New York City: Fiddler on the Roof

Last night I arrived in NYC and a few hours later attended the first of seven shows to which I have tickets.

The show was “Fiddler on the Roof” sung in Yiddish and directed byJoel Gray. More than one tear was shed as the story unfolded itself and each tear surprised me!

First the cast was for the most part young, energetic, and talented. I envied them being in a Broadway musical.

Then the story of a people who through no fault of their own, just because they were Jewish, were shunned, attacked, and eventually forced to move from the home, their homeland just for being who they were.

So unfair yet they accepted their fate with dignity and continued hope for a better future. They believed that their God had his reasons which helped them survive. Family was the most important part of their life. And tradition!

Being Jewish is something I do not too often express and or live out, but for some reason this production of Fiddler, especially because it was sung and spoken entirely in Yiddish was amazingly moving. I once again realized how strongly I identify with my heritage, history, and tenants (for the most part) of the Jewish religion, even though I do not formally practice the religion.

While I have become who I am based in part of my being raised Jewish, I have little connection the religion or with family for that matter. I regret this but also know that it is what I have chosen and fulfills other parts of who I am.

It is a trade off and as I get older the regrets surface more strongly if only because there are fewer and fewer of my family left living to me. I am also aware that the regrets come from the fantasy of what family could and should be and often despite this, what it is not.

Another reason the musical moved me was because of my being Gay. For so many years, I was not accepted for who I was/am. I had to address and create my own milestones since I had stepped outside the social norm.

A tear was shed that I was not able to celebrate openly my love for Gregory and not able to profess that love to family and friends at a formal wedding celebration. And now I can only celebrate him as a memory.

Most often when attending a Broadway Musical, I come home depressed because I the fantasy of wanting to be part of that world, to be young and talented, to be able to express my life in music and song, to begin my life at 8:00 each evening (2:00 of there is a matinee) and to know what will happen with each light cue or dialogue presentation. This has been a fantasy since I can remember.

 Fiddler, sung in Yiddish, depressed me and moved me and celebrated me in ways that surprised me ... all in a good way!

Judaism

Yesterday I was honored to attend Friday night Shabbat Services in Lombard, Illinois. My cousin Linda invited me to join her family at the celebration for her husband, Bruce's conversion to Judaism. I visited with their children, my third and fourth cousins, whom I have never met before as adults as well as their young children.

Approximately two hundred people attended the service which not only celebrated Oneg Shabbat but also celebrated Bruce's conversion, the next day's Bat Mitzvah celebrant, and the Rabbi's sister and future brother-in-law who are getting married the next week in Florida.

The female Rabbi lovingly, as well as with humor, guided the congregation through the prayers; the Assistant Rabbi thoughtfully discussed this weeks Torah passage; the Cantor was accompanied by music performed on guitar, piano, and flute. 

The Torah (Jewish Book of Law) was respectfully, ceremoniously carried in parade around the synagog by the Rabbi, the Cantor, and the first time Jewish Bruce. People touched the Torah with their prayer book, or Tallis  (prayer shawl) or hand and then kissed the object which touched the Torah. The idea is that the Torah blesses you ... not that you bless it!

Through the evening, people stood, bowed, listened, or sang along. Various honors were given like opening the Torah Ark, blessing the Sabbath Candles, or reading part of the service. After the service, refreshments were provided by the bride's family and the necessary thick taste of "Mogen David Concord Grape Wine," was available.

This is the conversation I had with myself on the way home:

It was lovely to be part of a community who gathers in worship and friendship as a family of like thinking members. The music was familiar and the words, in Hebrew, drifted back easily ... although my singing took place in my head as the congregations singing vibrated through my ears into the core of my body.

Memories of celebrating Jewish Holidays at Temple with family, attending Hebrew School, studying for my own Bar Mitzvah and singing my Haftarah with my mom, dad, and sister in the audience as well as family, friends, and school mates.

The Prayer for the Dead, which never mentions death but only celebrates life; brought a few tears for my mom, dad, Gregory, and others who have moved on before me.

I was sorely aware that while this group of people embrace many of the ideals I also embrace, there was a difference. A personal experience with God, hearing "his word," the sense of community, and Peace of Mind which religion supposedly offers, has never been part of what I take away from the Jewish Experience.

I call myself a "Cultural Jew," meaning I love and need the tradition, the holidays, the food. But the organized religion aspects of being a Jew just don't seem to mean much to me. The chanting, the prayer repetition, going to Temple, hearing and believing the "story," traditions like fasting for certain holidays, etc just don't speak to me.

I do feel a level of regret that belonging to an active Jewish community is lacking in my life. I do feel that I may have caused my own missed opportunity. I know there are Jewish groups out there that accept homosexuality (the Rabbi of this Temple is a Lesbian, with partner and three children) but still I feel like I do not belong. 

In many ways, I do not want to "buy into" what it means generally to be Jewish. I like to make up my life as I go along. That is perhaps the cause of the regret as well as the joy of the confidence in being my own person? I may never know.

Trump Wins Presidential Election

I won't go on about this too much. Just watched Trump's acceptance speech and he almost seemed normal. His makeup was not quite as orange. 

My hope is that he is "actor" enough to be able get his public appearance act together. I cannot imagine how anyone, let alone Hillary, can concede to his bigotry, crassness, rudeness, prejudices, insensitivity, anti-Semitism, homophobia, and I could go on.

My hope is that he will not be able to keep his "campaign promises" , of which historically most of are not, even with the Republican majorities in the House and Senate. Hopefully the "checks and balances" system will work.

I will not be waving the American Flag for a while considering the Trump administration has brought the United States to a new low regarding women, minorities, LGBTQ, immigrants, Jews, the poor, and who else did I leave out. Right now I am NOT proud of us.

I have hope ... but also fear that this is the end (as we know it) of our Democracy, of rational thinking by those who we allow to govern, of respect for intelligence, persuit of diversity, "One nation with liberty and justice for all," and Lady Liberty keeping her arms open to those in need of new life in a new country as ALL of our ancestors experienced in the past as they arrived in the U.S.A. from all over the world. I only hope the "Hitler" references do not come true. As a Gay man and a Jew, I have a lot to loose!

Sometimes the bottom must be reached before reclamation, before a cure, before recovery. I believe we are experiencing a backlash to President Obama, to better health care for all, to Same Sex Marriage, among other what I consider growth.

This has been going on for a long time and Trump is the embodiment and culmination of this trend. The time of White supremacy is over, I believe this is what Trump is all about, I do not believe he is really the spokes person for the "common man," and the U.S.A. needs to work on a new identity and a rebirth in coming together.

Good luck to us all. And God Bless the United States of America (Lord knows she needs it!)

What Kind of Jew Am I?

Jewish. I definitely am Jewish. You might tell by looking at me but I could also look Mexican, Greek, Mediterranean, or any dark raced person. Recently I have been thinking about what being Jewish means to me.

Embarrassingly it means in part what you often hear, "I love your people's foods!" But I do love traditional Jewish food: corned beef, potato pancakes, chopped liver, chicken soup with a matzo ball or kreplach.

My mother made "Gadempte Chicken" (which means over cooked, falling off the bones chicken,) kishke (cow intestine stuffed with a spicy flour, oil, vegetable mixture,) and tongue (I like the tip of the tongue as the back is fairly fatty.)

I think that last comment sounded rather "tongue in cheek," don't you?

My grandmother taught me how to love Gefilte Fish with strong horse raddish and to spread bone marrow (from the beef bones in the barley soup she made) on rye bread. As an aside she always smelled like the herring and Chubb fish she always seemed to be eating.

I love the taste of Mogen David concord grape wine, the heavy sweet kind, not as a wine connoisseur but rather at Jewish holiday time as part of the food tradition. You can get a pretty good buzz on the stuff which helps make the long, drawn out dinner services easier to get through.

I love Mandel Bread and make a pretty good loaf of these cookies myself. One year I got carried away and creative and made: traditional raisin nut, chocolate chip, lemon poppy seed, cranberry orange walnut, raspberry swirl, and a savory garlic onion.

The later became a joke because it happened by accident when I sliced the loaf of warm, steaming, cookies on a cutting board that earlier in the day had been used to cut up 10 pounds of onions and three heads of garlic.)

But enough about the food. I think that I would call myself a Cultural Jew or a Tradition Jew and not a Religious Jew.

The prayers in Hebrew don't translate for me although the traditional melodies are meaningful and memorable. The rocking while dovening (praying) feels good and comes automatically but for the most part I do not believe in praying.

Praying is OK to me if defined as sending forth a positive energy directed towards hoping for a positive outcome (whether for illness, a pending celebration, or the possibility of a new job.)

Praying is OK to me if it has to do with acknowledging how grateful we are for what we and others have and being optimistic for the good we and others will have.

Sometimes that "positive outcome" is not necessarily what one would expect or hope for. For example when someone is gravely ill, perhaps a "positive outcome" might take place not on this side of life but on the other side which is death. Not that we would want someone we loved to die, but that is not for us to decide!

Or sometimes the loss of a job opportunity is success and puts us in a place to receive and accept a better offer. I believe that every step we take, good or bad, easy or difficult, puts us in the right place for the next best which will happen next.

So if prayer has to do with entreating or begging or bargaining with some source outside of myself, who resides in "heaven," while looking at the sky, hoping for what we think should happen to happen, then NO I do not believe in praying.

Taking a risk here, I do not necessarily believe in a "God," at least not like the religion describes and discusses him but I also cannot disprove the existence of a God so I will not deny him or her!

Let me post script here that these are my opinions, I have the utmost respect for others who hold with beliefs that are not ones to which I hold and I do not try to convince or sell them to "come over to my side of thinking!"

Having been raised a Jew and having served my Bar Mitzvah, I probably have been acculturated to live as a Jew and to embrace life with a Jewish attitude towards "my people," towards myself, towards others, towards life.

Jewish history seems to be my history and Moses, Abraham, and the rest seem to set the example for me but the religion itself and the Jewish God has never given me peace of mind or helped me through personal struggles.

I would guess that much of what my Jewish ancestors went through - like making bricks for the Egyptian Pharaoh, traveling in the dessert for 40 days and nights, like receiving the Ten Commandments, like living through the Holocaust, etc! - has helped shaped my behavior and attitude and are strongly if not at times invisibly part of who I am.

So in summary, yes I am Jewish. I embrace Jewish History, Jewish Culture, Jewish Thinking. When asked I will say, Yes, I am Jewish. Hopefully my attitude, behavior, and appearance does not SHOUT Jewish but I am none-the-less, Jewish.

No, I don't follow or agree with all the Jewish Law or Jewish religious practices. I do not go to temple, even at the High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) when the attendance for the year is always at its highest.

I do not identify with "Zion" or have any desire to go too Israel. I do not follow U.S. /Israeli politics and honestly feel that is not something I need to care about (with the exception that all people should be free to worship (or not) as they please!)

So there you have it. Nutshell Judaism. I am sure I have not finished thinking about this topic so you might see more here on the blog.

Sukkoth

 I am feeling more Jewish than ever as the result of Gregory being at The Lieberman Center! Today's Sunday Concert was a Sukkoth party with Jewish Music. The room was decorated with mums and pumpkins and gourds and cornstalks. Honey cake and punch was served.

The holiday of Sukkoth began today at sundown. The holiday Sukkoth is held in memory of the Book of Exodus tale describing how the Israelites traveled for 40 years through the Sinai Desert in Egypt before entering the Holy Land. To celebrate the occasion, Jews built a structure known as a sukkah, a replica of the huts that Israelites lived in during their voyage.

The Sukkah is three sided with a roof and decorated with the fruits and vegetables of the harvest season. Usually in the family's backyard, meals and prayers are held in the Sukkoth.

I remember the Sukkah built at my hebrew school and its smell of Fall and Honey Cake and Sponge Cake and Mogan David Concord Wine! Ah the smells and flavors of childhood.

On Sukkoth, we are commanded to wave the Four Species, each noted for its special beauty:

• Esrog – the citron, a fragrant fruit with a thick, white rind. It is often picked from the tree while green, and then ripens to a bright yellow.
• Lulav – the palm branch, which is defined in beauty by having a straight shape and leaves tightly bound.
• Hadas – the myrtle branch, which has a beautiful plated pattern of three leaves coming out from the same point in the branch.
• Arava – the willow branch, which should have oblong leaves with a smooth edge.

We bind all the branches together: two willows on the left, one palm branch in the center, and three myrtles on the right. They are lifted together with the Esrog and shaken it in all directions, as a symbol of God's mastery over all Creation.

Hatikva

As we welcome in the Jewish New Year, 5776, these ideas come to me.

There is something so moving about this piece, Hatikva, the national anthem for Israel, that always moves me to tears. It holds the hopes and prayers of not only the Jewish People but also any person, any group of people, any country who has yearned and worked for the right to be who they were meant to be, to be free from oppression because of their beliefs.

Most recently at the Lieberman Center, at a Sunday Concert, the performer played it with gusto on our grand piano. Slowly you could hear the under current of voices joining in, sometimes knowing the words other times just humming. Voices weak, weary, confused, lost or otherwise. Voices strong, resilient, sentient, determined or otherwise.

Never overwhelming the music, but raising from the heart, from the soul, from the place where ancestors live; much like a prayer, to blend in with life, love, freedom, and joy.

CLICK HERE AND LISTEN AND WATCH

The Jewish Santa

It was a good season, lots of hard work, many toys and gifts to wrap, the sleigh to fill. But with a lot of help from my elves and friends, we did it! And now we wish you a Happy New Year as I get out my Hawaiian Shirts and shorts and take a little well deserved time off.

Part 1: What is in a fall day?

Fall carries with it for most of us such feelings, emotions, senses so as to enrich the eventual coming of winter. For many it is a favorite time of year with its smells of leaf decay, feel of chill in the air, sight of colors all bounded by russet, sound of leaves crunching and thrashing underfoot.

To see piles of leaves as tall as I am, piled in the street waiting to be vacuumed up by large trucks the city sends around overwhelms me. As a child we used to play in these piles, popping out to scare and pretend fright. A carefully collected assortment of reds, oranges, yellows and still greens would be pressed into the dictionary or arranged on the dining room table by a supportive, nurturing mother.

Then there would be that acrid, sweet, memory filled smell of leaves burning at the curb now outlawed because of pollution. But what wonderful pollution it was. A bonfire to celebrate your efforts at gathering the seasons discard, only to regather again in a few days or the next weekend.

You can still get a peek at this memory now and then when you are driving in the country past a farm where a burn is burning, apparently still allowed. I always stop the car, roll down the windows, inhale, and exhaleingly sigh.

Always a great time in the fall, during the autumn, is taking a walk in the forest preserve down a path covered almost to disappearing with the effects of the season as the colors of the leaves remaining on the trees disappear into a vanishing point far away. Sometimes over dressed, sometimes chilled and underdressed with the unpredictability of the season we would find a fallen tree to perch on and amaze at the wonder.

Then there are the Jewish holidays celebrated during the fall: Rosh Hashanah (a solemn holiday beginning the calendar year with repentance from sin and the hope of renewal,) Yom Kippur (a fast day of prayer and collective confession,) Sukkot (a holiday to celebrate the harvest and move into a temporary hut in the back yard,) Simchas Torah (a holiday to celebrate finishing the reading of the Torah scroll for the year and starting it over again to symbolize the never ending nature of Jewish law.) 

Trips to the apple orchard, some two or three hours outside the city, were and still are always a festive event. Never went to pick them off the trees as many do but rather to walk through the chilly barns with bushel basket after bushel basket and box after box of every type of apple you never realized existed.

There is something romantic about those one handled bags in which you would fill your selection to purchase. One price for a filled smaller bag, another price for the larger filled bag. At the place we go you could sample any apple you wanted until your tummy growled. There was also freshly pressed apple juice to sample in cups that were too small and necessitated a refill.

Candy, candy, candy at Halloween is a good way to continue the season. Costumes and Trick or Treat and parties and candy by going from door to door to beg for more. "Trick or Treat, Money or Eats," we would chant as kids. Costumes and parties as we grew older took over the trick or treat but we would always squeeze in a few requests on the way to our party.

Now as adults, we buy candy to pass out to those who frequent our doors but more importantly, I think, is that we can buy our own candy, our favorites, and fill our own bowl without having to beg or trip over the hems of our costumes. We can snatch a piece or two whenever we want.

Memories. Ah memories. Fall. Autumn. And we have only gotten to the end of October. In another post, I will reminisce about what is in a fall November day. 

Happy Passover

Seder #1 - Monday Night.

Seder # 2 - Tuesday night. 

Matzo - Next 7 days!

Stories from my Father

In honor of the seventh anniversary of my dad's death, here are two of his stories (as augmented by yours truly.)

The Heysidonder Man

The "Heysidonder Man" is a title given to a very important position in the temple. 

On the Sabbath, when most Jews should be in temple praying to Hashem the Heysidonder Man does his assigned task.  Hashem means "The Name" because you should not take the name of G-d in vain. When you are praying to him you can use his name but when you are referring to him you should not use his name. (That is if you embrace any of this.) 

Many Jews do not take the services at temple seriously. They use temple as a vehicle to visit, catch up, gossip, be seen etc. Also, there are what are known as the "High Holiday Jews." These Jews only go to temple on the most sacred holidays, to atone for their sins, to be sealed in the Book of Life for Health, Happiness, and Prosperity and to visit, catch up, gossip, be seen etc. 

So being a generally roudy group, someone has to take them in hand and keep them in tow. This duty falls to the Heysidonder Man. He is usually a well respected member of the community and the temple, takes his religion and the act of praying seriously, is almost always quite old, and speaks with a foreign (read Yiddish) accent.

It is his job to tell the people attending the service but who are being disrespectful to the Rabbi, the Cantor and those who are serious about their prayers, "Hey Sit Down There!" The offenders almost always listen and the Heysidonder Man's job is done for the time being. Sometimes he has to tell the offender(s) again, "Heysidonder!" They usually listen on the second telling.

The Ibish Oise Machine

This story comes from the time that my mom and dad went on vacation taking the train from Chicago to Florida. This was in the pre AMTRAK days when the rail lines were still privately ownedhand the trains had names like The City of New Orleans, The California Zepher,  and the Super Chief. 

The trip took close to 40 hours going from Chicago to Washington, D.C. and then transferring to another train to Miami. In those days, travel by train was in its heyday and the trains were filled to capacity. Besides single travelers, families and larger groups would travel together.

There were your assigned seats or compartments for sitting and sleeping, observation cars, snack cars, dining cars, and cars for drinks. Many people packed their own food for breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and snacks.

As you can imagine, the train cars got more and more rank as the 40 hours (if the train was on time) dragged by. Human odors, bathroom waste in toilets that didn't always work, leftover food like salami etc, stale odors, garbage, wrappers, pop bottles, etc. piled up. By the end of the trip, the living conditions on the train were almost intolerable and it was quite the mess.

My father's idea was that when the train was at its destination and all the people disembarked, the doors connecting the cars would be propped open and a HUGE vacuum type machine would be attached to the last car. It would be turned on and would suck out all the all of the odors and garbage in one easy sweep.

He call it the "Ibish Ois Machine." Ibish ois in Yiddish means: to clean out.