Chumrot in Halacha

 

I have become very confused recently, specifically about the concepts sometimes intermixed when discussing Jewish “law.”

I vaguely recall a story in which a famous gadol of a rav is approached by his students (apologies if you know this story and I’m getting the details wrong). The students pointed out that he consistently issued chumrot and they wondered if he ever ruled leniently. He agreed with their point and decided to issue 3 leniencies. I recall that one went something like “you aren’t supposed to learn Torah on the eve of the 9^th of Av but I will rule that you can” or something like that. The point is that what students considered additional study/effort was what he was recontextualizing as a leniency because he created an allowance when the law/practice(?) (in the eyes of students) absolved them of that responsibility, if only for a short time. The "strict" reading stopped learning and the leniency allowed it. But wwhich one, if either was a stringency or a leniency?

Law in Judaism, halacha (the way to be) trace back to a few different sources – black letter text, textual inferences, statements in the oral law, expansions of application, edicts (time based and continuing) and adjudicated precedents are a few.

One idea which has always been a thorn for me is the idea of “rulings” – give a rabbi a fact pattern and he will apply a law and show what the practical application is. However, this ruling will be non-exportable, dependent only on the most local facts and accounting for unique variables. This allows rabbis to rule “leniently,” that is, looking for exceptions or interpretations which don’t require applying the law in its most stringent iteration. What is important to remember, though, is that the entire range of applications has to be considered valid “law” because in a given case, a different ruling might be issued an be equally valid though contradictory on the surface.

Take a case in which someone mixes up meat and dairy appliances and uses the wrong one for the wrong food. In certain cases, one dimension to be considered is the financial loss to the individual. If it is substantial, the rabbi can find a way to allow the appliance to continue to be used. This must then be as reasonable and valid an application of the law as a ruling invalidating the use of the appliance. The statement “kosher” is as valid as “not kosher” – in a sense, both are true and only an external context decides which is invoked. This even holds true on a communal level – what is acceptable for an entire community might not be for another. Some laws are designed only for certain locations (walled cities and Shushan Purim, for example) and some practices developed based on geography, like the ban on Kitniyot for Ashkenazic Jews. Food on Pesach made by Sephardim is still kosher; it is only the accepted norm which applies to only some which makes the food forbidden.

The gemara, in Masechet Chullin, 18b discusses the law when someone moves from place to place. In the discussion at hand, regarding the exact location of a shochet’s cut in order to create a kosher animal, one community accepts a cut that another would not. The resultant animal is then, in a sense, both kosher and non-kosher depending on the person. If a person moves (unless he is moving from Bavel to Israel), the gemara explains, he is held to the stricter standard. But does that apply to all “law” types? Is the understanding that schechita must be at one place a chumra/stringency? Or is it simply an understanding of the law that developed via a different tradition? What about a local minhag (as minhag, on at least one level carries the force of law)? Is a minhag a stringency?

In Pesachim, 50a, the policy is applied to locations where the practice is not to work on the eve of Passover. The text discusses a thing which is permitted but the people have a minhag/practice of considering it assur/forbidden. But the limits of this application are not discussed.

I considered applying this to the question of keeping 2 days of Yom Tov outside of Israel. Is that a chumra or just a unique ruling, or a different application of law? When people travel, is this rule about stringencies applicable? What exactly is a chumra? On which kinds of “laws” would it apply?

Just a bunch of questions for today…

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Extra notes -- there is an halachic concept known as Yuhara (arrogance). One may not accept a stringency upon himself because it would look like he is counting himself as a particular scholar. But the question of "stringency" can shift based on the popular practice and isn't even clear

see https://dinonline.org/2011/08/05/yuhara-laws-of-arrogance/ for more confusion

Also, there is a concept of minhag chasidus which is acceptable (though in some cases, not so acceptable) but that isn't always clearly a forbidding of that which is permitted; it is often just doing soemthing others don't do, but it isn't clear when and if that is, or ever was, haughtiness.

First Draft This

 

I read the news today, oh boy. All the big players are trotting out their Siri in a can versions so that people can interact with their browsers in order to avoid having to not know anything for any length of time.

One small step in the browser wars and on giant leap into the abyss of ignorance.  ChatGPT and its little friends are taking over the world. With a little nudge, each of them can construct sentences in response to a prompt. They can comment on current events (some more current than others), provide information and write (at least first drafts of) assigned papers. The English teacher’s job is thusly in peril as there is no need to teach the process of writing, right?

So now let’s work backwards. If the writing is not needed as a skill then what is left of the English classroom? What’s the point? Do we really value the reading of text simply for the sake of reading text? Isn’t reading just a way to generate prompts for literary responses? Golly gosh I say – maybe we can outmode all that nasty reading because students can turn to an iteration of AI to summarize pages of prose into bullet points of tasty, tasty soundbites and frame a response to such prompts as “What Can We Learn about Human Nature by Watching Romeo flit from Rosaline to Juliet?” Just point the Bard-by-Google, or whatever the next version of a deep-learning machine, to the text and let it wrestle with the question while all the students just sit there and count their money from the jobs they get which don’t need them to write essays.

And teaching grammar? Who needs to? We have Grammarly and all the auto-correct extensions which can check our writing on the flea fly and tell us how to conform to those silly rules (if they don’t just make the changes for us). So books? Out. Grammar? Out. What else is there? Let’s all go focus on math (no wait…I have a calculator), or on history (um, nope…I have Wikipedia and the rest of the internet). Map skills? No – my phone has the directions. Robotic surgery. AI generated art. Watson can play Jeopardy and diagnose illnesses and Deep Blue can play chess. Gee, with the advent of new technologies, it seems I don’t need to be able to do anything! Mankind can sit around and get fat while robots, computers and house elves do all the actual work.

Newsflash my padawans, the goal of education is not (or at least should not be) driven by the production of content. Education shouldn’t even (primarily) be about the attaining of skills. These are useful, interesting and efficient ways of measuring progress but they are inherently unimportant. Yeah, I said it. Forget that a computer doesn’t actually know anything (the current crop of programming build sentences based on the appearance of words in a particular order in its knowledge pool, not because they actually know what they are saying). Forget that a computer’s output is reliant on a human’s input (both in the constructing of initial programming and in the prompt which drives output). Forget that a computer can’t decide to be capricious, wrong or unexpected. A computer, as far as I can tell, can’t do the one thing that education is supposed to be about:

“Think.”

Can a computer generate a first-draft? Sure, but while it can even fix certain basic errors, it can’t assess its own weaknesses as a first draft measuring against the vagaries of a variable human audience, let alone the intangibles of style (and I have found that it often misunderstands the meaning of a sentence and recommends changes which actually introduce errors). It can’t reconsider a decision and reverse a position when confronted with contrary information because it doesn’t actually have an opinion in the first place. It can’t passively absorb and then craft a measured response sometimes driven by agenda and sometimes not. A computer cannot “write” because writing is the intentional presentation of th overflowing of ideas and thoughts, and a computer has neither of these.

In a world driven by instant gratification and an expectation that our answers and products appear in a microsecond, we immediately value automation which can create the end-result immediately. But the problem then is that we have lost sight of process and focus too much on product. Learning (including reading and crafting drafts, understanding the way grammar works and being able to assess other positions) is about brain development, not about generating responses. When a teacher asks a student a question, she or he isn’t asking for a computer to answer it. The teacher is asking that person to reflect, think, balance and compose. A calculator can compute an answer but it can’t intuit a relationship between numbers, and a person who relies on the calculator never learns to estimate or even judge whether an answer makes sense.

What has to change in the classroom to keep our pedagogy relevant? In a good classroom, not much. A good teacher has explained, from the get-go, that the essential goal is thinking and has clarified, along the way, how each step is designed to accentuate student-thinking. Can a student “cheat” by letting a website create a piece of writing? Sure, but that student will be developmentally stunted. A biker can cheat by using an electrically powered bicycle and he might get to the finish line in record time, but he won’t build any muscle. Essay writing isn’t a race, but a process, designed to help the muscle that is the brain grow stronger, more flexible and able to adapt and more equipped to deal with the unexpected, like a situation in which there is no computer available (the exportability of process and the cross fertilization of ideas is the synthesis which will allow for new ideas to flower and is beyond the scope of computer thinking).

Even right now, you, dear reader, are deciding how YOU feel about what I have written. And if you haven’t learned how to evaluate and construct a response, you will spend your time finding a piece of AI to help you decide what you think. And that’s sad.

The readiness is all

 

[Note, I’m writing this in Word and copying/pasting it into the blog so I am not embedding links.]

There is an idea in Jewish law that it is incumbent upon each of us to begin to study the laws of a holiday 30 days before the holiday so as to prepare ourselves and help us become comfortable with that holiday.

Much discussion has ensued about the scope and specific intent of this practice. Some discuss whether it is applicable to all holidays or just some, others about whether that means pushing off other elements of learning in order to focus primarily on the upcoming holiday 9and what kinds of conflict this might cause).

Some resources:

https://halachayomit.co.il/en/Default.aspx?HalachaID=1346&PageIndex=3

https://www.ou.org/holidays/hilchos-chanukah-30-days/

https://judaism.stackexchange.com/questions/6482/why-30-days-of-preparation-for-a-%D7%97%D7%92

https://www.torahmusings.com/2021/03/how-much-holiday-preparation/

 

The real wrinkle to me is the fact that 30 days before Passover is Purim. I’m not as interested in the question of “how do I study for Passover if I have a question about Purim” because I think that the calendrical proximity is its own answer. In a sense, practicing the rituals and observing the obligations of Purim IS a preparation for Passover.

On the most explicit level, the events of the Purim story, the idea of salvation from an oppressive force leading up to an acceptance of the Torah (as Shavu’ot is to Pesach, “kiymu v’kiblu” is to Purim) closely parallel our rescue from Egypt. So even simply reading the megillah is a pre-reading of the Haggadah as it tells a story of miraculous redemption – it is a Magid in its own rite (sic). That Esther decreed her fast for the people beginning on the 14^th of Nisan (according to the interpretation presented on this chart https://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/1359/jewish/Table-of-Dates.htm) means that observing the fast of Esther is a preparation for the Fast of the Firstborn which directly precedes Passover.

The other Mitzvot of the day similarly key us in to how we should be understanding Passover. One major Pesach obligation is making sure that the poor among us has Kimcha D'pischa, proper flour with which to make matzah https://ohr.edu/ask_db/ask_main.php/273/Q5/. What better was to teach us this Passover law than to make a similar one 30 days earlier? We are required not only to have a se’udah, a feast (like we will be required to have a seder on Passover) but we must give food-gifts to others to make sure they have a feast and we must donate to charity (mishlo’ach manot and matanot l’evyonim are then both ways for us to learn the laws of Passover).

There are other connections that allow Purim to set us up for Paschal success. We learn about Haman on Purim, while Passover’s Exodus story includes our receiving the manna (Hamon, in Hebrew). The megillah speaks of Mordechai as the author of the text as Moshe wrote the Torah text (for more on this connection, listen to https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/851709/ari-mirzoeff/short-purim-vorts-4-the-connection-between-moshe-rabbeinu-and-mordechai-hatzadik/ ). 

Reading about the list of the ten sons of Haman presages our study of 10 plagues. The Megilla (8:17) speaks of the fear of the Jews which fell upon the nations – “ki nafal pachad hayehudim aleihen” and reading that should help one understand the fear that is described which fell on the Egyptians in Sh’mot 15:16 (tipol aleihem eimata vafachad) and pointed out in Tehillim 105:38 (ki nafal pachdam aleihem). So learning about the story of Purim calls forth so many aspects of the Passover story that observing the laws and obligations of Purim is tantamount to preparing for Passover!

It isn’t about echoes or repeated tropes, but about how there is a larger plan in place which allows us not just to see fanciful connections, but actual interwoven words, themes and events. Our calendar is not a linear series of chronological events, separated by blank spot, but is a spiraling process through which we see the innate interconnectedness between all formative historical moments. Purim is 30 days before Passover because we cannot, in a sense, be truly prepared for Passover without it.

[secondary note -- Purim is always 30 days before Passover because in a leap year, the second Adar holds the holiday. This same fact is why Tu B'Shvat is not the same sort of preparation for Purim though it is often observed 30 days prior. Because 7 times every 19 years, it is 60 days before Purim in Adar II it cannot be said to have the same connection.]

Never duplicated

 Morning thoughts as I readjust to New Jersey. Why is it that I find myself drawn to Israel so much and Jerusalem so, so much. Sure, there is a religious element but I'd like to think that there is something deeper than a simple divine commandment. I assembled two ideas that probably aren't even mine, are not new, nor are they especially insightful. But mornings are for poorly thought out inspiration. It's like a rule of something.

The first is the idea of time and history. Israel on the whole and Jerusalem in specific exists both frozen in time and flowing with it. There is history there, ancient and modern and they are often at one and the same spot. And what is historical is also the future. The kotel is the nexus of the various time streams. It signifies the past, both biblical and recent, it is the essence of being in the present moment as connecting with it is an immediate, intense feeling, and it is a mark of a future temple, a promise that all is not lost. That pull back and forward and the need to see everything in the present is what Israel is all about. Drive the highways looking at battle fields from the last 75 years while looking at ruins from the last 3000 years. And then look at the people who live there now and making the desert bloom NOW and are leading the tech world into the future. All without leaving the passenger's seat. Drivers, focus on the road because there's a guy about to change lanes without a blinker. So that push and pull, that division and unity that city of contradiction and reconciliation, that stirs something in me that makes everything feel very real.

The second is a based on a little bit of word play and apologize to the linguistic purists who might (I haven't researched this) say that my "fast and loose" is too of both. One term for Jerusalem, at least part of it is Ir Ha'atika, the ancient city. This is often translated as the "Old City" but I think that that should be "Ir Hazaken/hazekeina"*. I'll stick with "ancient" for atik. When we aren't in Jerusalem, we use it as the basis for much of our thought (we must not forget Jerusalem!) Our synagogues are supposed to be a mikdash me'at, a "sanctuary in small" (a copy, as it were, of the holy temple in Jerusalem). So in any place where you find a Jewish community, you find a group trying to make for themselves a copy of Jerusalem. In a sense, Jerusalem is the most copied city in the world. In Hebrew, the word for copy (as a verb) is l'ha'atik and this word shares 3 consonants with "atok" (ancient) (ayin-tav-kuf). So the ancient city is also the copied city. It is where we all try to be even when we can't be there. So, as the title suggests, often imitated, never duplicated. To go there is to strip away the generations  and to see the original in its ancient and yet still vibrant and inspiring form. Going back to the source, the source of life and of identity is an experience that I enjoy.

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*based on wordplay, that would make it "the bearded city" because of the connection between old age and beards and their words in Hebrew. And yes, there are beards in Jerusalem but that's neither here nor there. Well, it is there, but whatever.

I took a midnight plane

 The house is sparkling and the children are all, spit-spot ready. They are sparkling as well. I walk with one of the boys to the synagogue of the president  (beit k'nesset hanasi) via Ussishkin. On the way, we see the Greenfield men heading to some other shul. People are crossing in every direction as it seems that there is a minyan in every pot. We are headed to the synagogue at which David's parents daven -- a very American style evening service. I am wearing a red sweater in a sea of people wearing suits and ties. Then back home.

Dinner guests are 4 seminary girls (when I heard the "sem girls" were coming over I thought we were having a Rolling Stones album party; I was wrong). Three are from Monsey (opa beis ya'akov style) and one is from Flatbush. They warm up to the family and love playing with the kids and arguing the subtleties of Harry Potter. Food galore and dessert to beat the band. After they leave, we all retire to our neutral corners. I woke up at 4:45 but there was a second show at 7AM. I readied myself for shul and we were off to Kol Rina. I got an aliyah but I'll forgive them for that. Then back to the house for lunch with David's parents. Deli, chicken, hot dogs, potatoes, veggies and probably other stuff I forgot. Wonderful conversation. Then I walked down to the end of the block to watch life in and around Gan Sacher. N, D and I all chatted, trading memories and thoughts. Mine were the depressing ones - my niche is known. My traveling jones neuroses started kicking up by mid afternoon but I held them off until after mincha, when the pacing began in earnest (a small town in Israel, I think). I started wondering about exactly how I was going to get to the airport. My plan had been simple -- as soon as shabbat was over, I would walk up to the train station and then, in 25 minutes, I'd be at the airport, plenty early and able to decompress, process and prep.

According to all accounts, though, that was not to be. The first train was not scheduled to leave the station until (get this...are you getting?) 8:40PM. Now, with shabbat over by 6PM it seems strange that it would take over 2.5 hours to turn the ignition key on a train, especially if anyone had a clue about the fact that all of Bergen county (nay, the NY metropolitan area) was planning to get out of dodge and they all needed to get to the airport. But, nope. 8:40. This would not do, thought I. Options? The bus has been mostly replaced by the train, so that's out. A cab would cost close to 80 dollars but a shared bus (up to 10 passengers but the driver drives around to pick people up at their houses) was only 71 shekel (somewhere in the range of 21 dollars, which is less). But you are supposed to reserve a spot by Friday morning, which had just recently become the distant past. Nomi called anyway and dealed the wheels so that Samer would make the pick up at some point around 8. I was ready to leave for the 3 minute walk to the pick up location at 6:45, just to be sure. I forced myself to stick around until 7:50 ish.

Side note -- the service that provides these mini-buses is called Nesher and the buses are know as a "sheroot" (service). But I saw an article last week in which the English used to name/describe them was "share route." Though completely wrong, this is still pretty much completely right. Cool beans etc.

We waited at the stop with Nomi in frequent contact with the driver, ironing out the exact location. She also explained to me why there were so many strange regular buses on her street. There are protests a block over so the buses have to use plan B and go around the protests. All very practiced. Anyway, we continue to wait and Samer says he is 7 minutes away. Then, in 6 minutes, a garbage truck appears and parks right in front of me. I take NO hint. But I do worry that the Nesher will not see us with this huge truck emptying dumpsters. Nomi speaks to Samer one more time and coopts the garbage truck for her nefarious purposes. She tells him that we are next to the truck, turning it not into a hinderance but into an asset - a visual cue! Genius! The mini-bus shows up at 8:25. Remember, my flight is at 12:05 AM. By my standards I am already viciously late. Then, then sherut does not leave town. Instead it climbs another hill and twists and turns and makes another pickup in some neighborhood on the far side of Baghdad. Finally, we go back down the hill and get on to the highway. We needn't have worried -- the traffic jam waited for us. As I slowly have a panic attack, we sit and look at brake lights. The driver actually gets off an exit and then comes back up the next entrance ramp hoping to bypass the traffic to some degree. Eventually we get to the accident (fully off to the shoulder, so nothing but whatever the Hebrew equivalent of rubbernecking is) and are able to move on. I have stopped looking at my watch and hope that the flight crew will also not look at theirs and forget to take off until I arrive.

When you drive into Ben Gurion, there is a security stop. Every car is stopped and so are buses. Often, a soldier comes on and picks someone at random, asks for a passport, and then disappears for a while and the bus pulls over to wait. Guess whose passport has the name "random"? Yay, I finally won a lottery. So now, I'm that guy slowing the whole thing down. This is doing nothing for my anxiety. Another soldier returns, confirms that the passport is mine and starts the security game show of "answer the questions about your trip." Normally, I'm quite good at the game, but when he started, has asked "English or Hebrew" and my answer was something north of "gibberish, please." The questions weren't tough (why are you here, where did you say, what's the square root of 89) but I completely forgot how to listen, think and speak. He asked how long I had been in Israel and I (seriously) forgot how to do basic subtraction, so I guessed -- heck he had my passport,. Why didn't he just check for me instead of making me feel stupid? It was, as they say, the straw that drank the camel's Coke. He returned my passport, convinced that I, as a certified imbecile, was no threat to anyone as long as I left the country as quickly as possible. At 9:30 we arrived at the terminal and I paid the driver, grabbed my stuff and ran inside to find a line that would make Disney World cry.

First line is the pre-screening line. I am quickly losing hope that I will ever get to any airplane, ever. I find out that behind me there is another family (mom, dad and two very littles) who are on the same flight, so I figure, if we all miss the plane, I can defray the cost of a new ticket by picking up a babysitting gig. The line behind me has (no exaggeration) doubled already, and is still growing. Had I gotten there a few minutes later, I would be teaching class via Zoom on Monday. By 9:54 I finished the prescreening and was allowed to move into the line for check-in. I noticed that the family that was behind me has somehow made it onto a separate line labeled "staff" and are all the way through already. My source of reassurance and ready cash is gone. I made it through check-in, weave around the oversized line for oversized luggage, and towards the next security check. This starts with a screening to see if you are moral enough to go to the next screening. After a couple of these, you get to the "choose your own adventure" part of the show where no one directs you, you just pick a security line. The instructions say to take off your outer layer of clothing. I'm wearing a suit and a winter coat, so I take off the winter coat. I also put my bag on the conveyer as I have in the past. But the rules have changed! The bag goes in a bin, shoes stay on and the suit jacket has to come off. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. And, when you put the suit jacket in the bin, it has to go UNDER the carry on, and not on top of it. We have rules, people. Otherwise, what separates us from the animals? On through the metal detector after I confirm to repeated questioning that my pockets are completely empty and, no, I am not wearing a belt. The detector agrees with me and I move through, trying to collect my various stuffings from bins 1 through 4. I am really shocked that more people don't lose/miss/forget more stuff there. I feel like they make us doff so much and pile it in bins in order to make us lose things that they can then sell to support the hiring of more metal detectors.

Next up, Biometric Passport Control. No BioImperial, I notice. Fascists. There used to be a sign that told you to use biometric if you can, though no one told you if you could or couldn't. Now they just have everyone smile for a camera in order to open the little gate things. No piece of paper (an exit visa) is issued so had I the time, I would worry. But, alas, I will have to save that for another trip. Down the big ramp to the main hall and all the shops and food and such. I have a pretty advanced case of nausea already so I figure that some food would be a great idea -- one must have something in his stomach to be able to throw up really spectacularly, right? But time is not on my side. It is after 10 (I'm not sure exactly what time it is because my watch is in a pocket of something I put in a bin and I can't figure out which one so I just keep moving. There is a clock but I have lost the ability to read it (digital) and can't comprehend what time means anymore; there is only the now and the late error. I'm too bundle-of-nerves to slow my rolling bag on the way to gate C6 so no food is good food at this point. I settle in at C6 at 10:42 (boarding is at 11:10). I am finally able to do the math -- curb to gate in about an hour and quarter and the 5 years off of my life. I buy a beer and a bag of chips with my remaining Israeli money (there is a tip jar that says, "Afraid of change? Give a tip." I like it so much I give them one shekel) and try to relax.

At 11:08, no announcement has been made about boarding so there is already a line. In our community, everyone is special, so when they finally ask those with special situations to queue up, we are already there. I have no platinum status, preferred traveler, purple badge or whatever the really special people have, and I notice that some of the reg'lar folk are being pulled out of the pre-boarding security line to go to a faster one. I am about to get angry about it when I realize that I'm already being a jerk for lining up well before my group is due to board. So I shut the ol' gob and wait my turn. I like to board early because, you know, 12 hours of flight time on a plane isn't enough. I want that extra 30 minutes to make sure that I'm really uncomfortable. Seat 26H beckons so I situate myself, put my carry-on in the carry-on place and observe. At this point, I have seen a couple of students who have given me the smile-and-wave, but not the mass of them that I thought would be flying home tonight. Until the Kramarsz family comes on board! I'm a fan of theirs so this provides some good fun (man do THEY have a story...I won't tell too much of it, except for the wrinkle that this wasn't their flight, but they showed up 12 hours early for their flight because they misread AM for PM so they hopped onto this one -- I do like the idea of being 12 hours early for a flight...). Next coincidence -- remember when I said that we had Shabbat dinner with sem girls? One asked me if I knew a specific Frisch student. It happened to be she asked about Sivan Kramarsz! I was planning on finding Sivan on Monday and telling her but, wow -- she got the seat directly across the aisle from me so I told her then. That left just the next 12 hours to kill with awkward conversation!

It turned out, by the way, that the seat to my right (the middle of our little row of three) was unused so there was a little more room to breathe the recycled air. Yay! The plane's thermostat was set at an uncomfortable 78 degrees (F, you know) so there was that also. We took off at 12:25 and the skies were ours. I took a benadryl and watched "The Dead Don't Die". Weird movie -- I'm not sure if it was good or just amusing and bizarre. Either way, it was on my list so I got to check that off. I made the decision not to eat any dinner and I think this was prudent of me because I feel that a classroom teacher loses some of his authority if he throws up on his student. I wasn't especially hungry anyway so I moved to the next stage of the flight -- the shifting of position and inability to be comfortable while I try to sleep. The turbulence was minimal so there's that. I did as much tossing and turning as the limited space and my aching body would allow and slept on and off and in and out for a bunch o' hours. At the 8 hour mark of the flight (after semi-sleeping for 5.5 hours or so) the captain made an announcement "Cabin Crew, please be seated." I checked the chart and we were approaching Iceland. I assume this was some sort of local custom, to sit when one nears Iceland. Otherwise, it was a coded way of telling the crew that we were going to hit heavy turbulence. Good luck falling back to sleep after that! So I stayed up and fretted. No turbulence ensued but this did waste another half an hour of my life. I did get a little more sleep but not really any "rest". Or maybe it is vice versa. I can't tell any more.

I did opt for breakfast (they asked if I order the "really kosher meal" or not. I said "I'll take whatever you have" and I got an omelet, a roll, a "white cheese" a fruit jam, a yogurt, a biscuit, a fruit bar a cup of water and a bag in which there was just the most adorable group of tiny veggies -- an orange pepper, a small cucumber and a tomato. I ate the dry omelet, drank the water, and had the cuke and pepper. I saved the biscuit and fruit bar for the future and let the rest sit there. Then a small cup of coffee (my final caffeine hurrah...it was about 3am, NJ time so I hope I am able to sleep by Wednesday). The usual end of flight routine (solicitation for duty free, asking for donations of pocket change to the "Small Change, Big Dreams" charity, thankyouforflying etc. The noises of flaps and engines and such, plus the lights start getting brighter. No mention is made of customs declarations. In the olden days (gather round kids) we had to fill out a declaration about what we were bringing in. There was worry about truth and lies, about what counts for what, and no one had a pen anyway. This time, nothing.

With 40 minutes left the captain announces that we are at 10,000 feet and will begin descending soon. This must be some important developmental milestone but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. We are now going only 282 mph because maybe there is a cop outside or something.

Landing at 4:46AM and off the plane, through passport control (why are all airport workers so grumpy?) and by 5:05 I am at carousel 6, waiting for the baggage to come out (the sign says "15 minutes" but that reflects neither when the bags actually start coming out (5 minutes) or when MY bag comes out (30 minutes)). Then to the cab line to get me a ride home.

Laundry is being done. Much stuff has been put away. I am down and safe. Papers to grade, grades to compute, humans to interact with, last ditch carbs to eat. I sign off and remain ever, humbly yours.

Yom Chi-chi

 When we last left our intrepid hero, he was getting ready for dinner. The choice was "Black Iron" whch serves neither. This is a fanou cy place which is from the Latin root "unnecessary and expensive." The saving grace is that the food is tasty. My appetizer is called Pani Puri or something like that. Little globes of taco shells, full of pulled brisket. Supposedly exotic or ethnic or esoteric or I don't know what. It was served in a bowl of uncooked black beans. I was reassured that I didn't have to eat them. I figure, I paid for 'em so I should be able to take them home. The restauranteurs disagreed. It was tasty but at what price? At. What. Price. I could tell you, actually but I won't.  Let's keep some mystery in our relationship, shall we? Suffice to say, "a lot."

Then a steak. They had prime rib, delmonico, Denver, wagyu and like that. They had words from many languages all meaning "dead cow." I bought one. The side (beyond the crystal salt, chimichuri dish and the garlic cloves) was a bowl of the creamiest mashed potatoes ever. There was a pit in the middle filled with gravy -- I initially thought it was a series of pineapple rings. It wasn't. It was good (not an epiphany, but nice). The Aarons ate their steak with lumpy potatoes. Or maybe chunky potatoes. Something unflattering. They were pieces of potato, punched in the face and then cooked a few times in different ways. The end result is potatoes. Huzzah. We shared a bottle Yarden Pinot Grigio 2020. That was nice, even the part Avrum spilled on himself. Actually, that was even nicer! I joke but blame it on the wine, and wine not? The Aarons had a dessert of caramel (parve) ice cream served with some topping and some other topping. Something involved pecans and that was my cue to turn the other check. I live in fear of dessert in this country. Overall, it was a very nice experience and the company was what made it exceptional. Yay Aarons! We caught up and now I know all there is to know so I hope they don't do anything else because then I'll be behaind again.

I slept from 11-1 again and then had the requisite nightmare and stood no chance of falling back asleep for a long while. I signed up for the 5AM to 9AM sleep shift and left it at that. In the morningk I took 3 boys to Sam's Bagels so they could have a tourist for breakfast, or something like that. They got pizza bagel sandwiches which are nothing like pizza bagels. We also bought an extra muffin for David and a bagel and a coffee-slushie for Nava who could not join us. We did arrange to meet her at the shuk so I decided to save myself for Coffee. We weaved ourway through the crowds, mostly tourists who aren't actually doing any cooking for shabbos but need to take pictures of themselves blocking traffic. So very spiritual. We made the handoff and I said my goodbyes to Nava and then across the street to the Power Coffeeworks for some daddy medicine. I ordered 2 decafs (Americano) and sat outside to drink it while the boys played the board games. Eli and Rafi started playing Backgammon by what seemed like Calvinball rules. The games were fast which is the saving grace because backgammon is essentially a dumb game. Yoni invited himself into a chess game and I ignored that because chess is essentially a dumb game. I searched in vain for a Chutes and Ladders board but somehow, they forgot to stock that. We ran in to Gil Tannenbaum! That was unexpected and nice. He split off to play chess as well. We left Yoni there to play while we crossed again to visit the nearest liquor store and buy a six pack of something. There are so many brands but I don't know most and don't want to learn about them. Heinekin it is.

Now back to N+D to start preparing for shabbat. I have to pack up my bags so that I can exit stage left even as soon as Shabbat is over. Yes, that will get me to the airport early but when was that ever a problem for me?

I might have a chance to write at Ben Gurion but I need to start assembling my thoughts in a summative sense. This has been a vacation marked by incredible relaxation, and a nice mix of the familiar and the new. I'm not convinced that spontenaity is really for me, but when you have no reason to be any place, this was a good use of my time. I still have papers to grade but I am relaxed about not having done so. Yay?

Good shabbos all.

Lunch, with grave-itas

 Dinner on Wednesday night was a walk back to Ben Yehuda because, by law, I have to eat at Moshiko's on each trip at least once. V'chol hamarbeh, harei zeh meshubach. I marbe'd. Felafel in a pita with chumus, a little spice, Israeli salad, techina, pickles and cabbage (green, not purple, because I thought it was lettuce and it wasn't but once I asked for it, I would have been showing weakness if I changed my order). It was wonderful especially with a Carlsberg beer. Then, repeat as necessary and man, was it necessary. Back to the house and sleep. I got three hours, then sat up and read for an hour and a bit, then almost 5 more hours of sleep. Call it a win!

Up and moving around -- a walk to Agrippas to watch the trucks negotiate turns where they have no chance of turning. And yet, magically, and this is one of the talmudic miracles of Jerusalem, they make the turn. Coffee at Power CoffeeWorks, the best decaf shekels can buy. Apologies to those who think otherwise, sorry but I gotta be right. A friendly place with lots of English speakers with many accents. This was the place I went to last year because they had donuts that were nut-free. No donuts this time (some cookies in a jar but I skipped that) but 2 cups of dark roast decaf. Coffee is the ikkar but the caffeine fix was filled days ago so I decided not to have the regular.

I got a text from Steve saying he was unable to make lunch. This is sad because it is always nice seeing Steve but when God closes a door he opens a different door. Not a window. What help is a window. Why would you think "window" anyway? Ridiculous. Jeff said that he would be able to take me to Har Hamenuchot to visit my parents' grave. So that's a win in a weird sort of way.  The guys in the stores across from the coffee place are arguing (as apparently, the often do) over something, maybe parking spots or table space...who knows. The people in the coffee place say that they argue until the police come. So I get coffee and a show. What a deal!

A woman walked in and went behind the counter, fixed an apron on herself and started making a cup of coffee. As she worked, a customer came in and told her his order - Americano with oat milk. She looked at him blankly and said "sorry, I don't work here." The other guy behind the counter corroborated this. She just went there to make herself a cup. That's the kind of place it is. And the music is beyond reproach for an old man (Monkees, Aerosmith, Badfinger, the Archies and then "Our House" by CSN). I wanted to buy more coffee and listen to more music but enough is enough sometimes. But not always. This time it is. Sort of.

I walked up Agrippas. I didn't go into the beauty shop because I don't need any more beauty, eh? (that was for all the Bob and Doug fans). I took me to the candy shop (first I went into the Columbia outlet, not because I wanted a remaindered degree but because I am considering replacing my fleece with an exact duplicate, but the price was more of a fleecing than the coat so I left). I passed Marzipan and the bees smelled delicious. At the candy shop I stocked up on chocolate bars and caramels (Mamtakei Ami Chayim). Then into the belly of the beast by way of the left nostril. The goal of wandering the shuk is to get completely lost, secure in the knowledge that can't really get lost. Eventually you und up on Agrippas or Yaffo. But in the meantime, having no sense of where you are is fun. You walk what might be the same path you walked already but because of the sensory overload and similarity between stores, you can't tell. Hatch was closed (it was 11:30 AM) so I couldn't get a morning beer. I shall survive. I felt disoriented enough just trying to figure out where I was so the buzz wasn't necessary. I had so many places not to shop at to choose from. 

While I prepped myself for lunch I reconnoitered dinner. I'm neurotic like that and like other ways, but also that. I just wanted to know that I would know where to be when the time came to eat more. Chatzot is at 123 Agrippas so I figured that the dinner place would be on the other side of the street either up or down from there. So I walked in one direction and quickly saw the odd number increasing. I turned around and walked the other way. I got to the 71 range and decided to cross and go back down a little find 80, my goal. There was no 80. I looked and looked. I saw numbers approach 80, but never actually reach it -- it was Zeno's address. I kept walking, seeing no 80 and realized I was across from Chatzot at 123. That didn't make any sense so I walked back, figuring that I missed it. I did the whole exercise a few times until I just kept walking past Chatzot and found 80. It was on the even side but lower down, beyond 123. The new math, I guess. Also, the name on the storefront was not "Black Iron" or whatever the name is. I saw that name when I read the te'udah (I wasn't questioning their kashrut, but a certificate was bound to have an address on it, right? Actually, not always, but in this case, it had the name).

I often saw soldiers, male and female, in and out of uniform, walking around, shopping and eating. People say you have to get used to seeing people carrying machine guns but the truth is, I am beyond getting used to it -- now I get uncomfortable when I don't see it. It is an essential part of the cityscape.

Chatzot was very nice. I started with crispy cauliflower, then had an entrecote salad (lots of veggies, and steak tips, but the good kind). I drank a Carlsberg and all was right with theworld. Jeff and I chatted and caught up and I enjoyed that immensely. Yes, I missed Steve, and hope he feels better but I still had a great meal with great company. We left and stopped at Marzipan so Jeff could buy some bees, nuts (that was for Julie and Hillel) and cookies for Shabbat. Then well into the shuk to find strawberries that were not yet packaged (because they cover the yucky ones with good ones, so you have to find them loose) and then to a few different guys until we found oregano. The guy who stocked fresh oregano is on Pri Etz road. Tell him Dan sent you. He won't know what you are talking about because I didn't speak with him, but those little moments of confusion are fun. Then back to the parking garage (we stopped into an incredible looking butcher with steaks and such -- Jeff said it was an Argentinian place but I didn't hear the cows moo so I can't be sure. It looked really good. Down the elevator to the lowest sublevel (-6) and the car. Jeff then braved traffic and weird directions to take me to Har Hamenuchot.

I keep a tab open on my phone with the location of my parents' grave. It assumes 2 things -- one, that you can get to the cemetary entrance, and two that you can realize that the map it provides is woefully incomplete and occasionally wrong. There is constantly new construction being done at the cemetery so the more things change, the less they stay the same. This time, I walked in, convinced I knew where I was going -- we were in the right section (49) but the sub section was wrong (27 and we needed 17). The next level down was 26, so we were headed in the right direction, but there were only 4 more "downs" to be had. We took the elevator to the bottom level -- yes, elevator) and saw a bunch of people (and a cool "indoor" section carved into the mountain). I found a worker and showed him where I needed to be and he said that if I waited 2 minutes he would take me there. And he did -- very nice of him. I spent some time at the grave, cleaning it off and putting rocks on it spelling "Hey now". Why "hey now" you ask. Because I put a heart on it once and when I came back, the heart was gone and other people put hearts on theirs. I put "mom" and "dad" on it and I came back and other people copied that as well. Let's see who copies "hey now." It was not a Crowded House reference. 

Jeff told me a very funny story (before we got to the cemetary -- at a cemetery, funny stories are not allowed, just bizarre behavior). He explained that his daughter in the army successfully petitioned the army to let her wear men's pants. Why men's? Because women's (later edit, women's non-combat) army pants have no pockets. That may be the single funniest, saddest and weirdest example of engrained sexism as you will ever hear. I figured to pass it along to all youse.

Back up the elevator and I took pictures to remind me next time of the wrong way to go, as I figure that by then, they will have built something else making this path obsolete. Then Jeff drove me back to basecamp. Big thank you to Mr. Oshin and another "sorry not to see you" to Mr. Lauderdale!

Time to prepare myself for dinner! Best cruise ever!