Van Cliburn

There's an obituary for the pianist Van Cliburn in the LA Times this morning.  When I was a very young teenager, Van Cliburn played at the college in the town where we were then living.  My mother had season symphony tickets, but she scored tickets for her three youngest children who still lived at home.  My brothers and I were way in the back of the balcony, but it was still a magical experience to hear and see him play.  Well, it was magical for me and John.  Mark slept through it.  In Mark's defense, he was one of those kids who played hard and then fell asleep as soon as he quit moving.  John is probably still annoyed.

Fashion

When I was a teenager, my mother used to tell me that there is only so much that you can do to drape the human body, and that the same fashions come and go.  At the time, I thought she was just saying that because her generation couldn't have been as hip as mine.  Her generation's clothes are gracing the windows of department stores now.  Hmm.

I see it too.  Now that I'm pushing 50, I flip through fashion magazines and think, "Oh yeah, I had pants like that when I was sixteen."  You can even buy corsets again, despite the fact that we now know they damage your internal organs.

See... mom's are smarter than you think.

Rising Sea Levels

Here's a cool link to play with.  It has a map that shows how high flood levels will possibly rise, depending on where you live.  There's a little slider on the left side, so you can see how high the flood surges would go based on the rate that sea levels are rising.

So here, for example, is where the surge levels would be for the year 2020 in my neighborhood:

Now, here we go in 2100:

Don't worry, we still live in the white bits.  However, a lot of people live in the flood bits.  I know some people who are about 15 years older than I am, who live in the underwater bits.  I asked them how they feel about it and they said that they don't care, because they will be dead.  I think this is a strange answer.

I don't have grandchildren yet, but my siblings do.  My parents both lived into their 80's (dad is still adding age, and he's up to 87 now).  Chances are that some of those kids I know will indeed be around (well, hopefully not in this particular neighborhood) when the waters take back the coasts.

Ironically, one of the places between here and Seal Beach is a little island called Venice.  Will it become a city on water?  Are the houses built for that?  There are a lot of houses in this particular zone.  Will people just abandon them and move farther inland?  What does that mean on a practical level?  Or will the whole country want the Army Corps of Engineers to build levees?  It will be curious to see how it plays out.

Don't Lie to Your Kids

In America there is a big lie that we frequently tell our kids.  That lie is: you can be anything you want to be when you grow up.  We live in a very competitive world.  Of course hard work plays an important part in who we become, but there are also internal and external factors that shape us.

Let's look at the kids who want to grow up to be professional athletes.  There are all kinds of reasons why any child can't grow up to be a linebacker.  No amount of practice can make up for physical stature.

How about a concert pianist? Come on, no kid wants to grow up so they can give neighborhood kids piano lessons.  In this case you need to have some innate talent.

How about President of the United States?  What if you grow up in an area with lousy schools and you are working hard and barely able to stay away from homelessness?  Your odds of getting into a prestigious university are about nil.  Unless you are intellectually gifted and freakishly lucky, in which case I suggest that you go ahead and run.  We could use a leader with freakishly good luck.

Princess?  Chances are that your dad isn't a king.

Listen to who your kids want to be and then discuss it with them.  Maybe they want to be a concert pianist and if they enjoy playing the piano, (and you have access to a piano) then it might be a good idea advise them to practice a lot and see where they are in a couple of years.  Kids are pretty good at assessing things and then changing their minds.  Help them to be successful in life.  That doesn't mean being rich or famous.  That means making basic life choices that create meaningful lives for them.  Just stop telling them that they can be anything.

 

Purim Prep

Today I'm doing a cheater posting because I still have a lot of baking to do before Purim (starts on Saturday after sundown).  My sister-in-law Char is baking Hamantaschen as fast as she can, but I need to get going on the little gingerbread Haman's that we will hang from the bags.

So here you go, your Purim warm up...

Elijah?

We Jews are a little weird when it comes to Elijah.  We set out a glass of wine for him at Passover, and we save him a seat of honor at circumcision ceremonies.  At Passover at one point we even get up and open the door for him so he (or whoever is wandering around alone on the night of a holiday).  I don't know if you remember, but he didn't get to die.  He's stuck on the planet until the Messiah comes.

Now, here's the condensed version of what happens.  Every generation produces someone who could be the Messiah.  Elijah is wandering around checking out each generation in the meantime.  He disguises himself (or maybe he just naturally is) pathetic, probably smelly, probably crazy.  Who the Christians would call "the least of these my brothers."  He will appear to our generation and if we treat him badly, he'll be back to check out our kids.  When we recognize him and treat him as he deserves to be treated, we all win and the Messianic age can start.

Personally, my own goal is not to screw it up for my generation.  Simple goal.  There are many times I have met someone who is potentially Elijah.  Face it: there are lots of pathetic, smelly, crazy people around.  I just have to remember that these people were created in the image of G-d, that they carry a divine spark.  If I get a danger vibe, I keep my distance, but otherwise, at the very least, I acknowledge their humanity.

I can tell you amazing stories of encounters of my own and others that have lifted my spirits because of very minor acts of kindness.

But the other day I went into a UPS store to overnight some legal documents.  My son was with me.  A homeless looking man came in.  He had a hodgepodge bundle of cardboard wrapped in string.  His clothes were filthy, but he had a clean strip of denim around his neck.  He came in and greeted me and told me about Levi Strauss, the guy who came up with blue jeans.  I knew this story because my father had taken me to see his house on one of our many family road trips.  He told me that he was a Levite like the blue jean maker.  Then he asked me, "Do you recognize me?"

Of course I recognized him.  He's an Elijah, just like a million other Elijahs out there.  So I told him that I did recognize him.  He then taught me some gematria (a Jewish system of numbers associated with letters so that we can mathematically figure out meanings).

I have been overwhelmed by the plight of the homeless this winter.  It has shattered my heart again.  After this man taught me some gematria about 13 (the Gregorian year we're in right now... you know 2013 = '13?)  that doesn't really matter here, he asked me again if I recognized him.

"Yes, I do recognize you," I said.

Then he told me something very important for my life.  He told me that it isn't time for me to give, it is time for me to receive.  That's why he was giving me a teaching and not asking for anything.  (That's what my therapist has told me, but I believe the crazy man more.  It's a sweeter message from Elijah.)

All this time, the UPS staff is apologizing profusely and trying to shoo this guy away.  Then he tells me something else.  He tells me that if I'm ever in Hollywood to look him up.  He says that he has a lot of money and that he'll give me $18,000,000.  He says that he doesn't let people know he has money because then they pester him about it, but since I recognize him, he will give it to me.

Now, for a very short gematria lesson.  The numeric equivalent of the word "chai" (which means "life" in English) is 18.  He was giving me the gift of life times a million.  Cool.

Much to the relief of the staff at UPS, he then left.  They apologized again.  I told them not to apologize, that all people have a need to be recognized.

I am dedicating this post to the memory of our good friend Chris Ung, who was my buddy in Elijah-ness.

A Brilliant Man

In this morning's LA Times there is an article about Israeli rivals making an alliance and that it's making it nearly impossible for Netanyahu to form a government without them.  The two groups are the far-right Jewish Home and the center-left Yesh Atid.  The guy I want to point out to you today is Yair Lapid, the head of the Yesh Atid.

Yair Lapid first came to my attention through Dov Bear's blog.  (Dov is  the reason I blog.)  Here is the clip that I think is probably the most forward looking political statement I've heard in ages.

It deserves a look.

Okay... Police Are Just Weird

I live in a pretty darn quiet neighborhood.  It's the kind of place where kids can play outside and you can walk alone after dark.

For the last couple of days, the police have been slowly cruising our neighborhood.  The first time I came out of my house, while they were cruising, one of them beckoned me over to ask me this question, "Have you seen a girl riding a bike around here?"

Really?  A girl on a bike?  Long Beach is known for being a bike friendly neighborhood.  I told him that I hadn't noticed, because I was just coming out of the house for the first time of the day.  I asked him if I needed to be on the lookout (I was imagining a missing child).  He said, "Yes, for a girl on a bike."

Then he started rolling up his window.  I stopped him.  I explained that that was a pretty vague request and that I see lots of girls on bikes ride by my house.  He told me that this particular girl was riding round and round the block and that she was paying special attention to my neighbor's house.  He would not give me any type of description.  Just "a girl riding a bike."

My neighbor is a bit of a recluse.  Maybe he's in witness protection or maybe  he has a stalker.  Who knows.  But if the police want help, they need to be more forthcoming about what they want us looking for.  A girl on a bike.  Nice.  Is she six?  Is she packing heat?  Do you really need two squad cars with two policemen each to take her down?  If she is circling the block, shouldn't you have caught her by now?  It's a small block.  But they are still slowly driving around this morning.  I hope nobody gets caught in the crossfire.

Abandonment

For the record, I'd like to say that it is not okay to abandon people.  Usually I pussyfoot around this subject because so many of the people I know have abandoned people.  They always have great reasons.

Specifically I would like to address the issue of parents.  I know that in our society multi-generational households are the exception, not the rule.  People move away from home right after high school to pursue their dreams or even just a decent job.  This often means moving away from their family.  Okay, that's life.  That's the modern American way.  Keep in touch on Facebook, where everyone has a glorious life to present.  Guess what?  That's like those Christmas cards you get.  My mother had a friend who asked her, "Doesn't anyone else have f*#^ed up kids?"

I didn't really know my parents until I lived with them as an adult.  When I was in high school I was busy being a rebellious teenager.  We didn't have very many deep or meaningful conversations during those years. The folks were working and I was hanging out with my friends.

The reality is that you probably will have to move away.  And that's a good thing.  Just don't forget them.  Don't leave them out of your life or you won't ever know who they really are.  You actually have to figure out a way to spend time with them.

If, someday, you have to put them in a "Care Facility" (that's what they call nursing homes now), don't abandon them there to die.  Go see them.  Make sure the nurses know that you will checking up on them often.  If you don't, the nurses will focus on patients who have families that care.  Send them visual reminders like photos and cards and flowers so that when you aren't there, they know you still care.

If you have kids, let them spend time around your parents, even if your parents annoy the hell out of you.  If you don't, the kids will never really get where you are coming from and you will be quickly abandoned too.

I was so proud of the Obamas for moving grandma into the White House when they went.  They know that she has a lot to add to their family and that she will always be there for them.  The love of grandparents is a sweet love indeed.  They see your shortcomings, just like they saw those of your parents, and they realize that you'll probably be just fine, just like your parents.

If you missed the movie Parental Guidance, and you are a grandparent, parent or kidlett, I think you should watch it.  Here's the trailer:

Unfriendly Police

When I was a kid I was taught some things at school that I went home and reported and was promptly untaught.  The most famous of these was when I came home from school and told my mother that we had learned that we were never supposed to talk to strangers.  She looked at me a minute and then said, "You're five years old.  How many people do you know?"

She had an excellent point.  I've been talking to strangers ever since.

The conversation that seared mostly into my mind was with my Auntie Denese.  I was explaining to her that policemen are our friends.  She stopped what she was doing (very rare since she was the queen of multitasking), sat down so we were eye level, took me by the shoulders so she knew I was paying attention and said, "The police are NOT your friends."  I was stunned.  I was a little kid and I wanted to know why.  I was a little kid, so she didn't want to tell me.  She told me to just trust her on this one.

A little background on my auntie.  She was always involved in the League of Women Voters (often as president of her local chapter).  When she and mom were invited to join The Daughters of the American Revolution they vocally declined to be a part of the then very racist organization.  She and two nuns brought about some prison reform in Alabama.  She taught political science at Saddleback, here in Southern California.  Here's the important part: she would never lie to us about something important.

I asked my mother about policemen not being our friends.  She nodded sadly and told me that Denese was right and that I would understand it better as I got older.

Guess what.  I'm older.  This is what I learned in the last year (without even trying).  The police will beat homeless crazy people to death as they cry for their dads.  You don't ever want to be in their jails.  Pelican Bay solitary is arbitrary and cruel.  They shoot kids in the back because their hand went near their waistband.  And just recently 11 of them opened fire on a mom and grandma delivering newspapers because they "confused" the Latina ladies with a huge African American man in a different kind of truck.

I'm dedicating this post to my Auntie Denese.  Please don't tell your children that policemen are our friends.  Tell them that some good men and women become policemen, but you teach them to trust that uniform at their own peril.

My Favorite Point

This is a clip from the album/movie "The Point."  I used to listen to that album over and over when I was a kid.  I hope you will show this clip to your little kids.

In Defense of the Orthodox

I think people would be surprised at how frequently Reform Jews talk smack about Orthodox Jews.  In fairness, Orthodox Jews have plenty to say about our level of observance, which is totally unfair if they are unwilling to engage us in dialogue, but it cuts both ways.

When I came home from Torah study last Saturday, I told the OJ who was sleeping on my couch (he hadn't made it home in time for Shabbes and, since he can't drive after sundown on Friday, we was camping out in my living room) that the Orthodox owe me cookies again.  He was pretty surprised and wanted to know why.  I explained that I had defended them in synagogue again.

He was absolutely stunned.  Why would they need to be defended in front of other Jews?  What on earth could we have to complain about?  The basic complaint always comes down to misogyny.

Now, in fairness, let's see what "misogyny" really means.

Webster says:

Misogyny : a hatred of women

"Hatred" guys.  That's what it says.  Is that what you really mean every time you throw that word out?  Because if what you really mean is that OJ's treat women unfairly, that would be a lot less of a mean thing to say.

There are people in the Torah study group who were raised in Orthodox families and hated it.  Most of these people are over 75.  So the data that they are providing may be outrageously out of date.  Also, they might just be from really messed up families or communities.  

Which brings me to my next point which is: Do you have any idea how many different streams (or sects) of Orthodoxy there are?  Are we talking about the guys with the furry hats, the guys with the black hats, the guys with the white beanies, the guys with the NY baseball caps, the guys who only wear a kippa when in prayer, or any other number of groups in the Orthodox world?  

Back to the black hat sleeping on my couch.  He wanted to know what was said.  So I told him that the Orthodox are viewed as misogynistic.  He has a pretty good grasp of English, so he actually knew what that meant.  He wanted to know how anyone could think that.  (I'm pretty sure that he loves women in general, and he's always very nice to them.)  

One of the examples was that women are separated from the men in synagogue by a curtain.  In my argument I had pointed out that, when the boys are in a service, they aren't supposed to be checking out the ladies.  Chaim's response was, "No kidding."  (I happen to know that if any of the boys who hang out at my house can be checking out the ladies in any setting, that becomes a top priority.)  

He wanted another example.  I told him that they think OJ's are misogynistic because a lot of the men don't want to touch women they aren't married to (this includes shaking hands by the way).  The Reform ladies interpret this as a fear of ritual impurity brought on by possible menstruation, which might be true, but the only people I know (or know of, for that matter) do it because they don't touch any woman other than their wife.  That doesn't seem so weird to me.  It's okay with me not to be touched by people who are uncomfortable touching.  There are lots of cultures where it isn't okay to go up and touch someone of the opposite sex.  

Then Chaim wanted to know my defense (no doubt wondering if it was really cookie worthy).  I gave him the arguments briefly stated above and then threw in that if you don't want to sit on the other side of the curtain from your gender group that there are lots of other Jewish communities that you can go be a part of.  He wholeheartedly agrees.  If you hate the Orthodox, don't be Orthodox, but quit talking smack about them.  

As we learned from the comic strip Pogo, "I have met the enemy, and he is us."  

Therapy

Can you fail therapy?  I started going to therapy to help me develop my meditation skills as a tool for pain relief.  I'm really really bad at it.  I had homework this week.  I tried to do it but I think I may be a little too neurotic for it.  One of the very first instructions is: close your eyes gently.  What does that mean?  Have I blown it if I slam my eyes shut?  Squintching is tense, but most people don't squintch their eyes up unless something else bad is happening.  If something bad is happening, shouldn't you pay attention instead of meditating?

One of the next directives is to "let your mind be soft".  No kidding.  That's what it says.  I'm still trying to figure that one out.  The problem is that the whole point of meditating is not to figure stuff out.  I think it's supposed to be about spacing out.

I'm not saying that it doesn't help when I'm lying on the couch and the therapist is talking me through it, but I do have to ignore a lot of the prompts because you could analyse them all day.  I think he's going to think I need therapy for the rest of my life.  Maybe he's right, because I'm really bad at it.

Why People Think I'm Crazy

(Well... one of the reasons.)

At Hanukkah I went into Best Buy to buy a voice recorder for my niece Katie.  When I walked in, a round young man asked me if he could help me find something.  Together we went on a quest for a voice recorder. As we were checking out the specs, he mentioned that he needed to get one too.  He told me that he's a ghost hunter.  Even though I don't know why people would want to go messing with people who are dead and have problems of their own, I told him that sounded nice.  I asked him where he usually went.  Then he confessed that he hadn't actually ever gone yet, but that he thought he'd be good at it.  Why not?  If you think you'd be good at something, you should give it a shot.  I found the recorder and then wandered off by myself to look at random stuff.

Right past the cash register there was another young man who was the exact roundness, brownness and wearing the exact outfit and haircut of the first guy.  I thought it was the first guy so I said, "You should try a bookstore."

He looked at me a little quizzically and then said, "Thank you."

Still being my idiot self, I then expounded, "They are almost always haunted."

At this, he looked at me like I was a total psycho, and I departed.  At the door I saw the first kid again and realized my mistake.  I did repeat my advice, but I didn't tell him that I told the other guy, because it seemed more fun that way.

People would probably think I was a lot more sane if I quit talking so much.  At this point in my life, it seems unlikely that that will happen.

Edward versus Captain Jack

I don't always read heavy religious tomes or serious fiction and non-fiction.  Sometimes I read total crap.  It's kind of like a mind vacation.  My mother was the same way.  It's like mind candy.  You don't really have to pay attention and it gives you a little vacation.

One of the series that we liked was the Twilight books.  Mom liked the first couple of movies (died before the last ones came out) but I thought they were terrible.  Bella looked like she was dead from the start.  You know, pale white people can be animated.  Some of them have a real inner light that makes their eyes sparkle.  Being white does NOT automatically make you boring.  In fairness, her character thought she was boring, but no one else in the book did.  On screen she didn't sparkle.  Not all people can, so it's not a reflection on her acting, but rather casting.

My real problem was with Edward.  Also a white guy.  No offense to Robert Pattison, because I've seen him in other things where he does good work, but he needed to be channeling Captain Jack Sparrow for this role.  If you happen to have one of these books in the house, go grab one.  I'll wait...............................

Now open the book to any page where Edward has dialog.  Read it out loud as Captain Jack would.  See??  A much better story.

Jack charmed everyone, Edward not so much.  There was no reason for Edward to be so boring.  He'd lived hundred of years, allowing him plenty of time to come up with witty one liners for any occasion.

Since you already have found the book, read it now with the voice in your imagination coming from Jack.  I guarantee that you will laugh yourself silly.

Zombies and Paranormal Romance

In the past I already told you what I think of zombies and killing my mother, so you have a point to work from.  (Grammarian police: I know that I should've said, "a point from which to work," but that sounds really prissy to me.  From here on out just deal with it.)

Currently we have a new problem and that problem is that bookstores now carry huge sections on paranormal romance.  Really?  I'm truly glad that I no longer work at a bookstore.  (Plus, do you know how much a box of books weighs?  And do you know how many people don't know the alphabet in order?  Some people will even put a book back on the shelf with the spine in.  I really want to follow them home and see if their bookcases are filled with books with no titles showing.  It must be impossible for them to ever find one after it goes on the shelf.)

What this means is that paranormal romance is becoming part of our collective mythology.  Yesterday, after we had been studying Torah, my sister-in-law (who is here taking care of me) and I decided to figure it out.  Vampires we kind of get.  It's a person who is given to fulfilling his/her dark addictions.  In the famous Twilight books we see people who struggle with this addiction on various levels.  Some occasionally suck the blood of humans, some not so much.  The evil ones just give into the addiction and hurt anyone unfortunate to be around them.  Then there are the wolf guys, who don't want to be inhuman, but have to do it in order to protect their tribe.  We see this all the time and all through history within the realm of wars and on down to the smaller order, street gangs.  So the romance comes out in the form of a virtuous but delicious girl who falls in love with the goodness she sees within a monster.  Or in her case, a couple of monsters.  She ends up having a baby monster, becoming a monster herself and living happily ever after.  At least presumably.  Check back in a couple of hundred years.

Yesterday the Calendar section of the LA Times had a front page photo having to do with the new movie "Warm Bodies".  It described the lead actor as playing a "slacker zombie".  What other kinds of zombies are there?  Type A zombies?  If you eat the most brains are you overachieving?  Can you get fat from eating brains?

Obviously there is a lot about zombies that I don't know.  Well, I can tell you that I'm not a slacker muser, so I went out to do some research.  I dragged my sister-in-law with me.  We went to see "Warm Bodies" to see if we could understand the mythology being created.

I'm trying to establish the legend about myself that I can drash from any starting point, zombies included.  What I learned from this particular movie is that zombies are scary because they don't have a collective memory.  They don't know who they are or where they came from.  The main character is called "R" because all he can remember from the past is that he thought his name started with the letter "r".  Kabballistaclly we could have a hey day (hay day?)  with this.  We could run with it in the direction of Bina and letters and clues to remembering Torah and the universe and everything.  But you guys aren't into that, so we'll go in a different direction.

It turns out the the main character is not a slacker.  He's trying to remember.  He collects things that are meaningful to him and creates a space where he can listen to his looted records and stare at the things he's collected.  Mementos.  (Another day I will try to remember to write about the kids' movie "The Guardians"  and the connection to zombies but this post is getting far longer than my general audience's attention span.)  He collects things that connect him to his past.  Eventually he collects a pretty girl (instead of eating her brains) and she helps remind him of things through what we Jews would call arguing.

There are different kinds of arguing.  When I was a kid many many adults would tell me to shut up and not argue.  If you are respectful to each other, Jews have no problem arguing all day.  It's fun.  It means, "I don't understand because it seems to me ..."  Now, if you tell a kid to just shut up and stop arguing, what you're really telling them is, "I don't care if you understand things.  I just don't want to deal with you."  Nice message.  Children who are seen but not heard must have a very difficult time developing intellectually.  But I digress (kind of).

When we are born we are the closest and the furthest that we will ever be to our own humanity.  We understand everything and nothing.  A zombie is someone who has become so focused on one thing (in this case it's eating your brains) that there's no room for anything else.  (I'm not going into the whole brain dead thing here, because that's not a part of the mythology of the particular movie we watched.)  There's no room left in this person for their humanity.  People were created in the image of the Holy One.  ALL of them.  The smelly guy who asks you for some change has a spark of godliness in him.  The kids rotting in solitary confinement at Pelican Bay have a spark.  It is our communal job to remind them who they were... who we were collectively.  When we lose our historical perspective, we focus more easily on eating people's brains.  Ask people for clues.  Everyone you meet has a clue that you need to become more whole.  If you don't like who you are, look for the clues that will make you better.