Much Ado About Nothing

 

 

   The title of this Shakespeare play actually sounds better in Hebrew than in English: Rov Mehuma Al Lo Me’uma (רוב מהומה על לא מאומה), and it summarizes the latest rabbinical “scandal” eagerly reported in a New York Times “expose” and just as eagerly picked up by The Jewish Week.  It was reported that Jonathan Rosenblatt, the rabbi of long standing at Riverdale Jewish Center, a prominent Orthodox synagogue in the Bronx, had played squash and racquetball with young male congregants, then showered with them naked (that’s how men usually shower) and sat with them in a sauna or steam room, naked or wrapped in a robe (as men usually are when they use saunas and steam rooms).  This had gone on for decades and reporters at both publications had known about it for decades, but did not report it until now because only now was one person man enough to speak for attribution.  Plenty of others were ready to bad-mouth the rabbi, but only behind a veil of anonymity.

 

   Among the words used to describe Rabbi Rosenblatt’s conduct are “disturbing,” “inappropriate,” “unusual,” and words of that ilk.  Never “illegal” or “criminal.”  By all accounts there was no sexual touching or other sexual misconduct, as occurred in other well-publicized sex scandals involving rabbis.  The New York Times article itself states that “parsing [the rabbi’s conduct] is an exercise in ambiguity.”  If so, and given Rabbi Rosenblatt’s stature, are we not required to be דן לכף זכות, to give the rabbi the benefit of the doubt?

 

  Up until the middle of the 19^th century it was unusual for any observant Jew to play organized sports.  Then Jewish consciousness began to be raised by the Zionist movement and men such as Max Nordau.  Young Jewish men, first secular and then observant, began seeing their bodies and minds as an integrated whole, each feeding off the other.  Orthodox rabbis, however, remained the black-suited, black-hatted purveyors of scholarship and dared not step out of that realm, except maybe to escort congregants to Soviet Jewry demonstrations or Salute to Israel (now Celebrate Israel) parades.  Rabbi Rosenblatt, it seems, was the first to think and act outside of that box, and more power to him.  Several years ago the chief rabbi of Warsaw was attacked and beaten by anti-Semitic Polish hoodlums.  Just imagine if he had been able to give those goons a proper rabbinical butt whooping.  It would have been a tremendous kiddush Hashem, a veritable earthquake, with aftershocks rippling with his muscles through the length and breadth of Poland.  No more would the few Jews left in Poland be seen as easy marks.

 

   One of the anonymous complaints concerned the rabbi lingering in a post-workout shower with the boys and young men with whom he was bonding; there was no rush.  Why should there have been a rush?  Were they expecting a trainload of Jews arriving and having to use the shower?  A shower after a hard fulfilling workout may be routine for others who take their physicality for granted, but for us it is a mystical experience of supernal joy.  That’s water coming out of those shower heads, not gas.  We draw water with joy from the wells of salvation (see Is. 12:3).  Take as long as you want.  Sing, whoop and holler if you feel like it.  Savor the experience as you would good wine.  I remember running races in the summer heat and makeshift showers would be set up along the course.  I’d pump my fist in the air, run through and shout “l’chaim” – to life.  Who needs drugs when you can get high on pure Jewish joy?  It is said that at the entrance to the gas chamber at Auschwitz hung a sign reading  זה השער לה' צדיקים יבאו בו  - This is the gate of the Lord; the righteous shall enter it (Ps. 118:20).  Perhaps the showers of gyms at yeshivot and Jewish community centers should have signs reading יבואו בו זה השער לגאולה חזקים – This is the gate of redemption; the strong shall enter it.  I remember taking showers in school after gym or swimming, naked with my classmates in full view of one another, and thinking nothing of it.  I don’t remember if the teachers showered with us, but if they had it would have been no big deal.

 

   The person who apparently was leading the charge against Rabbi Rosenblatt is female and, not surprisingly, knows nothing about male bonding and male fellowship.   She does not understand why the rabbi “didn’t get”  his alleged judgment error.  Actually, it is she that “doesn’t get it.”  We men need to be with one another where females are absent, to be “out with the boys.”   Time was when construction workers, longshoremen (those brawny fellows who unloaded ships before modern containerization) and such working in Lower Manhattan would, after a hard day’s work, repair to McSorley’s Ale House and enjoy some salty man talk in one another’s company over a pint or two.  No more.  Since 1970 McSorley’s must, per court order, be open to women.  In Russia, Eastern Europe and Turkey the steam bath (and in Scandinavia the sauna) filled the role of McSorley’s.  Jewish men coming here from that part of the world brought the “shvitz” culture with them, and passed it on to their progeny.  So here we have an Orthodox rabbi who worked out with boys and young men, then showered and spent time in the steam room or sauna with them, discussing matters of faith and philosophy in a relaxed atmosphere where they could let their guard down.  Why would any man or boy get uptight over it?  Mothers did, and that is understandable.  Among other functions, these male-only get-togethers removed boys, if only temporarily, from the influence of their overbearing Jewish mothers, taking them out of the world of women and into the world of men.  That can be traumatic for women who can’t let go of their little darlings, but for their sons it is liberating and healthy.

 

   To be sure, there were minor errors in judgment.  Most of them stem from not adhering to a fundamental part of the masculine mystique in America, dating from the Old West, that exhorts us to never say behind a man’s back what you would not say to his face.  Interestingly, this echoes a saying of one of the European ba’alei mussar of the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries: Don’t talk about people; talk to them.  In Israel men are expected to “talk dugri,” i.e. direct and to the point.  Some of the young men were uncomfortable with the rabbi’s style, or so they told reporters years or decades later.  With the passage of time, memory can play tricks, but it is perfectly reasonable that some people would be uncomfortable.  In modern societies (but it would seem not in the primitive ones that renowned anthropologist  Margaret Mead visited) puberty and adolescence is characterized by a great deal of Sturm und Drang.  Young people are prone to read into situations what is not necessarily there.  What one person experiences as a glance, or even thinks nothing of, can be experienced by someone else as gawking.  When I was in high school, a male biology teacher once remarked to a classmate, “those biceps [mine] are unreal.”  Having been lifting weights for several years,  I took it as a compliment, large biceps still being unusual in American yeshiva boys in the 1960s.  Given the anxieties teenage boys experience about their sexuality, anxieties not addressed by the limudei kodesh teachers (only one specific act is Biblically prohibited), some other boy might have experienced the same remark as “creepy.”  The boys and young men who were uncomfortable with nudity in the shower and/or steam room should have simply told the rabbi.  Alternatively, they could have asked him if this was appropriate behavior for a rabbi, perhaps citing sources if they could.  It could have opened the door to some interesting and healthy conversation.  One student recalled getting sick in yeshiva and being driven home by the rabbi, with pleasant conversation in the car.  When they arrived at the student’s home (the parents were not present), the rabbi suggested the boy might be more comfortable if he changed into a bathrobe.  This was not far-fetched; yeshiva clothes can be distinctly uncomfortable, especially when one is not feeling well to begin with.  The boy did not want to change, and told the rabbi.  According to the boy’s recollection, the rabbi stayed in the student’s house (is there any yihud issue between two males?) and persisted in trying to get the boy to change.  With 20/20 hindsight I understand and sympathize with the boy feeling put in an awkward spot.  Some of the people involved were so put off that they chose another synagogue to attend.  This too is nothing out of the ordinary; in any community where there is a choice of synagogues congregants come and congregants go.  Leaving is the best solution when a personality clash between congregant and rabbi is so deep that remaining together becomes untenable.  Others, however, benefited a good deal from those encounters and are appalled that the rabbi, to their way of thinking, became the object of a malicious smear campaign (lashon ha-ra) years later.  Students in Yeshiva University kept coming, of their own volition, to do rabbinic internships with him even when the university stopped sending students his way due to complaints, some of which were justified.  The power relationships between rabbi and intern could create the appearance that the scantily clad shvitz sessions were necessary for the intern’s career advancement.  Similar situations could occur between professors and undergraduate or graduate students at a secular university; today professors assiduously avoid any interaction that can give any such appearance.

 

   The entire matter seems to have been resolved to most everybody’s satisfaction.  The rabbi will be staying out the few years remaining on his contract.  This resolution was reached after a frank exchange between rabbi and congregants, accompanied according to press reports by self-flagellation on the part of the rabbi that I think was unnecessary given that few if any people came to any serious harm.  I fail to see any hillul Hashem here, nor any reason for the rabbi to feel broken. We all recall positive and negative interactions with authority figures in our lives, interactions as inevitable as they are universal.  If there is anybody among us who never committed errors in judgment, he or she may cast a stone.  The rest of us mortals live in glass houses.

 

 

 



Dodgers to Return to Brooklyn

Shushan News Service – 14 Adar II 5774

 

    It’s been 57 years since the Brooklyn Dodgers broke our hearts by moving to California.  They will remain there for the time being, but Brooklyn is getting a new bunch of Dodgers from Israel.  A groundswell of disgust at the thousands of young Israeli men who evade army service apparently came to a head yesterday when large groups of secular youth raided synagogues and yeshivot in Jerusalem, Bnei Brak and elsewhere.  Wearing masks and colorful costumes and gregging up a cacophonous din, they rounded up all the draft dodgers they could find, most of whom were in a state of intoxication from the Purim festivities.  When this reporter asked several yeshiva rabbis how they could allow such drunkenness in the name of a Jewish celebration, they replied that the young men are forbidden all year to have fun: no movies, no hip-hop, no meeting girls without the permission of a matchmaker, no secular books, no short pants and short-sleeve shirts in the hot summer. . .they need some outlet for all that pent-up energy.  Before the Dodgers could get their wits about them, they were loaded onto waiting lorries and brought to the port of Ashdod, which was undergoing a rocket barrage from terrorists in Gaza.  When the more sober yeshiva students wept and wailed that they were all going to die, their captors replied, “We have everything well in hand, no thanks to you and your draft dodging ilk.  We have Giants here.  Our soldiers are shooting the rockets out of the sky with the Iron Dome, and our flyboys are over Gaza bringing justice to Haman, oops, Hamas.  We have the best flyboys on earth, you know.  They don’t even have to look at girls when they’re on a mission, since there are no lady pilots.” 

“So where are you taking us?”

“To Brooklyn, in America.  It’s the best place for Dodgers.  There’s no draft in America, and the streets are paved with. . ., well, the streets aren’t paved with gold but you’ll be able to learn in yeshiva and nobody will force you to learn a little English, math and science so you’ll be able to get a job and earn some dough.” 

“Science?  Feh!  Apikorsus!  And dough?  Goyishe dough?  We can only smoke Pot Yisrael, and what do we know about growing the stuff?” 

“Feh you say?  You schmoes have no problem using refrigerators, cars, medicines and all the other goodies science gave us to make our lives easier, do you?”

“Oy, oy, what are we going to do?  Soon we’ll all be strangers in a strange new place.”

“Don’t worry.  You won’t have trouble finding a Jewish face.  They look like dumb Polacks from the 17^th century.  Come to think of it, they look a lot like you.  Oh, I almost forgot to tell you.  Brooklyn is crawling with black dragons three times your size and built like Greek gods chiseled out of granite.”

“Voos iss Greek gods?  Every chayder boy knows there’s only one God.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.  They knock nebbishes like you out with one punch and eat them for breakfast.  Over there you won’t have the protection of the state you don’t recognize and the army you refuse to serve in.  Well, here’s the ship.  We have a passable navy too, you know.  Our sailors will get you to Brooklyn and serve you great glatt kosher food on the way.”

 

   While the Dodgers were boarding the ship this reporter sought out Lazer Gantzashvantz, self-styled chairman of the Bring the Dodgers Back to Brooklyn Committee.  “So Mr. Gantzashvantz, shalom Aleichem.  How are things going on your end?”

“Oy vey is mir.  We found an empty lot and we’re building the Ebbets Yeshiva with all the modern conveniences, even a baseball diamond for your Sandy Koufaxes to use in their ten-minute recess, but where are all these boys going to live?  Housing isn’t the easiest thing to come by in Brooklyn, and what with our women popping out a baby every year starting at age 18 our neighborhoods are already packed like sardines.  And the cost?  These people are poor.  They have nothing.  Absolutely nothing.”

“They’re our very best Torah scholars.  They have more under their big toe than American yeshiva bochurim will ever get in a lifetime of learning.”

“Very good, but that won’t pay the rent and it won’t put food on the table.”

“So there’s no room Lazer?  That’s your headache.  And as for poverty I say to you, Lazer, that’s your headache too.  It won’t be as hard as settling tens of thousands of refugees from backward Arab stink holes coming to us with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”

“Well, we’ll have to manage.  We always have.  And at least when our bochurim secretly watch baseball, they won’t have to watch the Goyishe Dodgers in California.  They’ll have real Jewish Brooklyn Dodgers.”

I need a little summer. . . .

I  need a little summer.  Right this very minute.

 

 

 

   I need a little summer. . . .

 

 

NOW!

Wake Up! We're Still At War

   We haven’t had a 9/11 since 9/11, so everything’s okay and we can let our guard down, right?  WRONG!  At this writing, two bombs secreted in trash cans exploded at the finish of the Boston Marathon, an unexploded bomb was found in another trash can, and a fourth went off at the John F. Kennedy library.  Nothing definite yet on who did it, but I’ll take a wild guess and say it was the stinking Arabs.  Home grown kooks and anarchists have it in for the government; they blow up federal buildings in Oklahoma City and the like.  Why would an anarchist target an event like the Boston Marathon?  It also seems that the second bomb went off a minute or so after the first, to kill or injure rescue workers arriving at the scene.  This is a known Arab terrorist modus operandi.  This attack illustrates what we all know or should know – what should be in the back of all of our heads and in the front of the heads of those responsible for this nation’s security.  We have to get it right every time; the bad guys only have to get lucky once.  And sometimes bad guys just get lucky.

 

   Where do we go from there?  My readers already know that I don’t put much stock in winning wars by playing defense or making nice to the enemy.  Attack, attack, attack.   The hell with Pakistani sovereignty, or that of any country that gives safe haven to Islamic terrorists.  If so much as a cap gun goes off from a building in enemy territory, level the building. If the enemy doesn’t want their schools and mosques blown up and their children killed, they should keep their military assets the hell away  from schools, mosques and kids.  The hell with Geneva Conventions (they were meant to apply to uniformed soldiers of national armies).  Enough with free countries having to fight by the Queensberry Rules while enemies of freedom gouge and bite.  Do whatever it takes to WIN.

The Sound of Silence

   In a few days the Summer Olympics will begin in London.  Shabbat and Tish’a B’Av will preclude my watching the always picturesque opening ceremonies and the beginning of the swimming events.  The Olympics are supposed to be apolitical, and indeed there is nothing like sport for bringing people of all nations and cultures together and actually creating peace.  But politics will intrude on these Olympics whether we like it or not.  This year is the fortieth anniversary of the Olympics at Munich, where eleven Israeli athletes, coaches and officials were murdered by Arab terrorists.  For a perspective from an American wrestler who was there, and whose son will be wrestling for the United States in London, click here.  Throughout these forty years, not once were these innocent people memorialized by the International Olympic Committee (IOC) at an Olympic Games.  No sense alienating the Arabs, Iranians and other terrorists and their apologists.

   Several days ago, Tablet Magazine published an article on the subject that is spot-on.  If the victims had been from any other country, there would have been ceremonies and memorials.  There is only one reason they will go unnoticed – they were Jewish and Israeli.  Jews are as expendable now as they were 70 years ago.  And Israel is as expendable as it was in May 1967, when the Arab armies were massing on the borders, the Strait of Tiran was blockaded, and the world did absolutely nothing.  And the Olympic committee is as anti-Israel and anti-Semitic now as when Avery Brundage, an open admirer of Hitler, was heading it up in 1972.

   I believe that the Israeli delegation ought to take matters into its own  hands.  They ought to march in the opening ceremonies with their heads held high and wearing black armbands, and when they are facing the reviewing stand and dignitaries, pull out signs bearing the names of the murdered men, hold them aloft and stand stock still for sixty seconds.  Maybe they will be sent home.  Maybe they will be arrested.  Whatever happens, they will have shown the dignity that the world would deny them.

   Oh, one more thing.  The British seem to have trouble with security.  Israel, the United States, and all freedom-loving countries likely to be targeted should bring plenty of their own security, undercover.  If the Israelis had done that forty years ago, the tragedy would probably not have taken place.

Moshe Weinberg

Yosef Gottfreund

Eliezer Halfin

Mark Slavin

Yosef Romano

Yaakov Shpringer

David Berger

Ze’ev Friedman

Kehat Shor

Andre Spitzer

Amitzur Shapira

    The world sowed the wind then.  It is reaping the whirlwind now.  Never forget.  Never let others forget.

ZAKHOR.    REMEMBER.

Tzedakah is Tzedakah and . . . .

Back in the mid-1990’s when my son was in elementary yeshiva, I attended a PTA meeting where fund raising was discussed. The discussion turned to the yeshiva’s various ways of squeezing out the last drops after milking us dry with tuition (see Ovadiah 1:5). A woman present asked why she should be expected to pay a dollar for a fifty-cent candy bar (remember, mid-1990s). Her protest ended with, ”Tzedakah [charity] is tzedakah and candy is candy.” A similar situation exists today with “Jewish” races that I would like to run in but cannot because I lack or don’t want to spend resources that are wholly unrelated to putting on the race.

I have been running for some 35 years and remember races being simple events whose very simplicity attracted people into the sport. No fancy equipment, no twenty-dollar jerseys with fifty-dollar athletes’ names on them. The only item we had to spend significant (not exorbitant) sums on was our running shoes, and we all knew that in our sport you cannot economize on the health of your feet. You paid a nominal entry fee, you showed up, you dressed (or undressed, depending on how you look at it – in summer you came dressed to run) and you ran. Then somebody came up with the idea of running for charity. You signed up friends, neighbors and co-workers as “sponsors” and they gave a specified amount to whatever charity the organizers selected if you completed the race. We runners were asked to add to the entry fee a donation to the charity, but there was no coercion. If you did not donate, you were still welcome to run. A large turnout raised awareness for the cause.

Fast-forward to two or three years ago. Large numbers of observant Jews suddenly discovered the benefits of running. Jewish organizations started putting on races to serve them and, at the same time, raise money for Jewish charities. The races are gender-segregated so the rabbis would not object (read: so they would not hire cheap labor to plaster every light pole in town with silly broadsides banning the race). That’s okay with me; I was never sexually aroused by a woman in a race but a race put on by a Jewish organization is not a public bus. However, I strenuously object to a new twist these organizations add to the “charity race” concept. The runner commits himself in writing to raise a certain amount of money and gives the organizers his credit card number. If he fails to raise the specified sum, the organizers charge his credit card for the difference. See here, for example, and click on “I commit to raising.” Poof. They just added compulsion to a polite request to support a worthy cause. I do not like monetary commitments. They sound too much like nedarim (halakhically binding vows), especially when they are legally binding contracts as these commitments are. I do not commit myself to charity callers over the phone for a specific amount (“Send me an envelope and I’ll send you whatever I feel is appropriate and within my means.”). I do not even pledge for synagogue appeals. I don’t need my name called out along with how much I pledged. I just quietly write a check and mail it to the synagogue; the U.S. Postal Service still functions. And if I forget I haven’t committed a serious aveirah. I suppose I am one of those “who fear to vow” (Kohelet 9:2).

The same applies, even more strongly, to schnorring (begging) from people I know. My father ע''ה inculcated in me from a very young age that schnorring is shameful and a schnorrer is a shady character that one best avoids. I do not have wealthy friends and co-workers; nobody becomes a teacher to get rich in anything but headaches and aggravation. I am not comfortable with imposing on people I know with requests for money, no matter how worthy the cause. What if they are suffering financial hardship and feel obligated because I asked them? What if they pledge, and then both of us forget? And you never know what can happen in a race. What if I pull up lame (it happens, hamstrings get pulled and ankles twisted)? Are my “schnorrees” still obligated to cough up money? It would be very embarrassing to ask them to redeem their commitments when I did not “redeem” my commitment to finish the race. As for me paying the full amount, I don’t have a money tree in my back yard. Plenty of worthy charities solicit me, and I have to be judicious. Two hundred dollars or such to any one charity is out of the question.

These Jewish organizations need to follow the secular charities, which are much more experienced with charity races, and get rid of the binding contracts. Tzedakah is tzedakah and running is running.

I'm back

Sorry for not posting for over three months. I had a very busy summer, what with my daughter's wedding and all. I hope to post more often now that the dust settled somewhat.

While I wasn't posting, the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon occurred. Here is a video that you will not see in the mainstream media. The PC police are forever railing about Islamophobia, but it's not a phobia if it's rational and we're not paranoid if the Muslim fanatics are really trying to kill us. Watch it and pass it on to your friends.










One of the talking heads in the mainstream media suggested that henceforth the annual commemmorations should be toned down, the names of the dead not be publicly read, and so forth. No! Remember Amalek! Read the names; every one of them was a human being with a story, and every one of them was murdered by stinking bastards - in the name of God no less. Read the names, and if I could I would set up a giant Jumbotron at the site showing this video over and over.

We also observed the 39th yahrzeit of the Munich Eleven, the Israeli Olympic athletes, coaches and officials murdered by Arab barbarians to make a political point. Shortly after the murders, we learned that the Libyan dictator Muammar Qadaffi was behind the operation. We would demonstate at various locations in Manhattan, chanting:
Who do we want? Qadaffi!
How do we want him? Dead!

Praise God, we got our wish. The brutal dictator is dead, at the hands of his own people, fed up with his tyranny. Now the families of the murdered athletes, and those of the 200-plus victims of the Lockerbie bombing, also orchestrated by Qadaffi, will have some closure. It appears that the Arab Spring will be followed by a winter of Jewish discontent, as the new governments emerging in Libya and Egypt are likely to include Islamist elements hostile to Jews, Israel and the West. But even here there is a silver lining; the government of Israel and the liberal Jewish establishment here will no longer be able to delude themselves about the nature and desires of the Arab-in-the-street. They want us dead, and there is no talking to them. We have to prepare for war, with our immediate neighbors and also with Iran. And if we face the truth with confidence and courage, God will be with us as He always has.

I wish my readers a happy and healthy 5772.

The Big Weiner

Help! I have to pay taxes but I'm without representation in Congress. So are all the other poor heavily taxed voters in Congressional District 9. Our Congressman, Anthony Weiner, resigned over a sex scandal, or perhaps a non-sex, or just plain nonsense, scandal. It will be several months before we can have a special election for someone to warm Weiner's seat until the regular election in November 2012, by which time the district may well be gerrymandered out of existence in the mandated redistricting. New York is slated to lose two seats in the House of Representatives based on the results of the latest census.

Remember former Governor Eliot Spitzer? He too resigned over a sex scandal, when his patronizing of prostitutes (okay, high-class "call girls") came to light. He was known in the little black books as "Client Nine." Maybe there's some kind of jinx in the number nine. But Mr. Weiner never, as far as is known, had sex with a prostitute or with anybody other than his new wife. The whole donnybrook is over pictures sent to women (and a 17-year-old girl) over the internet. The pictures are all over the Web now, and we can judge them for ourselves. Just Google "Weiner crotch" and "Weiner shirtless." Somehow, conservative columnist Andrew Breitbart got hold of some of them and made them public. I nominate Andrew Breitbart for tzara'at. He is guilty of gossipmongering for transparent political reasons. Anthony Weiner has been a most effective Congressman, delivering the goods to his district (e.g. "Weiner's Cleaners" powerwashing graffiti off walls) and advocating for a strong foreign policy, and bucking his own Democratic Party in the process. He is also a skilled debater and a forceful advocate for President Obama's health care reforms. I have my reservations there, especially as regards his single-payer proposals. I also want to keep the generous health-care package that the United Federation of Teachers negotiated for me. But these issues deserve to be debated on their merits, not scuttled by dirty gossip from the opposition.

As far as I am aware, the Congressman did not send pictures of himself naked, as so much of the media implied. He sent pictures of himself in his underwear, with a discreet outline of his genitals visible. People of a certain age will remember "Underwear That's Funtawear." The men's briefs featured a strategically placed "Big Mac" or "Home of the Whopper" (I'm sure McDonald's and Burger King raked in handsome profits). The women's panties declared their owners "Slippery When Wet." None of us got particularly uptight; if we didn't like the message we didn't wear the underwear. And today pictures much more risque than the ones Mr. Weiner sent out are all over the web.

Are the Weiner photos any worse than this wrestler, available on a public site?

As far as the shirtless photos go, the man was in a gym for heaven's sake. What is inappropriate about being bare-chested in a gym? Those poor women saw nothing that all of us do not see every day this time of year. Add to that guilt-by-innuendo, when columnists opined that "some of the women might have been under age." The people making the charges have the burden of proof, and none was forthcoming. The age of consent in New York is seventeen. Authorities in the jurisdiction where the 17-year-old in question resided did not have a problem, and neither did the girl's parents, so why do the media have a problem? Conservative pundit Dennis Prager declared that what the Congressman did was worse than an extramarital affair (in which more than one Congressman is known to have indulged), and asked if a teenage boy would rather have his father look at raunchy pictures or have an affair. Well, I'd rather he looked at pictures. Nobody ever contracted a venereal disease from pictures. So Mr. Weiner gave in to a yetzer hara. We all do that on occasion.

What bothers me more than sending the pictures is lying about them once they came to light. If Mr. Weiner was running for the first time, that probably would have caused me to vote against him or sit out the election. But he was our Congressman for a long time, and a very good one. As long as he did not break the law or Congress' code of ethics, the media feeding frenzy was far more unseemly than anything Weiner did. And the feeding frenzy is going to have a chilling effect on the body politic for years to come. If sainthood is now a requirement for public office, who would want to seek public office? Everyone of us is a package. You take us with our good qualities and our faults. And ordinary people will also suffer. I am a biology teacher. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that a 13-year-old student could contact me on the Web with questions about human reproduction. I have no way of verifying her age; neither, probably, did Mr. Weiner. If I keep the conversation on a high level (anatomical names for body parts) but give the student the straight answers she was probably not getting at home or in school, have I done anything wrong? Might I get in trouble for it years down the pike? Such a climate of fear is not healthy for teachers, students or other living things.

We live in a society where sex is used to sell everything from automobiles to zirconia. It is hypocritical, to put it mildly, to jump on a Congressman who sent pictures of himself that were mildly inappropritate (I would not have sent them if I were in his place). So now we lost an effective public official over a tempest in a teapot. Stay tuned.

A Parsha Thought - Unintended Consequences

Tomorrow we will read Parshat Shelah, whose central theme is the meraglim, twelve spies sent by Moshe Rabbeinu to reconnoiter Eretz Canaan, as it was then called ("Palestine" is never mentioned in all of Tanakh, not once), and report back on the lay of the land, the quality of its produce and its military vulnerabilities. They returned, according to tradition on the evening of Tisha B'Av, and all but Caleb and Joshua reported that the people were tall and exceptionally strong, and it would not be possible for the Israelites to conquer it. All of the adults cried and sulked, and did not listen to the "minority report" of Caleb and Joshua. God decreed that the people would wander in the wilderness for 40 years and that all of the adults, age twenty and up, were to die in the wilderness. Their children, those born in Egypt but not yet 20, as well as those born and yet to be born in the wilderness, whom their parents and grandparents complained would be booty for the Canaanites, would be the ones to conquer and inherit the land.

We often speak of a "law of unintended consequences," whereby significant decisions have unanticipated results, usually negative ones that bite us on the behind. So, I submit, is the case here. Who was supposed to be punished? The adults, for their lack of faith and confidence in God and their agitation against Moshe Rabbeinu that would reach a climax in Korah's revolt in next week's parsha. But in my estimation it was not the adults who suffered most; it was the teenage boys. The adults knew what they did wrong, so much so that a good deal of them embarked the next day on an unauthorized mission against the Canaanites that failed. But the teenage boys, those who were the same age as me during the Six Day War, had no part in the wrongdoing. They personally witnessed the miracles of the Exodus and the war with Amalek, and all that was happening at that magical time of life when a boy is bursting with male hormones and everything seems possible - the same wonderful confluence that changed me and my contemporaries in 1967. I can imagine those boys taking every opportunity to go outside and spar with blunted weapons to get themselves ready for the battles that they were eager to be part of. And now - they were to be punished for the sins of their parents. Grounded for forty years! To a boy that feels like life in prison. Oh, they would enter Canaan all right, when they would be in their forties and fifties, too old and weak to wield a sword or throw a javelin, militarily useless. Imagine the resentment they must have felt toward their parents for condemning them to such misery. When I was in fourth grade or so, my teacher asked me which of the Ten Commandments is hardest for me to keep, and without hesitation I answered the fifth. If I was asked the same question today, I would give the same answer. Perhaps those teenage boys in the wilderness bequeathed their well-founded resentment to their descendants to the last generation.

At this point one might ask why God did not simply kill off the bad generation at once, or perhaps over one year, and allow the young to enter Canaan right away. Ultimately, of course, we can never know why God does what He does, but we glean a little insight from the Hasidic doctrine of tzimtzum. God shrinks himself, as it were, so we can relate to Him in a confined place, be it physical - the beit mikdash - or intellectal. He established the laws of nature as the "constitution" by which He runs the world, and confines Himself to the natural order most of the time, even when it leads to what we mortals view as unintended consequences. The generation of the wilderness had to die before Canaan could be conquered, but they had to die of natural causes, and that takes time. The boys would not fight, but they would train their sons and, when the time came, share in their sons' joy when they went out, weapons in hand, and conquered their land. And that too is something they bequeathed to future generations. Jews have always endured economic and other hardships in the hope that their children would have it better than they did. And so may it be until Mashiach comes and redeems the world, in our time but, if not, in our children's.

Point - Counterpoint

In a post written on the occasion of R. Meir Kahane's yahrzeit, I referred to an essay written by an American student in an Israeli yeshiva describing his physical breakdown while supposedly growing in Torah scholarship. I just became aware of another student, a recent graduate of my alma mater Yeshivah of Flatbush, who is studying in an Israeli yeshiva and at the same time training for the first full 42-kilometer marathon to be held in Jerusalem this coming spring. Not only is he training, he is spreading the gospel (deep breath, all it means is "good news") of fitness to his buddies and getting them to train. And they are not sacrificing their learning either.



Click here.



Kol Hakavod to all of them. They are real authentic Jews learning - and living - the real Torah. R. Kahane would be proud. And for a shot of fluid and carbs when they are drenched with holy Jewish sweat, they should try this:





It's the real thing!

Hanukkah - A missed opportunity and seized opportunities

We are about to conclude the eight-day festival of Hanukkah, commemmorating the victory of the Hasmoneans over the Seleucid empire in the second century B.C.E. Can anybody think of any other culture that commemmorates events that happened so long ago? It is said that Napoleon, having stumbled into a synagogue on Tisha B'Av and seen Jews crying, asked why. When he was told that they were crying over a temple that was destroyed some 1700 years ago, he answered that a people that still cries over a temple destroyed 1700 years ago will certainly live to see its restoration. From his mouth to God's ears.

We often overlook that the Hasmonean struggle was against Jewish traitors - Hellenists - even more than against the Greeks themselves. It began when Matityahu (Matthew in English) ran up to a pagan altar and killed a Jew who was about to sacrifice a pig to a Greek idol. The Greeks forbade brit milah, circumcision, and Maccabean soldiers forcibly circumcised the sons of Jews who may not have desired to have their sons circumcized. If the Hasmoneans had not persisted so doggedly, the Jewish people would have been swallowed by Hellenistic culture as were all other conquered peoples, Christianity would not have arisen, and the world would be a different place.

But when I step back and try to see those events objectively, I wonder if I myself and many other observant Jews who share my outlook would not have been Hellenists ourselves. Not all Hellenists were idolaters; many were attracted to the more attractive elements of the culture - art, music, theater, athletics and so on. The fact is that Jews and Greeks got along quite well under Alexander the Great (to this day we name baby boys Alexander), the Ptolemies and even the early Seleucids. We paid taxes and practiced our religion unmolested. Many Jews studied the Greek language and used it to communicate with the rest of society, while using Hebrew and Aramaic to communicate with one another. True, we had to coexist with out-and-out avoda zara (idolatry), but until the rise of Christianity we always have. And we were unable to participate in Greek sports because their athletes competed naked ("gymnasium" is derived from gymnos, the Greek word for naked) and circumcized men were not allowed to compete. Many Hellenized Jews had themselves painfully decircumcized in order to participate; our sources strongly condemn those who "abrogate the covenant of our father Abraham" (mefer brito shel Avraham Avinu). Now, imagine if Antiochus IV Epiphanes ("God revealed") would have been more tolerant and less chauvinistic. Jews and Greeks would have interacted more, and each would have absorbed whatever was most beautiful and uplifting in the other's culture. Jewish youth would have competed in Greek sporting events, but with clothes and without sacrificing to idols. Intelligent Greeks, who were beginning to see that the world was an orderly place governed by natural law, would have questioned their belief in a panoply of gods forever warring with one another; the Greeks made their gods in their own image instead of the other way around. Antiochus missed a terrific opportunity to achieve in the second centure B.C.E. the synthesis that was achieved in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries C.E. Rav Kook taught that it was desirable to "bring the beauty of Yefet [the ancestor of the Greeks] into the tents of Shem." But then we wouldn't have the latkes, the sufganiot and the dreidels.

Battle was joined, initially to restore the religious autonomy that we enjoyed under the Persians and the Greeks up until Antiochus. Against all odds, the Maccabees defeated both the Greeks and their Jewish collaborators and were able to rededicate the Temple three years after the Greeks defiled it. But the Greeks were still ensconced in the Akra fort in or near Jerusalem, and in their many pagan cities (polises) throughout Judah. The Hasmoneans realized that as long as the Greeks held the high ground they would be a constant threat, militarily and culturally. They saw an opportunity to throw them out of the country altogether and they seized it, restoring Jewish political independence for the first time since the fall of the First Temple in 586 B.C.E. The later Hasmonean rulers adopted Greek names (Hyrcanus, Aristobolus and such) and Greek customs, and became Tzedokim (Sadducees), so it might be argued that the Hellenists won after all, but we enjoyed an unparalleled flowering of Torah scholarship as well as material prosperity. As Mahatma Gandhi reportedly asked the British viceroy of India, who would not prefer their own bad government to the good government of strangers?

Hanukkah presents us with at least two opportunities to seize. One is the rediscovery that we have bodies and we have to make and keep them strong to optimize our avodat Hashem. Hey, if God wanted disembodied Holy Ghosts he would have made them. It is said that any literary or cultural movement that comes to the larger society gets to us one or two generations later. Physical fitness became prominent in the mass culture in the 1960s and 1970s; that's when I started lifting and running. But I would see few other Jews at the races. Once in a while a race would be held the Sunday of Hanukkah, and I would run it in a top I made for the purpose, complete with tzitzit; click here and here. When people would ask about the tzitzit, I would explain that in Greek times Jewish athletes would have themselves decircumcized in order to run with the Greeks, so now I'm running while proudly showing the world who I am. Today more and more observant Jews are running (and working out in gyms) and there is even a Jewish running club in Brooklyn: JRunners.

The second opportunity concerns bridging the chasm between religious and secular Jews here and especially in Israel. Hanukkah is a holiday that appeals powerfully to both camps. To us it represents the miraculous victory of Torah over evil forces that would have destroyed it. To the secularists it represents the equally miraculous victory of Jewish fighters restoring Jewish sovereignty on Jewish soil. But they are two sides of the same coin. We can study Torah under foreign domination, but with the proverbial Greeks in the Akra, a constant threat hanging over our heads. And the Torah itself becomes distorted, since authentic Torah is predicated on normality, i.e. Jews running their own affairs and working their own soil.

Carpe diem.

Victors, Not Victims

On November 2, Sergio Britva, an immigrant from Brazil, won gold at the World Masters Weightlifting Championships, 35-39 yr age group, 105kg (231 lb) body weight, in Poland. Silver went to an Iranian athlete while a German took bronze. The German lifter shook hands with the Israeli, but when the Israeli offered his hand to the Iranian, he refused to take it, and as the Israeli flag was raised above those of Germany and Iran, he looked down at the floor.

The following dispatch from the Young Israel listserv says it better than I ever could:

Click here to watch a stirring video that every Jew and every supporter of the State of Israel must see. The following is an account of the event captured in the video, courtesy of crossingtheyarden.com:It’s been awhile since an Israeli weightlifter was in the news. The year was 1972 and members of the Israeli delegation to the Munich Olympics, including several Israeli weightlifters, were taken hostage by Arab terrorists. When the German police botched the rescue operation, the terrorists executed all the hostages. It took about a day for the Germans to realize that continuing the games was in really poor taste. They stopped for the funerals and after the Israeli athletes were safely in the ground, continued on.Thirty-eight years later, an Israeli weightlifter makes the news again. This time, the Israeli is not a victim, he is the champion. The story of Sergio Britva, an immigrant to Israel from Brazil who won the weightlifting world championships last month, is not to be missed.If you have not yet seen the video of the awards ceremony, it is a must see. The world championships for this category of weightlifting were held a few weeks ago in Poland. Sergio lifted a combined total of over 300 kilograms. That’s like lifting a bus load of Sumo wrestlers above your head.He won the gold medal over the second place finisher from Iran and the third place finisher from Germany. Does it get any better than that? An Israeli beats an Iranian and German in Poland! Just to make sure that everyone knew where he was from, Sergio draped an Israeli flag over his shoulder as he took his spot on top of the winner’s podium. Good thing he brought the flag since the announcer forgot to mention which nation he represented. I guess the flag and the team shirt with the word “ISRAEL” in huge letters wasn’t a big enough hint.With a huge champion’s smile on his face, Sergio shakes hands with the third place finisher from Germany and then extends his hand to the runner up from Iran. Showing true class, the Iranian refuses to shake the hand of the athlete who beat him. That’s ok, Hadad, they don’t give medals for acting like a human being. Whether you shook his hand or not, you can still think about how you disgraced your poor excuse of a country every night and day by letting the Zionist enemy take you to school.I could watch what comes next a hundred times and not get bored. To the strains of “Hatikva,” the Israeli flag is hoisted high over that of Iran and Germany. The announcer tells everyone to “Please stand up for the Israeli National Anthem.” Could you imagine the emotions going through Sergio’s mind as he watched his nation’s flag and listened to our country’s anthem - aptly called “The Hope.” That’s right all you anti-Semitic losers, stand up and watch the Israeli flag hung in victory.I just read an article about how the Iranian athlete is now under fire for even standing next to the Israeli. He only did so because otherwise the Iranian delegation would be barred from future competitions. I am glad that they won’t be. I can’t wait for the next time.I’m kind of fond of that song.

Sergio Britva at the medal ceremony. On the video you can see him blinking back tears.

Israeli flag raised over the medal platform, above those of Germany and Iran

ברוך אתה ה' אלו-ינו מלך העולם אוזר ישראל בגבורה

ברוך אתה ה' אלו-ינו מלך העולם שהחיינו וקימנו והגיענו לזמן הזה

Bottom Rail on Top

I was watching Ken Burns's PBS documentary on the Civil War the other day. A runaway slave fighting for the Union recognized his former master in a column of Confederate prisoners, and told him, "Hello, massa. Bottom rail on top this time." It reminded me of an incident that occurred in the New York City Marathon back in my younger days when I was running it nearly every year and clocking respectable times for a recreational runner. As was my custom, I was wearing a sleeveless top with the Israeli flag on the chest and back. I caught up with a badly faltering German runner in the last mile. I remembered the death marches, where Jewish concentration camp inmates were marched by the German S.S. westward toward Germany, ahead of the advancing Red Army. The S.S. would point their guns at the starving, half-dead inmates and shout, "Schnell, Schnell" - fast, fast. Many who could not keep up were shot on the spot. Now, I knew I had nothing against a fellow athlete about my age who was not even born until after the Holocaust, but in the last mile of a marathon your brain plays tricks on you. As I passed the German, I turned toward him, made the universal gun sign (index finger pointed at the target and parallel to the ground, thumb perpendicular to index finger, other fingers turned inward as if in a fist) and called out, "Schnell, Schnell." I don't know what if anything he said or what kind of facial expression he had when he got a good look at the Israeli flag on the back of my shirt.

Finishing my last N.Y.C. Marathon
in 2003

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Okay fellaz, it's my favorite time of year. SUMMER! And it's a hot one. I'm a hot weather nut; sue me. I'm not walking around in a haze of depression. My body, mind and spirit are open to the sensual pleasures of the season. The simple pleasures that you don't experience in your air conditioned room. The feel of the wind against your chest. The sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. The sight of people in parks and playgrounds, all sizes and colors, having fun. The feel of my chest heaving and muscles pumping on a run, of sunshine on my shoulders, of my body glistening with sweat. The ethereal spiritual experience of davening minha in Prospect Park, dressed in running clothes, surrounded by natural beauty and children at play. Rav Nachman of Bratslav [Bratislava, Slovakia] used to leave town to daven in natural settings; maybe he knew something that today's uptight gedolim don't.



You can't run in Brooklyn without straying out of your immediate neighborhood, in my case Midwood. Go to the north and east (Crown Heights, Prospect Park, Brownsville, East New York) or south (Coney Island) and you see a commodity that is increasingly rare in Midwood - real men. Men who respect themselves enough to take care of themselves. Men who are strong and vital. Men like the one you see here are not at all unusual outside the frum community. They refresh my soul, and provide a needed antidote to the ever-increasing number of poor excuses of men I see in shul, men with fat bellies that resemble those of pregnant women. Call me a Hellenist, but these people offend my esthetic sensibilities and, along with the building being overcooled, sabotage the experience of tefilla. In my peregrinations outside the frum community I see men after my own heart; they enjoy the season and are not above having a little fun. And guess how many times I was physically attacked or threatened by any of them? Zero. Zilch. Zip. Nada. We pass each other and no words need be spoken. A wink, a nod, a gesture communicates the message. We belong to the fraternity of the fit, the brotherhood of real men. We're better than all those weaklings cooped up in their air conditioned rooms letting life pass them by.







And yet I'm surrounded, as I never am in the bleak winter, by people whining and kvetching. Oh, it's soooooo hot. It's boiling. It's gross. And the government chimes in with its "heat advisories." Let the temperature break 90 F and the public health authorities are telling people to stay inside with the air conditioner, don't go out, don't God forbid do anything strenuous. This in a society where more than half of all people, children included, are overweight or obese; I suppose the fat pigs outside the frum community heed these warnings and stay indoors when the weather gets hot. When you're writing heat advisories for the majority in New York, you're writing them for the fat, the weak and the self-pampered. So let me take a stab at writing a heat advisory for strong, fit men - and any females who actually use their bodies instead of merely inhabiting them (I think of them as "honorary men").





1. Stay away from air conditioning as much as possible, except on fast days when you can't drink. In about two weeks you will acclimatize to the heat and actually feel cold in temperatures you consider warm in the winter. Our ancestors made their living chasing down big game on foot in a tropical climate; our genes have not changed much since then. Going in and out of air conditioned surroundings confuses the brain; it doesn't know what temperature regime to adjust to.


2. Hydration, hydration and hydration. You need water, and also salts (sodium and potassium) to replace what you lose in sweat. Carry money on your runs so you can stop in a convenience store and get something to drink. Powerade and now Gatorade are certified by the Orthodox Union.


3. Sweat is not ucky, yucky and gross. It's the precious gift that nature and nature's God gave us to cool our bodies in hot weather. If you're a kohen in the Beit Hamikdash sweat is a bad thing (Ezekiel 44:18); otherwise it's just fine, thank you. Expose as much skin as you dare; the more surface area for sweat to evaporate from, the better. If you should stop sweating during a run, that is cause for concern.


4. Take it easy in high humidity since humid air impedes evaporation of sweat, but don't retire to your room unless you're feeling really bad. Just go slower and shorter.


5. Monitor your body. Pay attention to the color and volume of your urine. Copious amounts of clear or pale yellow urine means you're okay, just keep drinking. Scant and deep yellow urine means you're dehydrated; drink plenty and slow down. Every so often, taste your sweat; just lick a fresh drop from your shoulder or above your lip. If it tastes salty, slow down, have a sports drink and/or eat a salty snack. You might find yourself craving potato chips. If you're on a low salt diet consult your physician, preferably an athletic one. If your sweat does not taste salty- good news! You're acclimatized! A hormone called aldosterone kicked in, and it's keeping the sodium in your blood where it belongs. It's also washing away potassium, so drink some orange juice (o.j. on ice is one of the simple pleasures of the season) and/or eat a banana when you get home. If you're sweating profusely and feeling okay, it's all right to push yourself a little.


6. Use sunscreen but don't obsess over it. When I was a kid suntan lotion had SPF numbers of 4 to 8; anything over 15 was considered overkill. Unless your skin is extremely fair, melanocytes (cells containing dark pigment) will rise to the surface and protect you, but blocking out the sun completely blocks the signal for this response to kick in.


7. If you feel dizzy, lightheaded or cold (!), or you notice that you stopped sweating, do not push yourself. Stop running (or other vigorous activity), seek shade (or air conditioning) and drink lots of fluid. If you don't feel better in a few minutes, seek medical attention. If you do feel better, call it a day and take it easy the next day.


8. When you get home, drink l'chaim on a sports drink and enjoy a cool shower. Let yourself go. Whoop and holler if you feel like it. Revel in the irony. Savor it was you would good wine. You've earned it.


All Jews to the showers!

YEEEEE-HAW!




9. Seek the company of other athletes and avoid that of whiners and kvetches. They just make others as miserable as they are. You deserve to get every last bit of enjoyment out of the summer. It does not last nearly long enough in these parts.

10. Repeat after me: SOFT LIVING NEVER DID ANY MAN OR ANY NATION ANY GOOD!

In Defense of Summer Vacation

We often hear from education "reformers" and tabloid editorial writers that the summer vacation should be abolished. This proposal is usually accompanied by attacks on "lazy teachers" who get summers off when nobody else does. We are told that summer vacation was originally instituted when America was an agrarian society and children were needed on the farm, summer being the busy season for farmers. Now that few children are needed for farm chores, summer vacation outlived its usefulness. I am not sure how true this is; wasn't harvest season in autumn, when kids return to school? But in any event, summer vacation for students and teachers is a venerable American tradition, and that alone argues for keeping it. We Diaspora Jews keep an extra day of Yom Tov, originally because word of the correct date, based on the sighting of the new moon in Jerusalem, might not have reached outlying areas in time. However, we have had a fixed calendar since the fourth century C.E. There is absolutely no doubt of the correct dates of our holidays. We keep the tradition of the extra day simply because it's a tradition; minhag avoteinu b'yadeinu.

Some traditions (and features of a language) originate for one reason and acquire new meanings with the passage of time. For instance, Shavu'ot originated as an agricultural observance, evolved into a commemmoration of the giving of the Torah (zman mattan Torateinu) and is now, praise God, returning to its agricultural roots. Similarly, summer vacation might have originated to free children for farm work, but it took on new utility that more than justifies holding on to it. It is said that two months without learning causes children to forget everything they learned in the previous year. If so, wouldn't kids working on farms have also forgotten their lessons? Does urbanization ruin kids' brains? The sad fact is that children, regardless of where they live or how they spend their free time, tend to forget what they learned as soon as they take the test, unless it is relevant to their lives or of particular interest. I remembered most of what I learned in science, biology in particular, because that is my passion. I fell in love with biology before I fell in love with my wife - or met her. I forgot most of my Shakespeare, except for some quotable quotes (the fault, dear Brutus. . . .). The summer does not cause children to forget what they learned, but it provides an opportunity for learning of a sort that one cannot get in a classroom. Warm temperatures and long hours of daylight enable children (and adults) to recharge their batteries, and acquire habits of physical activity that are absolutely essential for their good health. Playing with friends builds social skills that are not acquired sitting behind a desk but that are necessary for society to function. And children are free to read what they wish, and experience the ethereal joy of learning not because some adult is forcing them to, not because they have to pass a test, but for the pure joy of learning something new. Looking back to my own childhood, most of our parents were struggling and travel was out of the question. But the public library was our home away from home, and we explored the world in books, some of which were borrowed in June, taken to summer camp and returned in September. Summer camp itself was our first experience away from home, and we learned to solve our own problems instead of running to Mommy. You don't get that kind of learning cooped up in a classroom. Most of the summer's seasonal jobs, such as lifeguarding and manning concession stands in parks and beaches, would go begging if not for students off from school. These students are learning that they have to work for the things they want.

Columnists and editorial writers in tabloids begrudge teachers our summers off - and would have children develop sedentary habits that will condemn them to a lifetime of misery. Face it - how productive are you cooped up indoors when the sun and surf beckon? Are you able to concentrate on work when you have to dress in a manner inappropriate for the summer's heat? Instead of abolishing summer vacation for teachers and students, we ought to experiment with prolonged time off for workers in general during nature's time for fun in the sun.

Hodesh Ziv - The Month of Brightness

In Sefer Melakhim (Kings 6:1,37) the second Biblical month, known to us as Iyar (the names of Jewish months are post-exilic and of Babylonian provenance), is characterized as Hodesh Ziv - the month of brightness. The commentators advance several explanations. One that sticks in my mind is that the winter's cold is gone but we do not yet suffer from summer's stifling heat. I handle summer's heat just fine, thank you very much. I acclimatized instantly to last week's 80-degree heat but this week, with temperatures unseasonably cool, I had to break out the space heater. I have to chuckle at the commentators' struggles. Praise God, we do not need a perush (commentary) to tell us why Iyar is a month of brightness. It is obvious to all who have eyes to see - and there are none so blind as those who do not. Iyar is the month when we resumed our sovereignty, reclaimed our manhood and, nineteen years later, regained control over the whole of our eternal capital, Jerusalem.

Tomorrow, 28 Iyar, is Yom Yerushalayim, when we celebrate the reunification of our capital. As with the Berlin Wall 22 years later, the wall through the heart of the Holy City came down in a flash, and Jews and Arabs from either side mingled freely with unbounded joy. Who did not thrill to Mota Gur's voice crackling over the radio: Har Habayit b'yadeinu. The Temple Mount (literally "Mountain of the House") is in our hands. Later on I became aware of a soldier in Sinai who heard it over the radio, and with a poker face asked a comrade, "I heard about some house mountain that is in our hands; do you have any idea where it is?", and the comrade shouted, "What! Jerusalem! Ask who captured it!" Ever since, people of all faiths have been able to worship at their holy places. For nineteen years the Jordanians, in violation of the armistice they signed, did not allow Jews to visit the kotel or any other site in "their" part of the city, and even ripped up gravestones on Har Hazeitim for stables and latrines.

After the liberation of Jerusalem, Golda Meir forthrightly announced to the world that its future was not negotiable. Subsequent Israeli governments, whatever their policies regarding "the territories," hewed to that stand on Jerusalem, that it is the eternal, indivisible capital of Israel, until the disaster known as Oslo 1 in 1993. Jerusalem was on the chopping block along with everything else, and make no mistake, the Arabs will not be satisfied with anything less than the whole enchilada. Now a supposedly right-wing Prime Minister, and let's not forget he is the man who gave away 80% of Hevron, kowtows to President Obama and freezes construction of Jewish homes in the capital of the Jewish state. According to a report on Arutz Sheva, American inspectors are traipsing around Israel's capital and reporting to Obama's envoy George Mitchell on violations of Obama's diktat. Who will have the guts to stand up and tell Obama that Israel is not an American colony, nor is it the 51st state. We will build anywhere in Jerusalem, and indeed throughout Israel, that we wish. And if that puts Israelis in conflict with certain segments of the Orthodox commun ity in America, as it does when Jerusalemites decide to build a sports stadium in their city, so be it. Besides being the ir hakodesh, Jerusalem, praise God, is a living breathing city in a way that few would have even imagined a century ago.

It has become customary on Yom Yerushalayim to hold a rikudegalim, where throngs of people dance through the streets of the Old City singing and carrying Israeli flags. Unfortunately, rikudegalim has become an occasion for gratuitous offense toward the city's Arab residents, such as noisily pounding on their doors. Leaders in our community have asked dancers to refrain from such behavior tomorrow, and I hope and pray that they will. Yerushalayim is the City of Peace, and we should live in peace with anyone willing to live in peace with us.

We daven Ma'ariv tonight with the Yom Tov niggun, and end hashkivenu with hapores sukkat shalom aleinu. . . v'al Yerushalayim, as on Yom Tov. Tomorrow morning we say the long psukei d'zimra as on Hoshana Rabbah, and the complete Hallel. After the shir shel yom, I always add Monday's psalm, "gadol Hashem umehullal me'od b'ir elokeinu har kodsho." May it be God's will that next year we will dance the flags on to the Har Habayit, right up to the rebuilt Beit Hamikdash.

Dem Dry Bones

Yesterday being Shabbat Hol Ha-moed Pesah, we read the famous prophecy from Ezekiel about the dry bones. That haftara always has a powerful emotional pull on me, with its climactic ending, "I am Hashem; I have spoken and I have performed," more than hinting at the events that we will commemmorate in the upcoming month of Iyar. I used it as the theme for a shirt in which I ran the New York City Half Marathon.
The prophecy is also the inspiration for a well-known Negro spiritual.

Allow me to tweak the song a little (I believe it's in the public domain):

Dem bones dem bones gonna walk around

Dem bones dem bones gonna run around

Dem bones dem bones gonna fly around. . . .

"Disconnect dem bones dem dry bones. . . .?" Never! They - we - shall go from strength to strength until the final ge'ula, quickly and in our time.

Whites-only basketball?

Honest folks, I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to.


http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/2010/01/19/nba_563760.shtml


This is coming out of Augusta, Georgia. If I'm not mistaken, that town is (or, I hope, was) home to a whites-only golf club. Some imbecile came up with an idea for a whites-only basketball league. It would be open only to natural-born American citizens, no talented Irishmen or Brits need apply. And they would have to have two Caucasian parents. It will feature "fundamental basketball, which [white people] like." Not "street-ball," as played by "people of color." And the imbecile says the proposal is not racist. Well, I wonder if I would qualify. My skin is rather light, but my father wasn't white enough for the brownshirted thugs that prowled the streets of Vienna between the wars, nor were I and my friends white enough for the Irish and Italian ruffians that cruised our neighborhood in the '60s. That's why we took up martial arts. I kind of doubt if a racially exclusive basketball league would even be legal. Remember the Civil Rights Act of 1964? People of good will of every conceivable skin tone fought long and hard for that one. But let's assume it is legal, and let's take this buffoonery at face value. Fundamental basketball? I suppose by that they mean that below-the-rim, boring game (even if it was dominated by Jewish players) that passed for hoops before African-Americans took over the game. No seven-footers slamming it through the hole. The kind of hoops that you might see today in a good WNBA game. No, thanks. I like my high-flying slam-dunking hard-hitting roundball. I even like to see the elbows flying, especially when they belong to Shaquille O'Neal.











Houston, you're having a problem. Your superstar's face just bumped into my elbow.










Guns in the locker room? It's against the law, so let the law deal with it. Obscene gestures and crotch-grabbing? That's what fines and suspensions are for. The game has deteriorated enough with all those wimpy East Europeans David Stern brought in. Don't you dare take away my high-spirited above-the-rim roundball! By the way, we have some good streetball on West 4th Street here in New York every summer. No charge for admission. Try it; you might like it.

Plus ca change. . . .

The following was forwarded to me by email. It is originally from a powerful Maccabi weightlifter who visited Austria, the new enlightened post-Nazi Austria.

WHILE IN VIENNA, KARYN AND I WENT LOOKING FOR A GIFT FOR ALAN.
WE THOUGH A ARMY SURPLUS STORE WOULD DO NICELY.
ALAN COLLECTS OLD ARMY STUFF.
THE STORE WAS CLOSED, 3 HOUR LUNCH BREAK.
WE LOOKED THROUGH THE WINDOW.
IN AUSTRIA, I EXPECTED TO SEE NAZI THINGS.
NAZI ARM BANDS, SWASTIKAS, NAZI FLAGS,
I EXPECTED THIS.
I DIDN'T EXPECT TO SEE THINGS STOLEN FROM TEMPLES.
YODS, TORAH FACE PLATES, YELLOW STARS, ARM BANDS FROM DIFFERENT CONCENTRATION CAMPS...
WHEN I TOLD KARYN WHAT THESE THINGS WERE, SHE WAS VERY UPSET...
I WAS VERY ANGRY.
WE WALKED AWAY.
WE SEPARATED AND WERE TO SUPPOSED TO MEET JAN FOR LUNCH.
I WENT FOR A WALK TO CLEAR MY HEAD BUT STARTED TO HAVE A ANXIETY ATTACK INSTEAD.
[this is hard to write]
I FOUND A PHARMACY AND SPELLED OUT XANEX.
I COULD BARELY SPEAK AT THIS POINT.
I TOOK A LOT OF LITTLE PILLS TO TRY TO CALM DOWN.
I CALLED ABE AND BETTY WEINTRAUB BACK HOME TO ASK WHAT TO DO.
I WAS READY TO MAX OUT EVERY CREDIT CARD I HAD.
THEY BOTH TOLD ME THAT WOULD ONLY MAKE THE MARKET FOR SUCH THINGS TO PROSPER.
AND NOT TO GIVE THEM A DIME.
TO TRY TO CALM DOWN...ME, CALM DOWN, RIGHT.
I STILL DON'T KNOW IF THEY WERE RIGHT.
i'm starting to lose it again just remembering this nightmare.
I MET KARYN AND JAN, KARYN KNEW ME BETTER BACK THEN.
THEY LOOKED AT ME AND SAID WE SHOULD GO FOR A DRINK.
I HAD ONE DRINK.
I TOLD THEM I WAS GOING BACK TO THE STORE.
KARYN LOOKED ME RIGHT IN THE EYE AND ASKED ME IF I WAS GOING TO GET ARRESTED?
IN A LOW VOICE I ANSWERED - I DON'T KNOW...I WAS STARTING TO TREMBLE, TO LOSE IT AGAIN.
I WALKED BACK TO THE STORE NOT REALLY KNOWING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.
I WIPED MY FACE.
i could never tell this story face to face. i'm getting upset now because i still don't know if i did the right thing.
I WALKED IN THE SMALL STORE AND LOOKED AROUND AT EVERYTHING.
I DIDN'T WANT THE OWNER TO KNOW I WAS JEWISH.
FINALLY I ASKED HIM WHAT THE "SILVER POINTY THING" WAS AND HOW MUCH WAS IT.
HE TOLD ME IT WAS A ANTIQUE BABY RATTLE [IT WAS A YOD] AND WAS 350 EURO.
I CONTINUED TO LOOK AROUND AND SAW AN VERY OLD TORAH FACE PLATE.
HE SAW ME LOOKING AT IT AND TOLD ME IT WAS 800 EURO.
HE THEN TOLD ME THE "RATTLE" WAS REALLY USED TO READ JEWISH SCROLLS.
I TOLD HIM I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT IS WAS.
NOW HE KNEW I WAS WAS JEWISH.
WITH MY BACK TO HIM, I ASKED WHY THESE THINGS WERE SO EXPENSIVE.
JEWISH PEOPLE BUY THEM TO RESCUE THEM, OTHERS BUY THEM FOR THEIR HISTORY.
i remember this as if it was this morning.
HE ASKED ME WHAT I WOULD BE WILLING TO PAY.
MY JAW TIGHTENED, I CLOSED MY FISTS AND TURNED TO HIM.
I BACKED HIM TO THE WALL, INCHES FROM HIS FACE.
I ANGRILY RAISED MY VOICE AND ASKED HIM HOW MUCH HE WOULD PAY FOR A RELIGIOUS ITEMS STOLEN FROM A RANSACKED CHURCH?
I DON'T WANT ANY TROUBLE!!! HE SAID RAISEING HIS OPEN HANDS.
YOU ALREADY GOT TROUBLE!
I WAS LOSING MY MIND!
I WAS SWEATING, MY HEART WAS POUNDING!
A 265 LB. BOMB ABOUT TO BLOW!
READY TO POUND HIM AS HARD AND AS LONG AS I COULD...
EVERY MUSCLE WAS TIGHT, HE HAD NO PLACE TO GET AWAY.
I KNEW IF I THREW ONE PUNCH, I WOULD HAVE THROWN ONE HUNDRED.
I WOULD HAVE BROKEN HIS FACE, HANDS, KNEES AND FEET.
IF HE SURVIVED I WOULD MAKE SURE HE WAS IN PAIN FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE.

I NEVER WAS, NOR HAVE I BEEN SINCE, THAT CLOSE TO WANTING TO CRIPPLE SOMEONE WITH MY BARE HANDS.
I NEVER EVEN THOUGHT OF A WEAPON, ONLY MY JEWISH HANDS WOULD DO.

THE LOOK FEAR IN HIS EYES, HIS FACE TURNING PALE, HIS BODY SHAKING LIKE A LEAF, WAS JUST ENOUGH TO SLOW ME DOWN.
I THOUGHT OF WHAT KARYN SAID, ARE YOU GOING TO GET ARRESTED?

AN AMERICAN AND A JEW IN AUSTRIA...THIS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA.
I WALKED OUT OF THE STORE.

THIS SHORT STORY TOOK ME WELL OVER AN HOUR TO WRITE. I HAD TO STOP SEVERAL TIMES.

PEOPLE TELL ME IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. I SHOULD LET IT GO.

WE WENT TO A STREET FAIR THE DAY WE WERE LEAVING.
THERE WERE OLD BLACK AND WHITE PHOTO'S FOR SALE.
GIANT SWASTIKA'S PAINTED PROUDLY ON BUILDINGS.
I ASKED WHAT THEY WERE.
THE OLD MAN SAID:

BETTER TIMES...

SOME PEOPLE SAY I HAVE CHIP ON MY SHOULDER.

WHEN ISRAEL PAINT STORE DID THEIR SIDEWALKS OVER, SOMEONE CARVED A SWASTIKA IN THE CEMENT.
J. ISRAEL WAS THE ORIGINAL OWNER THREE OWNERS AGO.

IN 1972 MY UNCLE SLIM TOOK ME TO A FLATBUSH TEMPLE ON YOM KIPPOR.
THE ARABS JUST ATTACKED ON THE HOLIEST DAY OF THE JEWISH YEAR.
THE RABBI, NO MIKE, HAD A BOOMING VOICE.
HE SAID, AND I QUOTE:

SHAME ON YOU,
SHAME ON YOU ALL YOU JEWS WITH YOUR PORSCHE'S AND MERCEDES BUILT ON THE BLOOD OF YOUR PEOPLE!
YOU CAN NEVER FORGET!
NOR CAN YOU LET OTHERS FORGET!
I'LL KEEP MY CHIP, THANKYOU VERY MUCH.

I'M SORRY, BUT YOU ASKED...

MARK
REMEMBER THIS NEXT TIME YOU OR YOURS GOES CAR SHOPPING.
YOU WHAT HAPPENED IN AUSTRIA... [Ad kan leshono - end quote]


Note how the Austrian trafficker in stolen Jewish property went pale and shook as soon as he was confronted with a Jew who didn't fit his stereotype of the weak and frightened ghetto Jew. Perhaps this weightlifter should have proceeded to give the shopkeeper a taste of the Jewish fist.


This brings back memories of what my father a"h told me of growing up in Vienna in the 1920s and '30s, before Hitler came to power. The streets were teeming with brownshirted Nazi thugs who regularly harassed and beat Jews on the street. Mind you, these Jews were not the despised ostjuden with their beards, strange dress, foreign language and outlandish mannerisms. These were acculturated Jews who considered themselves Austrians, dressed like Austrians and spoke German like Austrians. Many even fought for Austria in World War I. My father a"h was an amateur boxer and gave the brownshirts a taste of Jewish strength. Who knows how things might have turned out differently if there had been more like him.