grow and learn to recognize and appreciate. Maybe I had an inkling of this after I graduated. Maybe it dawned on me 5 years later. The point is, I wasn't ready to have that conversation, and see things in proper hindsight in September of my second year of college. We, or maybe just I, need to absorb, analyze and reflect and that takes time. I'm not saying I don't love that Google can find me things in an instant, but I think that there is real merit in not reconnecting until we are different enough people that we can stand outside of our experiences and evaluate them dispassionately. We can make sense of our lives through the lens of time and by dint of having had significant other life events which create a context in which we can trace our own development.

We get together with old friends. We look at old photos and watch old movies of ourselves as children. We reminisce -- there is no value to just miniscing the first time. We want to get back something far gone, not something that is still part of who we are. 

I know, this isn't a new idea. TV shows like "That was the Week that Was" and "Last Week Tonight" have lampooned the idea that we look at anything before yesterday's episode of The Bachelorette as "history," to be dissected, reconsidered and critiqued. But those shows do so as satire, poking fun at the entire idea that we can develop nuanced understandings of our world so quickly. Until we can create distant memories of things that didn't happen, we can't really talk about what did. Or something pithy like that. I, too, am still a work in progress.

Thoughts during a meeting

 Another  teacher made a comment during a departmental meeting, saying "God is not a teacher." Then we had time to free write, so I wrote. No goal, no aim, no end. Just this.

God is not a teacher but is that because he isn’t supposed to be or because what he wants from us cannot be taught. Or maybe we don’t understand what it is to be a teacher. Maybe he is a teacher in a new mold – not working from the position of frontal instruction, but acting as observer, with the occasional gentle nudge, guiding us by seeming to let us follow our own bliss while he sees a bigger picture and knows us better than we know ourselves.

Maybe we aren’t students so we don’t need a teacher. It could be that we are active partners in a constant creation and while we crane our necks to find a leader we never look back at ourselves and see that we are responsible for our own progress and we can’t absolve ourselves of that responsibility by foisting the role off on anyone or anything else, preferring to see ourselves as sheep and not acting as our own shepherds.

And it could be that we are looking to hang a label on God in a way that will make us feel more comfortable relating to Him. If we can name, if we can consign to a single role or position, then we can know where we stand But if we become stuck in that mode of God’s supposed relationship to us, then when He acts in a way which defies the expectations and projections we have established then we find fault with him. So it isn’t whether God is or is not a teacher, but whether it is right to see that feature as definitive and limiting and to the exclusion of any other hats he might metaphorically wear.

Wondering about God as teacher also presumes another level of awareness – the question as to whether God IS in the first place. Maybe this is an advanced stage or theological pontificating; we can safely hang on to our central belief by arguing straws and not substance. We can make our jibes and act the goof because all of that is predicated on a firm bedrock of silent acknowledgement. That could be a good thing because then we never (have to) confront the central issue of faith.

Is the poem a teacher? Is the goal for us to respond, to branch off, or to absorb and reflect? Should a poem make us think of new stories, be inspired to dream, or should we be puling the poem apart, dissecting it so see how its heart beats. Which will prepare us to read another poem, and is that the ultimate goal? Does that poem exist to drive us forward and away or inward? Does God want us to understand God and our world and make new ones, or does God want to guide us to finding ourselves and seeing how we work? Am I to be a new poet or creator or a master over what already is?

 

Beginning Parsha Questions

 This Shabbat, we read the first portion of the Torah, B'reisheet ("Genesis"). I have questions. These are not designed as riddles or trivia questions; they are sincere and developed questions seeking real and sourced answers, so if you know something, say something. Thanks.

1. Why did the creation process take 7 days (yes, I count the establishing of rest on Shabbat as part of the creation cycle)? God could have created the entirety of the world in an instant but did not. I have seen that discussed. But why specifically 7 days? Is there something independently important or sacred about the number seven that it fits the process? If we look at the events on each day, some could have been combined, or split apart so the process could have taken ANY number of days.

One idea I heard attached it to the name sheva for seven as sh-v-ayin is related to satiety. But that name is not inherently "seven" and could have been applied to any number that was at the end of the creation process. Had God decided to do the entire thing in 5 days, then he could have called the 6th day "sheva". And the 8th day, shmoneh, which I have, elsewhere, connected to "shamen", fat because it is "over satisfied", could have been used to name the day after those 6!

Someone suggested that 7 has value because, hey, look, it comes up in the shmita cycle. But maybe that's just echoic -- a reference to the 7 DAYs cycle as played out on a grander scale. Is the concept of seven a pre-existing religious and theologically important idea which we then make other things fit to, or do we look at the things and say, "hey they stopped on seven so from now on, seven matters"?

2. Each week, in Kiddush for the Shabbat morning, we are told that the Children of Israel observed the Shabbat as a sign and bond between God and the Jews because it is a weekly reminder of the first Shabbat, when God rested.

But why do we mark this weekly? I don't see it as marker of the end of the creation process because we don't do anything on it to sum up the whole cycle, just to memorialize the resting that happened ON THAT DAY after the cycle ended. Man was created on day 6 -- is there anything we do weekly to mark our own creation? We wait for the year anniversary to mark creation on the whole (and though we mention that many things are rememberances of creation or the Exodus each day, we don't do anything to ritualize that memory until, for example, Passover).

So do we mark our own weekly cycle of coming into existence in our prayers or actions on Fridays?

3. In this Parsha, Adam and Chava make a mistake and have to cover themselves up with leaves. God chastises them but then also decides to make for them better clothing out of skins of some sort. God acts as tailor. There is nothing miraculous about making clothing but God does it for them after they have already started a similar process. Then, throughout the Torah, God does miraculous things -- he confuses human languages, brings plagues, sends down the mon, allows the Children of Israel to pass through the Reed Sea...we have lists of the miraculous things God does and those things are inherently outside the skill set of man.

Jump to the last Parsha, and Moshe's death. In the telling of that event many commentators explain that God, himself, buried Moshe. God was a grave digger. Again, this is not a miracle, but instead a mundane and usually human activity. It just so happened that God was the only one around and so He stepped up and said "fine...I'll do it."

Are there other situations in which God does something that man can and generally does do? (I thought about the circumcision of Avraham, but it seems that the understanding is that Avraham did it himself even though God steadied him - I get this from the Rashi commentary on Bereisheet 17:24 included in brackets in the Artscroll chumash; the Rashi text on Sefaria and on Chabad do NOT have this section of Rashi and I can't find the medrashic source, so if you know it...)

By the way, I do not see "being a warrior" as the same thing because I see no place in the 5 books in which Hashem battles the way a human would or could have. I just see the description of Hashem as warrior.

It is (until I learn better) interesting to me that the 5 books of Moses are bookended by Hashem's doing the mundane.

Trick seals

 So last night, after we finished ne'ilah, I stuck around, as did a huge chunk of men, in order to daven Ma'ariv.

The question people often ask is "why daven ma'ariv in which I ask for forgiveness during my Amidah service? Did I just finish asking forgiveness? What sins could I possibly have done in the 3 and a half minutes between the joyous proclamation of "Next year in Jerusalem" and the saying of my silent prayer?

And, I'm sure, many wise and sage people have written a lot answering this question. I won't try.

But I think that the question is wrong. Shouldn't we be asking, "how dare we ask for forgiveness?" I mean, the gates are closed. The verdict is sealed. What standing do we have once the king has left the field? Yes, yes, some understand that the verdict is not sealed until the end of the Sukkot holiday but we ask for forgiveness the day after that also! So why do we even try? While, sure, we should focus on doing mitzvot, so as to build a case for ourselves next year, why ask for forgiveness if it is all about Yom Kippur and the sealing us in the book of life (or otherwise, God forbid)?

I recall as a youth, having an interest in being fancy. My parents indulged me and I got a calligraphy set. I wasn't horrible at it but there lack situations in which that skill is called for in the modern world. Shopping lists and poems about eating someone else's fruit, hastily scribbled on the back of an envelope do not require calligraphic skill. I also got a wax imprinting kit which, while interesting, was also impractical. I tend to use envelopes with adhesive already applied.

The wax kit included a colorful candle and a stamp with my initials. I don't actually remember if it it had my initials but the idea is that I could melt some wax and imprint on the still soft stuff some symbol that represented me. In the olden days, this was used to close messages and ensure that they were not read by the messenger. I cite Hamlet for this. Somewhere in the act 4 or 5 range. 

But the seal did not always mean "closed." It meant "official." And that's the difference.

God seals his verdict and then closes the book and the gates. He withdraws from the field to his courtyard within. And what are we left with? The possibility of sinning and no ability to do anything about it because things are sealed and shut?

No. Things were just decided and stamped by an official at that moment. The seal has been affixed. But if we learn anything from the story of Purim (other than the importance of sending me candy) it is that once a royal proclamation has been given the king's seal, other proclamations can still be issued! Can God undo the royal verdict given last evening? No one is asking him to. We are asking that he issue a new proclamation today, and another tomorrow.

Yes, the gates are closed but in our communal Modim prayer, we ask that (and I'm lifting this from the Sefaria translation)

"so may You always keep us alive and sustain us, and gather our exiles to the Courtyards of Your Sanctuary to observe Your statutes, and to do Your will, and to serve You wholeheartedly,"

We have to knock on the door. We have to be brought in. But nothing is locked -- all we have to do is ask. On Yom Kippur, there is a sense in the talmud that the day effects a forgiveness even if we don't ask but the rest of the year, we have to make a bit more effort. That's OK -- we got this.

So don't be daunted by the "seal." It looks fancy, and it has an important imprint on it. But it isn't the end all and be all and we need to stand at the gate, three times each weekday, and insist on being let in, demanding that we be given a chance to inspire a new verdict that is just as powerful.

In a sense, everyday is Yom Kippur. The gates are never fully closed and the verdict is never shut. Let's take advantage of the king's willingness to sign off on a merciful verdict on each and every day.

No, I'm not being A cute

 This morning's random thoughts centered on Star Wars -- true fact.

I kept wondering about the scene at the end of The Empire Strikes Back when Darth Vader explains to Luke that Obi Wan lied. He says that Luke's father isn't dead, but indeed, Darth IS Luke's father.

Cue music sting! Right?

But then I asked myself -- when did Darth Vader realize this? Was it some sort of nebulous Force-feeling? After the fiasco at the Death Star, did Darth look up the rosters of rebels? Darth was the ONLY survivor of the Death Star explosion so whom did he have to compare notes with?

At some point, and I don't know when, Darth must have stumbled upon something that mentioned Luke by name because, as has been pointed out, Obi Wan hid this kid with his own family so his name had not changed. If nothing else, this shows a lack of familial spirit by Darth -- had he even once picked up the phone to call his own brother, he would have found out that there was a kid in the house and Aunt Beru never sent out a pregnancy announcement! So he must have been adopted. Uncle Darthie (as he likes to be called) would go and visit and realize that Luke was actually his son and they would end up on an episode of Maury entitled "You raised my son like he's yours, and now I want him back so I can turn him to the Dark Side!" Riveting television.

But I digress. Did hearing Luke's last name conclusively convince Darth that Luke was his son? Maybe "Skywalker" isn't an uncommon name. It could be like the "Smith" of that galaxy. I mean, think about it -- our galaxy is far, far away and yet we have a Skywalker Ranch on this planet so the name clearly exists beyond that one star system.

So Darth figures it out and works towards capturing Luke, but on Cloud City, he doesn't say "Hey, wait Luke, let's not fight -- I just wanna have a sit down!" He waits until he has cut off his own son's hand before breaking the news because, you know, that might help Luke forget about the pain of losing a hand. Then Luke lets go of the platform and instead of catching him via the Force and lifting him back up (like Yoda did with an ENTIRE SPACESHIP) Darth just watches his kid get flushed down a space toilet.

Yeah, so I have questions, the first being "Why can't I think of normal things in the morning?"

Random 9/11 Thoughts at 21

Today, we are to mark, mention and mourn as the 21st anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. And if only that was simple, and "it" was just that simple.

If we were to commemorate every day on which there, historically, was a massacre, would there be any days on which there was no commemoration?

When does the recent past become history? When does pain become the memory of pain?

The “never Forget” of 21 years is part of a tradition of similar commands dating back to the bible. But when does “not forgetting” become the essence of the day instead of the “remembering”?

I wonder if the opposite happens with celebratory anniversaries – we move quickly from “never forget” into “remember”. Sure, we can set off fireworks when we remember the 4^th of July but we have stopped worrying about the “Never forget” of monarchic tyranny. We remember a birthday, less and less concerned about the “never forget the birth.”

And when did “dealing with the aftermath of” turn into “remembering”, anyway?

Then a bizarre sense of moral indignation sets in – “Hey, what gives you the right to only know the day as history? You’re an American and we all hurt.” Except maybe that’s when “remember” becomes “never forget”: when we no longer all and automatically hurt even though we know we have to “never forget.”

So today, when people are getting married and football is being played, when the calendar reminds us that 21 years ago, too many died, and since then, even more, today as we put an X in the box on the calendar because this is just another small bit of printing on a wall reminding us, let’s make sure that we remember and don’t only “never forget”.

  

Take them out of the ballgame

 

Yes, I am a dinosaur. This makes me no less cute, adorable or fossilized, and yet, no more, either. I like things the way they are and am a proud Crabby Old Man.” TM, no doubt.

The object of my most recent cantankerousness (ness) is baseball.

I’m a fan of the game and if you read Shoeless Joe by Kinsella, you will understand why. The geometry of the game with its foul lines heading off into eternity. The exactness of the distances and yet the variability of the various fields. The marathon which is also a sprint of a season, with each pitch being both ultimately inconsequential and yet having the entire season riding on it. The fact that seasoned vets, having watched thousands of games over the years still say, at least once each season “I’ve never seen that before.”

I know that some rules have changed. The height of the mound, adding more games to the season, night games, and reducing the number of balls leading to a walk from 9 to 4, yes, the game has evolved but there are some rule changes that have been introduced recently, and some which are on the horizon, and I don’t like ‘em by gum! So, I shall take a moment to list and explain why they are stupid and should be eliminated. [for the record, I’m against the designated hitter in both leagues – the 9 players on offense play defense and vice versa, also, no aluminum bats…I just hate ‘em]

COVID introduced 2 rules that I can recount off the top of my head:

1.   1.   Double headers are 7 inning games – this was to keep players off the field for the 8^th and 9^th innings of double headers, historically known as “the widowmaker innings.” No, they weren’t and the rule makes no sense. Fortunately, now that we are only wrestling with a variety of other diseases, games are back to the full 9 inning complement.

2.  2.   The automatic runner starting each inning in extra innings – a horrible rule. It screws with every bit of integrity in baseball. There are many ways to get on base in baseball. Why are we adding another one? To speed games along by introducing dishonesty? It puts pressure on the pitcher and means that 2 well placed sacrifices get a run across with no real success and effort by the team to get the guy on second. There are many other problems with it that I’m sure the pundits have pontificated about and I leave it to them, on the condition that they agree with me. I hate this rule and the horse it rode in on. I hope it goes the way of the 7 inning game.

Here are some others I have heard – some may be actually on the way and some might just be rumors and suggestions.

3. 3.   Not allowing the shift (or some other defensive configuration). I have never fully understood rules about illegal formations in football so I haven’t developed a suitably angry response, but when it comes to baseball, a team should have the right to put its players wherever it sees fit. Stacking the right side opens of the left and that’s a risk the manager chooses. Playing a short outfield based on scouting is perfectly reasonable. If you want to get a hit, teach your hitters to hit against type.

4. 4.   Rules about the number of batters a pitcher must face. This is designed to stop managers from putting a pitcher in for a single batter. But what’s wrong with that? You put in the guy you need to get this out and then you put in someone else if you want. The roster is yours to use however you want and if that means that in the 14^th inning, you have a position player come in and pitch or you run out of players because you burned through pinch hitters, then so be it. The question about whether you can flip a pitcher with a position player who also is a pitcher and then back (repeatedly?) in order to exploit the righty-lefty issue with batters is an interesting wrinkle. It means 2 pitchers having to bat, and the possibility that either one, on the mound or in the field is a weak link. That’s the game.

5.5.   The automatic intentional walk. You declare that you want to walk the batter and off he goes. This eliminates the risk of wild pitches, surprise steals, poorly thrown pitches that the batter can reach. It destroys playing the game and pretends that there are foregone conclusions. There aren’t.

6.   6. I have heard that the minor leagues are futzing with rules about how many times a pitcher can throw over to a base to check a base runner. After a couple of throws, any throw which doesn’t get the runner out either leads to a free base or a ball for the batter. Dumb. Baseball is often about unforced mistakes. If the pitcher keeps throwing over and then muffs a throw, that’s the risk. If a batter is finally kept closer to the bag so he can’t go first to third, that’s the game. There is a psychology to holding runners (and baiting pitchers). No foregone conclusions. Let the game happen.

7.   7.  A pitch clock. Baseball isn’t a game on a clock. Does this mean that things can lag? Yes, but some pitchers need the moments between pitches to compose themselves, rethink the situation or agree on a sign. Giving an automatic ball to the batter is ridiculous – it isn’t earned. This isn’t speed chess. And conversely, a batter who steps out too often, or stays out might get an automatic strike added. Uncool. The tempo is part of the mind-game.

 

I don’t know if there are other rules that I have missed or that are pending but I have no doubt that I don’t approve of them.

A Third random Torah thought!

 So to follow up on 

https://rosends.blogspot.com/2014/08/a-random-torah-thought.html

and

https://rosends.blogspot.com/2022/05/another-random-torah-thought.html

I had another thought.

Maybe the statements about happiness point to something even more basic. We know that we say in Shabbos morning davening "yismach Moshe b'mat'nat chelk" that Moshe will be happy with the giving of his portion.

We also know that Pirkei Avos teaches that the one who is happy is happy with his "portion."

Same word. Chelek. But I thought about that word a little this morning and here's something -- there is a well known mishna in the beginning of the 11th chapter of the talmud, tractate Sanhedrin which describes that

Kol yisra'el yesh lahem chelek l'olam haba (though I should probably do some research as to why it says "l'olam" and not "b'olam")

all Israel has a portion in the world to come. Though the chapter discusses the few exceptions to this, the point is that simply by dint of being a "yisrael" one has that portion (I should probably look up why it says "Yisrael" and not "Yehudi").

So we all have a chelek set out for us and therefore, we can all, if we understand that we should be satisfied simply being alive as part of Yisrael, reach the same level of happiness, simcha, as Moshe, and this will be the definition of being ashir, rich. The key is to be comfortable being who we are and that's it!

I'm sure one with more magic in his words could spin this even further. When the muse descends, I shall take another look.

Missing opportunities

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what I'm like when I relax

 

Dear Sigmund, via Sidney,

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

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

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

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

 

I want to be rich

 

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

How tough could that be?

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

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

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

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

I think that the hardest commandment is to be rich.

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

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

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

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

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

About face

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for the hypocrisy.

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

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

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

But.

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

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

Except for the hypocrisy.

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

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

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

The Gold-Dan rule

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

Sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

Leviticus 19:18

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

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

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

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

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

Storytellers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Inspirations

The Things They Carried

A word is dead

Constantly risking absurdity

Julius Caesar

Another random Torah Thought

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rolling the Dog

 I was struck today by how things that, at one time, seemed new, different or unusual, have become commonplace. I was also able to see things through the eyes of others, to whom what I have now come to accept is still strange.

Some background. Sparky the angry, blind dog is, indeed blind. He has been less angry recently but, alas, still cannot see. People come over to me and ask if my dog is really blind, so I hold two fingers up in front of his face and ask "Sparky, how many fingers?" When he doesn't respond, I say, "He can't see my fingers at all so he can't tell me how many I am holding up. He's blind!"

This usually buys me enough time to walk away.

Occasionally, people persist and want to talk about it. After I get them softened up by waxing poetic about perseverance and the can-dog spirit, I sigh and say "It's sad that we wasted all that time teaching him ASL."

Sparky, along with being blind and sometimes angry, is also lazy when it comes to me. Others can get him to walk, but he knows that I'm an old softie (and I'm emotionally weak, which goes along with my age and texture) so he can manipulate me into carrying him or pushing him in a stroller when we take in the airs. So there we go, dog sitting in a place where one would usually see a baby (or a midget smoking a cigar, pretending to be a baby in a cartoon), and the two of us sauntering down the street.

Originally, this seemed to me to be weird and, as the young people say it, awkward. I mean, he is in a stroller and he is a full grown adult! Cray, cray. But as the months and strollers have rolled on, I have become so accustomed to this that it seems strange to see other people NOT pushing their dogs in strollers.

Today, on one of our outings, we were passed by a car (we don't walk quickly). As the car passed, it slowed down and the driver gawked. Full on, complete gawk mode. A twisted smile, eyes bugging out and even a little point of the ol' finger. Now Sparky is blind, but he knows. He knows.

What struck me, though, was that I thought of the driver as the one acting strange. All I'm doing is wandering down the street with a dog in a-

oh

I flipped the scenario on its head and realized that, while from my perspective this is all fine, dandy and skippy I have to remember that to the majority of the rest of the known world, a dog in a stroller is probably unexpected and, yes, a tad eccentric looking.

When did I stop seeing it as the exception, but as the rule? How long does it take for any new behavior to be the only way to be? When does "new" stop being "new?"

Don't ask Sparky -- he's blind, so he cannot answer. 

Why Matzah?

I'm working on a Torah idea so I'm just going to float this out there:

 

There is a bit of a confusing mixed message in the Hagaddah -- the matzah is listed in one place as commemorating the bread we ate on the way out of Egypt when we had no time to wait and let the dough rise, and yet, earlier on, it is spoken of as being the bread that our forefathers ate while still IN Egypt.

So which is it? Is something special about the lack of rising time? Wouldn't be something they had gotten used to eating while slaves?

The way I see it, they ate it in Egypt because they had to. They had little and were not given time to enjoy eating food, so, as poor people with a paucity of ingredients, they ate matzah. It was a bread of poverty and affliction, and someone else's control over their time.

One would think that the Exodus would solve that! God says, "I'm getting you out, so relax and have a real slice of bread..." but the people, carrying that mentality of servitude run for the hill and now make matzah because they didn't know HOW to wait. They were conditioned. Unlike their dough.

Fast forward to the desert and the construction of the tabernacle. God commands that 12 loaves of showbread (lechem hapanim) are in the tabernacle each week. They are matzot (chabad.org has a nice article on them) but now they signify time and servitude to God, not man.

So at the seder, we eat them to bridge this gap. We WERE slaves to Pharaoh and eat the matzah that he forced us to eat, but then we left to serve God and channeled that sense of rushing not away, but towards, using the weekly Shabbat as a way to turn the bread of affliction to a demonstration of loyalty to Hashem.

We can take even a mark of our lowest descent and use it to signify our wish to rise to the highest heights.