It didn't quite end all wars...

Various posts from Facebook:

Fun fact: Tammuz, the month that starts today, is named for one of the gods in the Mesopotamian pantheon. In fact, all of the "Hebrew" month names are Babylonian in origin, whether religious or secular. "Marcheshvan," for example, is Akkadian for "eighth month." All of this was well-known to Chazal, who even justified it by citing a prophecy of Yirmiyahu. (You are free to offer this fun fact whenever speaking with someone who insists on not using the English names of the months or days of the week because of their pagan origins.)

Tammuz was, in fact, the god of fertility, and was portrayed as a handsome young man, all of which, as you might expect, made him quite popular with the ladies. And not just in Mesopotamia: Yechezkel has a vision of Jewish women "crying for Tammuz" within the precincts of the Beit HaMikdash itself. They were crying over him, incidentally, because he was the god not just of human fertility but agricultural fertility as well. Every year, the coming of the dry season (not coincidentally, in the month named for him) marked his "death," and he would "come back to life" as the rainy season returned with the autumn. (A god who dies in the spring and is later resurrected...that should remind you of something.)

He became so popular and revered, in fact, that his adherents stopped using his actual name and referred to him only as "Adoni." (That should also remind you of something, with a "l'havdil" here.) His fame spread to the Greeks, who (along with others) adopted him. They didn't like vowels at the end of masculine names, though, which is part of how "Moshe" became "Moses" and "Yeshu" became "Jesus," and how "Adoni" became "Adonis."

"Adonis" remains a part of our lexicon to this day. Shakespeare wrote a long narrative poem (this and his other narrative poem, Lucrece, are the only two works he published himself) about the doomed relationship called "Venus and Adonis," in which Adonis is killed by a wild boar, and to this day, "Adonis" is a term for a handsome young man. It's even used on Seinfeld at one point- to refer to Uncle Leo, of all people. 

A thought for the new month, to tide you over for the next twenty-nine days. I got nothing about Av, sorry. 
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My beit knesset is located in the Heichal Shlomo building, which also contains a Judaica museum. They usually have an exhibit in the lobby as well, and for the last couple of months it's been some very nice shots of Jerusalem at night, mostly sans people. (The building I work in is included, funnily enough.) The signage at the exhibit explained that it was in honor of the eightieth birthday of the photographer, who had a photo shop in the center of town for many decades and was the go-to guy for gan and school class pictures before he retired and became a curator at the museum itself.

The building has a security guard full time, and while sometimes it's a relatively youngish guy who works for a security agency, sometimes it's an older, bearded man. (They both help us with making a minyan as needed. [They both seem secular, but the former once joined us when he had yahrtzeit.]) Today, I saw the older man was on duty, and was taking down the photos of the exhibit and packing them up during shacharit. Afterward, I walked past him and began a conversation:

Me: "I didn't know this was part of your job!"

He: "Well, I work for the museum, actually. The exhibit is coming to an end."

Me: "Oh, we enjoyed it very much. Lovely pictures."

He: "Actually, I'm the photographer. They threw this little geste together for me for my eightieth birthday."

Me: "Um, oh! Yes, I saw that. Really nice shots! Congratulations! Mazal tov! Shavua tov!"

He, patting me on the back as I walk out: "Thanks! Chodesh tov!"
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Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, was assassinated (together with his wife) one hundred years ago today, on June 28, 1914, an event which led, directly or indirectly, to most of the horrors of the 20th Century (and beyond).

John Derbyshire sums it up nicely in the first couple of items here:
http://johnderbyshire.com/Opinions/RadioDerb/2014-06-28.html

Cracked sums it up nicely, in their own way, in the first item here:
http://www.cracked.com/article_17298_6-random-coincidences-that-created-modern-world.html

To give you an idea of how history can sometimes be less remote than we think, my paternal grandparents were born and raised Austro-Hungarian subjects. (My maternal grandparents were born subjects of the Czar.) My father's mother, who I can remember, if dimly, said that Emperor Franz Joseph (uncle of Franz Ferdinand) was so good to the Jews because he'd had a Jewish girlfriend back in the day. Or at least that was the scuttlebutt among the Galician Jews.

Franz Joseph was, indeed, good to the Jews. He personally financed the completion of the Tiferet Yisrael Synagogue in the Old City of Jerusalem, a building destroyed by the Jordanians in 1948 and now being rebuilt.

On a related note, on this date a century ago, Sherlock Holmes was soon to wrap up his last case, working to secure Britain's position in the war everyone knew was about to come. The case would be wrapped up on August 2nd- remind me to revisit it then. 

Five Weeks

From the beginning of the Omer this year, Egged ran the daily count as part of the inside electronic destination signs, cycling it with the regular information. It was lovely.

Well, as the Sage of Baltimore himself, H. L. Mencken, put it, "Puritanism [is] the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy," and this is amply true of our modern-day Puritans, who are of course to be found on the other end of the political spectrum from their ancestors. Some busybody- just one, of course- made a fuss, and, as is true of all busybodies, managed to impose his will on everyone else. The Omer was taken down, and even Egged wasn't happy, but who wants the hassle? (The literal meaning of "Bolshevik" is "majority," because busybodies always try to sound bigger than they really are.)

Anyway, what was his excuse? First, some mumbling about offended "minorities" (i.e., Arabs). Mind you, he wasn't an Arab himself, and I doubt he asked any, but there you go. (Don't bother bringing up the flag, anthem, or name of the country- or the language the signs are in. He probably thinks all those have to go too.)

Second, some muttering about how the extra line on the sign is an "inconvenience," I suppose because it would take you an extra five seconds to see what the next stop is, and the guy needed to claim standing.

Well, Egged has now added the time to their signs. So you've got to wait another five seconds. Personally, I'm not inconvenienced. I'd prefer the Omer.

Why do we (American universities in the commencement season of 2014, I'm looking at *you*) give in to bullies so easily?

PS: I forgot to mention- a busybody, maybe the same one, tried to shut this series down as well, and got laughed at.

What Mr. Rogers Taught Me About Birkat Kohanim

Well, Pesach came to an end last week, and once again I was reminded of something that I mentioned quite a few times in the early days of this blog: In one week, I said Birkat Kohanim more times than in an entire year in chu"l. In fact, I'd like to think that as you go through those early entries, you see something of a progression leading to my eventual aliyah. And the ability to perform this mitzvah so often was actually a factor in that decision.

Well, once back in those chu"l days, someone asked me, after duchaning, what my kavanot were while saying the brachot. ("Kavanos," of course.) I sort of knew what he had in mind, but I answered, "May Hashem bless you and watch you..." After all, the kohen is really "just" the pipeline. Why make it complicated?

Still, it sometimes pays to get insight of one kind or another. And for an introduction to that, let's go back a couple of years, in a car on the way to a rehearsal. (Ruddigore, I think.) I'm sitting up front with the driver, a fellow cast member who grew up in Pittsburgh, and another two cast members, both of South African origin, are in the back. We're chatting about this and that, and the driver mentions that she grew up next door to Mr. Rogers. To my stunned reaction, she casually said, "Oh, sure- he was a minister, you know, and we saw him walking to church every Sunday, and he'd to walk us to shul every Shabbat. 'You're my *real* neighbors,' he'd say."

I was completely bowled over. "But why?" the South Africans asked. "Who was he?"

"Mr. Rogers?" we answered. "He was...well, he was sort of a saint."

The funny thing is, I've repeated that story to lots of people, and all the Americans anticipate that answer. The stories about him are legion- Cracked has some good articles as well (follow the links for more, and watch the videos). I don't have to repeat them here. Even though I grew up without a TV, we did have his LPs, and played the grooves off them.

What does this have to do with Birkat Kohanim? Well, even if your kavana is the plain meaning, that middle pasuk is a bit hard to grasp. The first is clearly physical- health, wealth, safety, blessing and guardianship. The last, peace, is even more straightforward. But the middle one...what is "grace"? Clearly something spiritual, but can you put your finger on it?

Well, maybe not. But this article is sometimes described as the best thing Esquire has ever printed. I even cut it out and saved it back then. In it, you learn that Mr. Rogers didn't sign autographs; he wrote the Greek word χάρις, grace.

What is grace? He doesn't even know. He can't define it. This is a man who loves the simplifying force of definitions, and yet all he knows of grace is how he gets it; all he knows is that he gets it from God, through man. And so in Penn Station, where he was surrounded by men and women and children, he had this power, like a comic-book superhero who absorbs the energy of others until he bursts out of his shirt.

 And, at the end, the author prays with Mr. Rogers.

What is grace? I'm not certain; all I know is that my heart felt like a spike, and then, in that room, it opened and felt like an umbrella. I had never prayed like that before, ever.

It doesn't nearly explain everything, as is clear from the article itself, and I'm not even really sure how much of it, if any, is applicable here (sorry if that's anticlimactic). But it's certainly added a bit to my kavanot, and perhaps even can, indeed, add to our actual understanding of the bracha. I don't know that I can define it, but it's something we need just as much as the rest of the brachot, and something Hashem grants us in His goodness. Thank you, God, and thank you, Mr. Rogers.

Decade

It was ten years ago today that I began blogging. I had just started a new job, a friend set up this account (long story), and I got into it.

Ten years...wow. A lot's happened in those ten years. Work, play, study, ups and downs, an expanded family, relationships, friendships...and then Aliyah, a whole new world of people and experiences, meeting the most wonderful woman, marriage, and, as the decade is nearly upon us, a new job and, most significantly, a new and adorable baby. I am- we are- truly blessed.

It goes without saying that posting has decreased over the years, for any of a number of reasons, but I've always managed to do at least one post a month. Who knows what I'll do from here out, but at least the blog will stay up for now.

And, of course, thanks to my loyal readers! Stay in touch, all!

Before the big news, two more Jerusalem anecdotes:

I suppose we've gotten so used to the fact that any junk we want to get rid of will be gone within minutes of being placed on the wall outside our house that not only didn't it register that our semi-broken toaster (it needs some good whacks to get going, in case you're the new owner) was gone that quickly, but...well, I noticed that a slice of bread (untoasted) had been left in its place. I even threw it out. But it wasn't until almost a whole day later that the hilarious fact that our toaster had been replaced with a slice of bread sank in, and I laughed and laughed.

Number two:

I was waiting for a bus at Tzomet Pat yesterday when a tour bus stopped and disgorged some elderly tourists, secular Israelis, who joined me in waiting for a Rechavia-bound bus. Some of them began conversing. Eventually:

"There's a free seat at the shelter."

"No, no, the bus will be here soon."

"Mashiach will be here soon too, but that's no reason not to sit down."

And now the big news: We are proud, happy, and full of gratitude to Hashem as we welcome a new addition to our family; as of his brit yesterday, his name is Hoshen Golan. An explanation to anyone who requests. :-)

OK, one more...

Everyone's a comedian, which is appreciated, but even more so when there's that touch of Biblical/Talmudic humor in it.

I went for a haircut at my usual place yesterday. When the guy was done, I touched the top of my (rather bald) head to see if he'd cut enough there. "Oh, you want that cut as well?" the barber asked. "Sorry, I'll take care of it. I thought you wanted to leave it, you, know, zecher l'mikdash."

I didn't stop laughing until I was well on my way home.

(Hmm, two pate-related stories in a row. I really don't think about it that much, honestly.)

And So Facebook Slowly Does Away With Blogs

...but for those of my loyal readers who follow me mostly here and not there, and I love you all, here are some recent posts from Facebook. For the comments, some of which are quite good, see there. (I leave out one post about Facebook itself.):
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I'm used to people coming up to me in shul and telling me my tefillin are too low. I usually try to wave them off, but some of them are insistent.

They say R' Kook used to adjust people's tefillin, but at least he was the rav- and he knew what he was doing. With me, it's usually some ignoramus. To make matters worse, they usually have full heads of hair (lucky dogs) and simply can't grasp what the phrase "my hairline isn't where it once was" even means. (I suppose the language barrier doesn't help.)

None of that prepared me for today. Today, it was someone who- I kid you not- runs an entire organization (in Brooklyn, naturally) devoted to this topic. He had a spiral-bound book and glossy fliers all about his cause. And he kept going on about how I'm violating a d'orayta, need to take care of this today, and how- I'm quoting here- "I'm doing you a big favor." (The Karaite myth didn't come up, alas.) All this in the middle of hagba. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think talking during davening ranks a bit higher on the no-nos.

When faced with that sort of lunacy, you just nod, smile, and try to slowly back away. While saying your "V'Zot HaTorah," "Acheinu," and Amens, which, as I said, I think God is a bit more interested in.
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 (This is from last week, and so a bit dated, but not much:)
So here's a timeline of headlines:

Sunday: Bibi announces that he won't remove any Israelis from their homes. Subtext, not picked up on by me then: Settlers are free to live under the PA if they want.

Monday: Bennett blasts Bibi, saying this is a stupid idea. (It is, on a number of levels.) On the same day, in a different paper, the headline informs us that the PA rejects the idea out of hand. Their future state will be Judenrein, thank you very much.

So, Monday night, Efrat and I decide that Bibi may well be being devious- offer the PA a deal which they'll inevitably reject (because they're evil and, thankfully, stupid), and thus expose them as a bunch of anti-Semites, not that it will convince anyone who doesn't like Israel or Jews anyway.

Sure enough, Tuesday's headline: Bibi blasts Bennett for ruining his perfect opportunity to expose the Palestinians as a bunch of "racists and anti-Semites" (which seems to have worked anyway, but maybe he wanted to make it "official"). Bennett's people respond by complaining that Bibi never told them it was part of a big plan.

You just have to laugh sometimes. (As Tom Wolfe once wrote, "It's a great life, if you don't weaken.") But it leaves the following questions: Are Efrat and I officially smarter than Bennett? (One of us voted for him, a decision still not regretted overall.) If so, why is he so much richer and more powerful than us? Was Bennett just playing to his base? Or, frighteningly, does Bennett perhaps know that Bibi really is the squish we think him to be? Or is all this really part of some huge plan? (On the last, at least: Nah.)
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Finally saw The Hobbit Part Two (yeah, I know that's not its name) yesterday. Probably one of the last showings in theaters, so I had to go with the 3-D, which doesn't work for me, but I enjoyed it. So long as you don't expect Jackson to stick to the book- and he deviates wildly, oddly enough not only (obviously, for long trilogy) adding whole plots either from other Tolkien writings or from his own imagination, but ironically making some very clear omissions (I can only assume they'll be in the extended versions, but whatever)- it can be fun. Sometimes inadvertently funny, as in some of the over-the-top fight scenes, but what's wrong with a laugh? I guess I'm not a purist, especially if the result isn't bad.

Another year till the next...I'm having flashbacks to LOTR in 2001 and 2002.

I may have mentioned this last year, but it's certainly odd having to follow along constructed languages such as Quenya (Elvish), Khuzdul (Dwarf language), Black Speech, and Orkish in Hebrew subtitles. Same for Klingon last year.

One more thing: I know they tailor trailers to the main feature, but three of the four trailers were for Marvel movies. Wow. (The fourth was the Robocop remake, Hashem Yerachem.)
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My English teacher in the seventh and eighth grades (twenty-five years ago!) was Mr. Harvey Brodsky. He was amazing. (Note added for blog: Most of my classmates, unlike me, had younger and not older brothers in the school. Mr. Brodsky would assign all sorts of "risky" books- like "To Kill a Mockingbird"- there would be howls of outrage from parents, and the books would not be assigned the next year. Fortunately, I got to read them before the hissy fits.)

My parents send regular "care packages" of articles and the like I might find interesting. What a delight to discover, in the latest one, an article showing that Mr. Brodsky is still going strong. May his tribe increase.

Small world, or at least city

On Friday we went to have brunch with a friend of my wife's from "the old country" who's visiting. Said friend was a classmate of mine in law school, but I don't think had any idea I had made aliyah, married her friend, or would be at the brunch.

There were about six or seven other friends of hers there as well. As the meal progressed, we realized we knew all of them- separately. Because ten people live in this whole country. (And we know six of them.)

As we often must, to get there, we had to stroll through the "closed zone" around the Prime Minister's residence, next door to us.

The small blonde border policewoman standing guard at one of the entrances caught our eye. She went to her chair, drank some water, and then picked up a small book, sat down and started reading. "She's *davening*," I observed to Efrat. "I love this country."

The Beginning of the End, 2600 Years Ago

A year and a half before the summer of 586 BCE was the winter of 588/587 BCE. Precisely 2600 years later, taking into account that there was no year zero, is the winter of 2013/2014. In other words, it's a century marker for Asarah b'Tevet.

I wonder if it was as snowy back then. The snow, of course, being one reason I didn't post this on time. :-)

It's kind of weird: In the run-up to the release of the latest jobs report, there were articles saying things like, "Waiting to see how much the shutdown affected the job market." Now, we all know that the effect should be diddly-squat. But clearly, the apologists were laying the groundwork for excusing yet another bad report.

And the report was released, and lo and behold, it wasn't so bad. (This is the new normal. We expect bad and are delighted at less-than-bad.) Admission of guilt from the MSM? Of course not! "Economy dodged bullet" or some such nonsense became the theme instead.

Touching History

I've written about this before, but more happened this year, or at least I learned more, so here is the story I posted to Facebook. A bit of credit due to the "anonymous" commenter on the original post, as will be seen:

In 1898, Mrs. Imam Sassoon of Bombay commissioned a Sefer Torah, to be written in Baghdad on deerskin and enclosed in an ornate silver case. It eventually made its way to the Old City of Jerusalem and Yeshivat Porat Yosef.

In 1948, the Old City was taken by the Jordanians and the yeshiva was destroyed. This Sefer Torah caught the eye of a soldier, however, and it was spared, winding up in the palace of King Abdullah (great-grandfather of the current king of the same name).

The next year, Golda Meir was in the palace for secret talks along with another Foreign Ministry representative, Eliyahu Sassoon, and they were shown the Torah by the king. They convinced the king that it wasn't right to hold a Sefer Torah hostage (see Shmuel Aleph, Chapter Five  ) and he let them take it back with them. (Only then did Sassoon realize that it had been commissioned by his own great-grandmother.) It was donated to the Beit Knesset of then-Chief Rabbi Herzog, and ended up in the Judaica museum of Heichal Shlomo, then the seat of the Chief Rabbinate, where it remains until today.

The Beit Knesset in which I daven every morning (and layn) is in Heichal Shlomo, and once a year that Sefer Torah is taken downstairs and read from our Bimah. I've been waiting for the day since I first saw it happen over a year ago, and sure enough, they brought it down today. Some people from the museum brought in the Torah and joined us for tefilla, the security guard (who I knew was a real shutterbug) took pictures, and a curator gave a short talk before I read from the Torah.

It's funny: You approach something with that sort of history, at first, with a sense of awe, not even wanting to get too close. By the time you've spent five minutes with it, it's like an old friend, and you're handling it (always respectfully, of course) like the Sifrei Torah with which you're much more familiar. But the awe remains as you look at it, read the pesukim ("Hashem Yilachem Lachem" is one on the case itself, for some reason, prophetically enough) and dedications engraved on it, and think of its story.

I said I waited for the Torah's re-appearance this year. Forgive me for anthropomorphizing, but I get the feeling the Sefer Torah itself waits for this day all year as well. I'm honored we shared in the simcha.

שלשלת הדורות

The aron hakodesh (and matching bimah) in my beit knesset are originally from Padua; they were built for the Sephardi Beit Knesset there in the early 1700's and brought to Israel along with many other Italian aronot (and, sometimes, complete batei knesset) in the 1950's. (The Padua community wrote a beautiful letter to accompany it; scroll down to see it and click to enlarge.)

It's an extremely impressive work of art in and of itself- the Ramchal, who was rav in Padua when it went up, was inspired to write a whole book and poem on it when he saw it. (That first painting is by Yitzhak Holtz, an artist and one of our mitpallelim, a Levi who regularly washes my hands.) It's held up very well over the years and remains magnificient; the whole shul, in fact, including its more modern elements- not to mention its wonderful members- is very nice indeed, and regularly awes visitors who've just stopped in for Mincha.

In any event, the aron has an elaborate fence, wrought iron with gold leaf, around the duchan. And every now and then, as I turn around to begin my bracha, my tallit catches on that fence. (Mostly Shabbat, for some reason- maybe because my Shabbat tallit is newer and has more puffy fringes, or maybe because the tekhelet strings on that one are quite long. Or maybe because I'm the Shaliach Tzibur almost every weekday. :-) Or, most likely, because there are many more kohanim on Shabbat, so I'm closer to the railing.)

It can be a bit annoying, especially when I'm trying to raise my hands to deliver the bracha and physically can't because my tallit is literally holding me down. And annoyed I was for the first few times, until a nice thought came to me: I bet the kohanim back in the mid-1700's had the same problem. I like connecting to previous generations that way.

By the way, check out that tekhelet link. I'm supposed to be the YU liason, whatever that means, but I'll enjoy it whatever my role.

Yamim Noraim, in more ways than one

I love reading between the lines of articles, I said to the spouse this morning as we strolled down the street together:

Anita Bürgler, a 43-year-old Swiss kite-surfing fanatic, chose this resort town on the Strait of Gibraltar to spend her first-ever Spanish holiday. She heard it has some of the strongest winds in Europe.

In Tarifa, she found the wind-swept coastline that she expected. It might have been just a bit crowded for her taste. The shore is, she said last week, "just very busy, with too many other surfers to really enjoy myself."

So she and her 45-year-old partner, Urs Baur, who also had never vacationed in Spain, spent much of their two-week holiday enjoying other activities that included whale watching, hiking and a day trip to the picturesque town of Ronda.

And so Europe dies. (I won't spell it out.) There are some who say God is taking revenge. For now, I just find it interesting and a bit scary.

Some observations from Rosh Hashana:

-The beit knesset put up their white parochet for the season. After birkat kohanim, I noticed it was dedicated in honor of a bar mitzvah boy...in 1972. Wow- he's 54 years old now.

-Putting two "missable" lines (Zachrenu and Mi Kamocha) before the required one (HaMelekh) may not have been deliberate, but it's a stroke of genius nonetheless- it helps you remember the last. Of course, I know that I'll mess up continually for a week, only to start doing it automatically next Sunday. Thirty days? Ha!

(I must add that putting HaMelech HaMishpat halfway through is also smart- that way you might realize you missed the previous change before you finish the whole thing.)

Elul

Interesting calculation I made: The general custom is to sound the shofar one hundred times on each day of Rosh Hashana, except for Shabbat. (OK, our shul blows it a few more times, but let's talk generally.) In addition, we blow it on two other occasions, in both cases four times: Every weekday morning of Elul, starting yesterday, and at the end of Yom Kippur.

Now, Elul has 29 days. We don't blow the shofar on the last day, leaving 28. In any 28-day period, there will be four Shabbatot, so we blow it on 24 days in Elul. (The last day of Elul can never be Shabbat, so all four Shabbatot will be in the 28-day blowing period.) Add Yom Kippur for the 25th day, multiply by four, and you get...another hundred, exactly. Interesting.

Stay tuned for...oh, I don't know: My calculation of how many times, exactly, we hit our chests on Yom Kippur. :-)

July 31!

Wow! Less than ten minutes left in the month and I haven't posted! Well, it's been a busy time. The big birthday was today- multiple of 19, Hebrew/English nearly aligned- and my parents reminded me it's been 25 years since my bar mitzvah. (I actually was having fond thoughts of my bar mitzvah rebbe this week. Hopefully I can post more about him soon.) It's been a great week- layning on Shabbat, a karaoke party Sunday, a wedding Monday, a show Tuesday, and finally, today, after many great Facebook wishes and phone calls, a birthday buddy's party. (I discovered yet another one today- I have at least three, not counting Harry Potter and his creator.) All shared with my most excellent spouse, which only makes it all the better.

That's all for now, and let's all have a great year!

"since he was Scottish (and at least slightly crazy)"

A day late, I'm watching Reagan's famous D-Day speech. That reminds me that I've been long delinquent in posting these two obituaries for the late Bill Millin. I especially recommend the very end of the first link.

Here are two clips portraying him in The Longest Day. (Yes, that's Sean Connery.) The title of this post is from the article on Cracked.

One thing I'll say about the Jerusalem light rail- it's keeping fresh my old skill, gained in the NYC subway, of being able to stand on a moving train without holding on.

A few nights back I was on a bus instead, coming back from a fascinating trip to Tel Aviv. (See Facebook for details.) A lanky American-accented soldier was showing his papers to the driver to get his free (really paid for by the IDF) ride- maybe he was too fresh a recruit to have the ID- and the driver was a bit skeptical. Finally, the soldier say down behind him. The charedi-ish man next to him- also American- began offering to pay. "I don't want you to get in trouble." "I won't, really. I can pay if I have to, trust me." They went back and forth a bit, the soldier thanking the other man before he got off. Nice.

The Sky Is Falling!

You have to love the second item here. (Item number 4 as listed.) Science is beginning to catch up to how, whoa, the planet has not warmed in twenty years. But not to worry! Not only do they have a handy-dandy explanation for it that still manages to blame us poor humans (never mind that print has been going out for only five or ten years or so), they're able to spin it into yet another pending disaster! I guess just as everything was due to "global warming" (and, of course, our fault), so too global cooling is our fault (actually, I see it's already on that list), and it's going to be a doozy.

Don't these people ever get tired? No, I guess not.

HaMakom

We live across the street from Restobar, formerly Cafe Moment, which eleven years ago today was the site of a suicide bombing which killed eleven and injured 54. Walking past it tonight, we saw a memorial underway: The parents of the victims made a special frame for eleven candles bearing their childrens' pictures. The waiters were all standing alongside; being bareheaded, some were covering their heads with their hands, others with improvised "kippot" made out of napkins.

Hanoch Teller once wrote a story in which a character explains that the phrase "HaMakom Yinachem Etchem" can be read as follows: In the midst of tragedy, sometimes, it's "HaMakom"- this place, the Land of Israel, with all its special qualities- that comforts you.

How'm I doin'?

I remember seeing Ed Koch in person only once. (I imagine I saw him a bunch more times than that, especially in the Israel Parade, but I don't recall them.) I was walking down Fifth Avenue- this was years after he left office- and he was coming out of one the high-end men's shops. A couple of construction worker types were standing on sidewalk and saw him. "Ayyyyy! Ed Koch!" one yelled in thick New Yawkese. He smiled and waved at them. No, he didn't ask them how he was doing, as far as I know, because that would have been too perfect.

"Ehhh...The Vatican think's he's cuckoo. I think he's cuckoo."

"I have the body of a Greek god."

James and Joel, who had a show on the same radio station as him, used to play the above quotes of his, among others, as bumpers. No, they don't have to make sense to be funny.

Gonzo: "Mr. Mayor! Mr. Mayor, I'm looking for a frog who can sing and dance!"

"If he can balance the budget, I'll hire him!"

And a worthy sentiment: "The people have rejected me and they must be punished." And punished we were.

I can't say he was that great a mayor- certainly not as good as Rudy, of course- but he had personality. And that, as we know, goes a long way. My father remembers him as the East Side's congressman. (My father taught at Ramaz.) And his military record should be pointed out. The rest...well, on balance, pretty good, for a Democrat. I shall refrain from quoting R' Kahane.

Oh, and the bridge naming? A lot more deserved than RFK, I'll tell you that.