Urban Parsha. It's Judaism, the cool version. Or as he puts it, "it's just like regular torah, but ghetto."
Friends and family, I'd like to introduce you to the excellently entertaining blogger MaNishtana, a proud black Jew who tells it like it is. He also has a hilarious ongoing series entitled 'Urban Parsha' which you must read because it will have you laughing your head off.
Dana, this one's for you.
1. Urban Parsha: Vaetchanan
2. Urban Parsha: Ekev
3. Urban Parsha: Re'eh
4. Urban Parsha: Shoftim
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Nothing Ever Changes
OH MY GOD I HATE THE PRINTERS IN THE YU LIBRARY OH MY FLIPPING GOD.
And where's the shaimos box, please? Now that I have 75 pages of totally unreadable information because the goddamned ink was out and it kept printing anyway!
KILL KILL KEEL PRINTERS.
On a happier note: There is an amazing new lobby in Gottesman! It is absolutely fabulous. In other news, I am going to pretend to be a boy and get free lunch at Belfer Hall. Huzzah Orientation.
And where's the shaimos box, please? Now that I have 75 pages of totally unreadable information because the goddamned ink was out and it kept printing anyway!
KILL KILL KEEL PRINTERS.
On a happier note: There is an amazing new lobby in Gottesman! It is absolutely fabulous. In other news, I am going to pretend to be a boy and get free lunch at Belfer Hall. Huzzah Orientation.
Precious
If you haven't watched V for Vendetta, then I advise you not to watch this clip, as it will ruin the movie for you. For those who have watched it, here tis.
Here are the lines from the screenplay. To offer context, Evey is a prisoner of a totalitarian government. She was caught aiding and abetting a freethinker and radical named V who is attempting to set free the people of the country (through hijacking the media, killing high-ranking officials, etc). She has been kept in a dungeon cell and repeatedly tortured:
Interrogator: Are you ready to cooperate?
Evey: No.
Interrogator: Very well. [He stands, completely bathed in shadow. He paces toward the cell door.] Escort Ms. Hammond back to her cell. Arrange a detail of six men and take her out behind the chemical shed and shoot her.
[Evey is wreathed in darkness. She has accepted her death, stared it in the face and calmly chosen it. Bells sound, a strange chime. A stranger enters. He too is wreathed in shadow.]
Executioner: It's time.
Evey: I'm ready.
Executioner: Look, all they want is one little piece of information. Just give them something, anything.
Evey: Thank you. But I'd rather die behind the chemical sheds.
Executioner: Then you have no fear anymore. You're completely free. [He turns and walks out of the cell, leaving Evey utterly bewildered. She does not understand.]
Evey: (to herself) What?
[She listens as his footsteps fade down the hall, the door hanging weirdly open.
Evey takes a few tentative steps toward the door and sticks her head out into the empty hall, peering down both ways.
Slowly, she emerges from her cell, retracing her path down the hall that she has never seen before.
Quietly inching along the wall, Evey peeks around a corner, gasping at the rigid guard standing off to the side. There is something about the man's frozen stare that keeps her from running.
Evey straightens and crosses to the guard.
It is a mannequin.
She touches him, the wheeled platform he is mounted on rolling back against the wall. She sees a door and pushes it open to find...]
V: Hello Evey.
Evey: [She cannot quite believe it. She is shocked.] You. [Pause, accusatory] It was you.
V: Yeah.
Evey: [pointing to her dungeon cell, the hallway just beyond the door] That wasn't real. Is Gordon-
V: I'm sorry, but Mr. Deitrich is dead. I thought they'd arrest him but when they found a Koran in his house, they had him executed.
Evey: [whispers] Oh, God.
V: Fortunately, I got to you before they did.
Evey: [angry] You got to me. You did this to me. You cut my hair...you tortured me....you tortured me! Why?
V: You said you wanted to live without fear. I wish there'd been an easier way, but there wasn't.
Evey: [begins to sob, hyperventilate] Oh, my God.
V: I know you may never forgive me. But nor will you ever understand how hard it was for me to do what I did. Every day I saw in myself everything you see in me now. Every day I wanted to end it. [intensely, passionately] But each time you refused to give in, I knew I couldn't.
Evey: [spits the words out with hatred] You're sick. You're evil!
V: You could have ended it, Evey. You could have given in, but you didn't. Why?
Evey: [full of venom, hatred, disgust] Leave me alone. I hate you.
V: [passionately] That's it! See, at first, I thought it was hate, too. Hate was all I knew; it put my world, taught me how to eat, how to drink, how to breathe. I thought I'd die with all that hate in my veins. But then something happened. It happened to me just as it happened to you.
Evey: [turning from him in disgust] Shut up! I don't want to hear your lies!
V: Your own father said that artists use lies to tell the truth. Yes, I created a lie. But because you believed it, you found something true about yourself.
Evey: [shaking her head adamantly, tears coursing down her cheeks] No.
V: What was true in that cell is just as true now. What you felt in there has nothing to do with me.
Evey: [frustrated, shouting] I can't feel anything anymore!
V: Don't run from it, Evey. You've been running all your life. [she starts to hyperventilate, breathing very shallowly]
Evey: [she chokes out] I can't [breathing shallowly, fast] breathe...[falling to her knees] asthma...
V: [He cradles her in his arms, his arm behind her head. There is something very tender about the gesture] Listen to me, Evey. This may be the most important moment of your life. Commit to it. They took your parents from you. They took your brother from you. [she is rocking back and forth, sobbing, totally out of control- he holds her chin with his gloved hands] They put you in a cell; they took everything from you that they could take...except your life. And you believed that was all there was, didn't you. The only thing you had left was your life but it wasn't, was it?
Evey: [she is begging, crying] Please.
V: You found something else. In that cell, you found something that mattered more to you than your life. Because when they threatened to kill you unless you gave them what they wanted, you told them you'd rather die. You faced your death, Evey. You were calm. You were still. Try to feel now what you felt then. [she slows her crying, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself]
Evey: God...I felt...
V: Yes?
Evey: I'm dizzy. I need air. Please? I need to be outside.
V: There's a lift. It will take us to the roof.
[Evey exits onto a balcony. It is the first time she has been outside since the beginning of her imprisonment by V. He offers her a cloak, but she does not take it. She walks tentatively, unbelieving, into the thunderstorm outside. We see the separate, beautifully formed raindrops falling upon her. They purify her.]
Evey: [in a tone of wonder and realization] God is in the rain.
[She is reborn. The scene is interspliced with V's freedom through the fire. She raises her arms and embraces her new understanding of herself; V recalls his own freedom.]
~
To me, this scene symbolizes the state of human existence. We are tortured, cruelly tortured by a God who seems not to care for us. We are tried beyond endurance; there is a pain that racks the soul and kills us. We do not know why we have been tortured so and then we are set free. And we realize it was all a sham. We thought it was someone evil and cruel who was torturing us, whether that was our Evil Inclination or some other tool. In truth, it was God. But God did it in order to set us free, to enable us to learn things about ourselves we could never otherwise have known. And thus the idea that the Tzaddikim see the Evil Inclination as a mountain and the Reshaim see it as a hair makes sense. At the end of time, the wicked ones see that it was only a mannequin guarding their prison cell. They were free to leave at any time. The righteous ones, however, see the entire torture chamber, the soldier who was guarding them and cannot imagine how they overcame all that terror and darkness. And then they step forward to confront God, the one who formed the Evil Inclination, who created our prisons and troubles and sufferings. And God shows us how our prisons set us free.
In a line that was cut from the screenplay, V explains to Evey that he did this: "Because I love you, Evey. Because I wanted to set you free."
Since elementary school we are taught that God loves the righteous ones, the Tzadikim, and that is why He hurts them. It never made sense to me until I saw this film. Once I saw it, everything clicked. I realized our world and our trials, tribulations and sufferings are all a construct. This is the fictitious torture chamber, if you will. The one who tortures us is God, so that we may discover ourselves and the purity that reigns within us. It is not pleasant; it is not what we desire. But it is the only way. In the strongest form possible, those who die al kiddush Hashem are those who have chosen their principles over their body; they realize this is merely a construct. But in our smaller forms and our smaller sufferings, we are purified. It is a question of who and what we become during our time in the dungeon. Do we betray V? Or do we find the integrity, that one inch of ourselves that is "small and fragile and the only thing in the world worth having," that allows us to stand?
All that we feel, all that we undergo, all that we are is a gift given to us by God, in whose eyes we are most precious. The pain He inflicts is necessary so that we understood who and what we are, and what is so much more important, who we have the potential to be.
Here are the lines from the screenplay. To offer context, Evey is a prisoner of a totalitarian government. She was caught aiding and abetting a freethinker and radical named V who is attempting to set free the people of the country (through hijacking the media, killing high-ranking officials, etc). She has been kept in a dungeon cell and repeatedly tortured:
Interrogator: Are you ready to cooperate?
Evey: No.
Interrogator: Very well. [He stands, completely bathed in shadow. He paces toward the cell door.] Escort Ms. Hammond back to her cell. Arrange a detail of six men and take her out behind the chemical shed and shoot her.
[Evey is wreathed in darkness. She has accepted her death, stared it in the face and calmly chosen it. Bells sound, a strange chime. A stranger enters. He too is wreathed in shadow.]
Executioner: It's time.
Evey: I'm ready.
Executioner: Look, all they want is one little piece of information. Just give them something, anything.
Evey: Thank you. But I'd rather die behind the chemical sheds.
Executioner: Then you have no fear anymore. You're completely free. [He turns and walks out of the cell, leaving Evey utterly bewildered. She does not understand.]
Evey: (to herself) What?
[She listens as his footsteps fade down the hall, the door hanging weirdly open.
Evey takes a few tentative steps toward the door and sticks her head out into the empty hall, peering down both ways.
Slowly, she emerges from her cell, retracing her path down the hall that she has never seen before.
Quietly inching along the wall, Evey peeks around a corner, gasping at the rigid guard standing off to the side. There is something about the man's frozen stare that keeps her from running.
Evey straightens and crosses to the guard.
It is a mannequin.
She touches him, the wheeled platform he is mounted on rolling back against the wall. She sees a door and pushes it open to find...]
V: Hello Evey.
Evey: [She cannot quite believe it. She is shocked.] You. [Pause, accusatory] It was you.
V: Yeah.
Evey: [pointing to her dungeon cell, the hallway just beyond the door] That wasn't real. Is Gordon-
V: I'm sorry, but Mr. Deitrich is dead. I thought they'd arrest him but when they found a Koran in his house, they had him executed.
Evey: [whispers] Oh, God.
V: Fortunately, I got to you before they did.
Evey: [angry] You got to me. You did this to me. You cut my hair...you tortured me....you tortured me! Why?
V: You said you wanted to live without fear. I wish there'd been an easier way, but there wasn't.
Evey: [begins to sob, hyperventilate] Oh, my God.
V: I know you may never forgive me. But nor will you ever understand how hard it was for me to do what I did. Every day I saw in myself everything you see in me now. Every day I wanted to end it. [intensely, passionately] But each time you refused to give in, I knew I couldn't.
Evey: [spits the words out with hatred] You're sick. You're evil!
V: You could have ended it, Evey. You could have given in, but you didn't. Why?
Evey: [full of venom, hatred, disgust] Leave me alone. I hate you.
V: [passionately] That's it! See, at first, I thought it was hate, too. Hate was all I knew; it put my world, taught me how to eat, how to drink, how to breathe. I thought I'd die with all that hate in my veins. But then something happened. It happened to me just as it happened to you.
Evey: [turning from him in disgust] Shut up! I don't want to hear your lies!
V: Your own father said that artists use lies to tell the truth. Yes, I created a lie. But because you believed it, you found something true about yourself.
Evey: [shaking her head adamantly, tears coursing down her cheeks] No.
V: What was true in that cell is just as true now. What you felt in there has nothing to do with me.
Evey: [frustrated, shouting] I can't feel anything anymore!
V: Don't run from it, Evey. You've been running all your life. [she starts to hyperventilate, breathing very shallowly]
Evey: [she chokes out] I can't [breathing shallowly, fast] breathe...[falling to her knees] asthma...
V: [He cradles her in his arms, his arm behind her head. There is something very tender about the gesture] Listen to me, Evey. This may be the most important moment of your life. Commit to it. They took your parents from you. They took your brother from you. [she is rocking back and forth, sobbing, totally out of control- he holds her chin with his gloved hands] They put you in a cell; they took everything from you that they could take...except your life. And you believed that was all there was, didn't you. The only thing you had left was your life but it wasn't, was it?
Evey: [she is begging, crying] Please.
V: You found something else. In that cell, you found something that mattered more to you than your life. Because when they threatened to kill you unless you gave them what they wanted, you told them you'd rather die. You faced your death, Evey. You were calm. You were still. Try to feel now what you felt then. [she slows her crying, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself]
Evey: God...I felt...
V: Yes?
Evey: I'm dizzy. I need air. Please? I need to be outside.
V: There's a lift. It will take us to the roof.
[Evey exits onto a balcony. It is the first time she has been outside since the beginning of her imprisonment by V. He offers her a cloak, but she does not take it. She walks tentatively, unbelieving, into the thunderstorm outside. We see the separate, beautifully formed raindrops falling upon her. They purify her.]
Evey: [in a tone of wonder and realization] God is in the rain.
[She is reborn. The scene is interspliced with V's freedom through the fire. She raises her arms and embraces her new understanding of herself; V recalls his own freedom.]
~
To me, this scene symbolizes the state of human existence. We are tortured, cruelly tortured by a God who seems not to care for us. We are tried beyond endurance; there is a pain that racks the soul and kills us. We do not know why we have been tortured so and then we are set free. And we realize it was all a sham. We thought it was someone evil and cruel who was torturing us, whether that was our Evil Inclination or some other tool. In truth, it was God. But God did it in order to set us free, to enable us to learn things about ourselves we could never otherwise have known. And thus the idea that the Tzaddikim see the Evil Inclination as a mountain and the Reshaim see it as a hair makes sense. At the end of time, the wicked ones see that it was only a mannequin guarding their prison cell. They were free to leave at any time. The righteous ones, however, see the entire torture chamber, the soldier who was guarding them and cannot imagine how they overcame all that terror and darkness. And then they step forward to confront God, the one who formed the Evil Inclination, who created our prisons and troubles and sufferings. And God shows us how our prisons set us free.
In a line that was cut from the screenplay, V explains to Evey that he did this: "Because I love you, Evey. Because I wanted to set you free."
Since elementary school we are taught that God loves the righteous ones, the Tzadikim, and that is why He hurts them. It never made sense to me until I saw this film. Once I saw it, everything clicked. I realized our world and our trials, tribulations and sufferings are all a construct. This is the fictitious torture chamber, if you will. The one who tortures us is God, so that we may discover ourselves and the purity that reigns within us. It is not pleasant; it is not what we desire. But it is the only way. In the strongest form possible, those who die al kiddush Hashem are those who have chosen their principles over their body; they realize this is merely a construct. But in our smaller forms and our smaller sufferings, we are purified. It is a question of who and what we become during our time in the dungeon. Do we betray V? Or do we find the integrity, that one inch of ourselves that is "small and fragile and the only thing in the world worth having," that allows us to stand?
All that we feel, all that we undergo, all that we are is a gift given to us by God, in whose eyes we are most precious. The pain He inflicts is necessary so that we understood who and what we are, and what is so much more important, who we have the potential to be.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
I Welcome(d) The Shabbat Queen, Part 4
So this Shabbat we had 13 people total for Friday night! And it was absolutely awesome. I completely had a party. Thanks to Ginny for potatoes, The Challah Man for challah, Fudge for grape juice, The Aristocrat for wine and Hospital-Saviour Dude for drinks. And thank you to The Girl From Philly for putting in a surprise appearance and making me happy. Also, D-Cap is to be thanked for helping chop vegetables for my stir-fry while Fudge and Dana helped wash lots and lots of dishes! And last but not least, an intrepid blog-commenter and his sister dined by us for Shabbat, so you see, it does work...if you read the blog, you come for Shabbat!
So Friday cooking took from 8 AM through 7:11 PM (with several breaks to tzniufy to accept gifts and offerings from lovely guests.) Here's what we had!
Aside from mushroom-barley soup, which you already saw, the meal featured Meat- Vegetable lasagna:
So Friday cooking took from 8 AM through 7:11 PM (with several breaks to tzniufy to accept gifts and offerings from lovely guests.) Here's what we had!
Aside from mushroom-barley soup, which you already saw, the meal featured Meat- Vegetable lasagna:
Sweet & Sour Chicken:
Carrot Tzimmes:
Baked Onions With Sundried Tomatoes:
Vegetable Stir-Fry:
And for dessert, home-baked cookies with chocolate frosting and sprinkles on top!
This was my apartment just before Shabbat:
Then I jumped in the shower at 7:11 and ended up being ready in time for Shabbat. Huzzah!
Egla Arufa
My friend once told me this fantastic devar torah about egla arufa and I cannot for the life of me remember it except for the fact that I know I loved it. So if you have any amazing divrei torah re: this, please share them because I am trying to remember the one my friend told me.
UPDATE: I found it! YES!
Here's the devar torah, theoretically from R' Elya Lopian.
When it comes to an egla arufa, the ziknei ha'ir have to confess and say that "our hands did not spill this blood." Now, why is that? The Gemara says it's because they did not escort him out of the city, and therefore his murder somehow becomes their fault. The obvious question is: If he is between two cities and found dead, how can it be their fault if he is found miles away (not close to either city?)
The answer: If this person was attacked, he might have been able to fend/ fight off his attackers. The reason he did not do so is possibly because no one walked him out or showed him any respect or love. In this way, he lost his will to live and to fight off his attackers.
Thus, when someone sees that another person truly cares about them, it gives them the will to live on. And so we learn that every bit of kindness and love we show to others actually strengthens them.
Now, isn't that beautiful? I love that devar torah and it is pertinent to this week's parsha so...here it is!
UPDATE: I found it! YES!
Here's the devar torah, theoretically from R' Elya Lopian.
When it comes to an egla arufa, the ziknei ha'ir have to confess and say that "our hands did not spill this blood." Now, why is that? The Gemara says it's because they did not escort him out of the city, and therefore his murder somehow becomes their fault. The obvious question is: If he is between two cities and found dead, how can it be their fault if he is found miles away (not close to either city?)
The answer: If this person was attacked, he might have been able to fend/ fight off his attackers. The reason he did not do so is possibly because no one walked him out or showed him any respect or love. In this way, he lost his will to live and to fight off his attackers.
Thus, when someone sees that another person truly cares about them, it gives them the will to live on. And so we learn that every bit of kindness and love we show to others actually strengthens them.
Now, isn't that beautiful? I love that devar torah and it is pertinent to this week's parsha so...here it is!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Mantra
I am not feeling guilty about this.
I am not feeling guilty about this.
I am not feeling guilty about this.
I am not feeling guilty about this.
Okay, goddamnit, I am feeling guilty about this.
Why in the hell do we (i.e. the human race) feel like everyone is entitled to us and to our time except for us? Why, why, why?
I am not feeling guilty about this.
I am not feeling guilty about this.
I am not feeling guilty about this.
Okay, goddamnit, I am feeling guilty about this.
Why in the hell do we (i.e. the human race) feel like everyone is entitled to us and to our time except for us? Why, why, why?
This Is What I Do At 2 In The Morning
If you're coming to me for Shabbos, you're officially not allowed to look. And yes, this means you. Okay? So stop peeking!
Mushroom-Barley Soup is awesome. And cooking for Shabbat is even more awesome!
Mushroom-Barley Soup is awesome. And cooking for Shabbat is even more awesome!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Kasbah, Dessert Torah and Amalek
So today I went to The Whitney. That was very interesting; it's not my style of art for the most part but I loved the Music Room.
Afterwards, I went to Deli Kasbah. That's my favorite restaurant because I have only positive associations with it. My Semikha friend informed me that if you tell the Mashgiach a Devar Torah you get a free dessert. So I told him a Devar Torah (his name is Jack and he is great) and sure enough...amazing melting chocolate chip cookie topped with ice cream and chocolate sauce was free! I think that is the coolest thing in the whole world! For sure for all dates- if you want to impress the person you're with, you have to go to that restaraunt and get your date free dessert via your devar torah abilities.
Torah should always be so sweet, as my Semikha friend said.
So everybody, if you ever want to make Chana really happy, here's the two-step plan:
1. Deli Kasbah + Devar Torah party for free desserts.
2. And then, onward to Isaac's Bake Shop in Brooklyn!
As an addendum to my Amalek post, the fabulous Rabbi Schaffel (aka my rabbi) pointed me to R' Hutner. R' Schaffel stated:
Afterwards, I went to Deli Kasbah. That's my favorite restaurant because I have only positive associations with it. My Semikha friend informed me that if you tell the Mashgiach a Devar Torah you get a free dessert. So I told him a Devar Torah (his name is Jack and he is great) and sure enough...amazing melting chocolate chip cookie topped with ice cream and chocolate sauce was free! I think that is the coolest thing in the whole world! For sure for all dates- if you want to impress the person you're with, you have to go to that restaraunt and get your date free dessert via your devar torah abilities.
Torah should always be so sweet, as my Semikha friend said.
So everybody, if you ever want to make Chana really happy, here's the two-step plan:
1. Deli Kasbah + Devar Torah party for free desserts.
2. And then, onward to Isaac's Bake Shop in Brooklyn!
As an addendum to my Amalek post, the fabulous Rabbi Schaffel (aka my rabbi) pointed me to R' Hutner. R' Schaffel stated:
- What came to mind as I read it is the first piece Rav Hutner writes in his volume on Purim. He writes that of all the nations the only one that will not transfer into the World-to-Come will be Amalek. He associates that with their trait of leitzanus which he explains to mean the act of diminishing that which is important. A "letz" cannot be rebuked since he undermines the person or the message before it has a chance to settle on his heart. He doesn't mention, as I recall, about them not having idols but I think his description of their character is parallel to your piece.
I Feel Like I've Run A Marathon
So I just went shopping for Shabbos.
I decided to play a game with my mother. I told her what I was making for Shabbat (which recipes, etc) and then went out to go buy everything.
Chana: Okay, so I just got everything except I need 15 more onions...how much do you think it came to?
Mother: *says an amount*
Chana: HOLY CRAP.
Mother: (sweetly) Yes?
Chana: It was that amount plus two dollars. Holy crap. How did you guess that amount?
Mother: I've been doing this for years, Chanaleh.
To go shopping for Shabbat in the Heights entails: Walking down a hill with Wilma, our granny cart, filling that cart up to the point that the lady in the store asks if I want a delivery, walking to 181st so I don't have to walk up the hill again, and then walking to my apartment. Enter through service entrance and put everything away.
Someone needs to teach me how to drive.
In other news, today is my glorious Mother's birthday. As many of you know, I have been living in my mother's shadow since the day I was born and will happily continue to do so till the day I die- the woman is incredible. I never before appreciated how much she does on absolutely no time. I mean, just shopping and cooking for Shabbat. Now I know what that's like and let me tell you...the lady does it when she's got four kids, a job, and a house to maintain. (And she never cooks just for four kids, for the record. We've always got enough for about 20 people at the table.) That's aside from everything else she does on the side (let's just say: A LOT.) That's pretty damn impressive. So happy birthday, glorious mother! Let's hope one day I am a shadow of a shadow of what you are.
I decided to play a game with my mother. I told her what I was making for Shabbat (which recipes, etc) and then went out to go buy everything.
Chana: Okay, so I just got everything except I need 15 more onions...how much do you think it came to?
Mother: *says an amount*
Chana: HOLY CRAP.
Mother: (sweetly) Yes?
Chana: It was that amount plus two dollars. Holy crap. How did you guess that amount?
Mother: I've been doing this for years, Chanaleh.
To go shopping for Shabbat in the Heights entails: Walking down a hill with Wilma, our granny cart, filling that cart up to the point that the lady in the store asks if I want a delivery, walking to 181st so I don't have to walk up the hill again, and then walking to my apartment. Enter through service entrance and put everything away.
Someone needs to teach me how to drive.
In other news, today is my glorious Mother's birthday. As many of you know, I have been living in my mother's shadow since the day I was born and will happily continue to do so till the day I die- the woman is incredible. I never before appreciated how much she does on absolutely no time. I mean, just shopping and cooking for Shabbat. Now I know what that's like and let me tell you...the lady does it when she's got four kids, a job, and a house to maintain. (And she never cooks just for four kids, for the record. We've always got enough for about 20 people at the table.) That's aside from everything else she does on the side (let's just say: A LOT.) That's pretty damn impressive. So happy birthday, glorious mother! Let's hope one day I am a shadow of a shadow of what you are.
The Burning Castle of Thorns
This is what I do at 1:00 in the morning.
I marry Tanakh ideas to one another.
I marry Tanakh ideas to one another.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Amalek: The Godless Nation?
I was speaking to my little brother Urchin tonight when he pointed out something brilliant. I had asserted that Amalek was a nation like every other nation in Tanakh, i.e. a pagan nation that worshipped idols. My brother pointed out that he had learned from Rabbi Shuman, his rebbe in Skokie Yeshiva, that the essence of Amalek was the desire not to defer to God in anything, and therefore, to choose to believe no god to whom they owed anything existed.
"Really?" I exclaimed. "That's fascinating. You mean they had no idols?"
He wrinkled his brow. "Except there's the idea that Haman was from Amalek, and Haman was wearing an idol on his breastplate," he mused aloud. "Although that's only a midrash; it's not anywhere in the text, right?"
"Precisely so," I answered. "That's a midrash."
Curious, I went to look up Urchin's point. From what I found, he is right. Every other nation has gods or idols ascribed to them. Examples:
A. SEVEN NATIONS
א כִּי יְבִיאֲךָ, יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, אֶל-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר-אַתָּה בָא-שָׁמָּה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ; וְנָשַׁל גּוֹיִם-רַבִּים מִפָּנֶיךָ הַחִתִּי וְהַגִּרְגָּשִׁי וְהָאֱמֹרִי וְהַכְּנַעֲנִי וְהַפְּרִזִּי, וְהַחִוִּי וְהַיְבוּסִי--שִׁבְעָה גוֹיִם, רַבִּים וַעֲצוּמִים מִמֶּךָּ. 1 When the LORD thy God shall bring thee into the land whither thou goest to possess it, and shall cast out many nations before thee, the Hittite, and the Girgashite, and the Amorite, and the Canaanite, and the Perizzite, and the Hivite, and the Jebusite, seven nations greater and mightier than thou;
[...]
ה כִּי-אִם-כֹּה תַעֲשׂוּ, לָהֶם--מִזְבְּחֹתֵיהֶם תִּתֹּצוּ, וּמַצֵּבֹתָם תְּשַׁבֵּרוּ; וַאֲשֵׁירֵהֶם, תְּגַדֵּעוּן, וּפְסִילֵיהֶם, תִּשְׂרְפוּן בָּאֵשׁ. 5 But thus shall ye deal with them: ye shall break down their altars, and dash in pieces their pillars, and hew down their Asherim, and burn their graven images with fire.
~Deuteronomy 7: 1, 5
B. PHILISTINES
כג וְסַרְנֵי פְלִשְׁתִּים, נֶאֶסְפוּ לִזְבֹּחַ זֶבַח-גָּדוֹל לְדָגוֹן אֱלֹהֵיהֶם--וּלְשִׂמְחָה; וַיֹּאמְרוּ--נָתַן אֱלֹהֵינוּ בְּיָדֵנוּ, אֵת שִׁמְשׁוֹן אוֹיְבֵנוּ. 23 And the lords of the Philistines gathered them together to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and to rejoice; for they said: 'Our god hath delivered Samson our enemy into our hand.'
~Judges 16: 23
C. MOAB
אָז יִבְנֶה שְׁלֹמֹה בָּמָה, לִכְמוֹשׁ שִׁקֻּץ מוֹאָב, בָּהָר, אֲשֶׁר עַל-פְּנֵי יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וּלְמֹלֶךְ, שִׁקֻּץ בְּנֵי עַמּוֹן. 7 Then did Solomon build a high place for Chemosh the detestation of Moab, in the mount that is before Jerusalem, and for Molech the detestation of the children of Ammon.
~Kings I 11:7
D. AMON
ה וַיֵּלֶךְ שְׁלֹמֹה--אַחֲרֵי עַשְׁתֹּרֶת, אֱלֹהֵי צִדֹנִים; וְאַחֲרֵי מִלְכֹּם, שִׁקֻּץ עַמֹּנִים. 5 For Solomon went after Ashtoreth the goddess of the Zidonians, and after Milcom the detestation of the Ammonites.
~Kings I 11:5
But there is no mention that I can find of Amalek's gods or idols. And that is totally fascinating. Here are all the places that Amalek comes up and not once is there a reference to this nation's idols or gods.
Indeed, when God commands Saul to wipe out the Amalekites, he makes mention of destroying all their posessions but says nothing of destroying their idols. This suggests that they have no idols because in other places there are explicit commands given to destroy idols and gods as well. Here is God's decree:
עַתָּה לֵךְ וְהִכִּיתָה אֶת-עֲמָלֵק, וְהַחֲרַמְתֶּם אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר-לוֹ, וְלֹא תַחְמֹל, עָלָיו; וְהֵמַתָּה מֵאִישׁ עַד-אִשָּׁה, מֵעֹלֵל וְעַד-יוֹנֵק, מִשּׁוֹר וְעַד-שֶׂה, מִגָּמָל וְעַד-חֲמוֹר. {ס} 3 Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.'
~Samuel I 15: 3
And you know what else is fascinating? When Samuel comes to kill Agag, the king states, "'Surely the bitterness of death is at hand." But even there he is stubborn- he does not acknowledge God or the role of God in his death. In contrast, when Samuel hews him into pieces, he does so "before God."
(Incidentally, this explains why Saul's rebellion was looked upon in such harsh terms. If the Amalekites were a godless nation who were total atheists and saw the material world as the only thing that existed, then for Saul to refuse to heed God's command in its totality shows that he has ingested/ been negatively affected by their creed. It is almost as though Saul has taken on a bit of the Amalekite spirit and thus rebels...this is why his punishment was so harsh.)
Thus, the reason we are meant to kill Amalek is because Amalek is the root of total godlessless and "kochi v'otzem yadi" in this world. This was a nation that had no idols. Every nation had its gods but Amalek has no gods, none at all, and refuses to acknowledge the role of God in this world. This is the reason they must be utterly wiped out- their ideology and their creed is anathema to God.
Incidentally, Urchin's totally brilliant idea regarding all this was stated by Rav Moshe Sternbuch and Rav Yehoshua Leib Diskin (as noted in this devar torah.) The actual devar torah was given by Rabbi Daniel Yaakov Travis. He notes:
Urchin, you are fabulous!
"Really?" I exclaimed. "That's fascinating. You mean they had no idols?"
He wrinkled his brow. "Except there's the idea that Haman was from Amalek, and Haman was wearing an idol on his breastplate," he mused aloud. "Although that's only a midrash; it's not anywhere in the text, right?"
"Precisely so," I answered. "That's a midrash."
Curious, I went to look up Urchin's point. From what I found, he is right. Every other nation has gods or idols ascribed to them. Examples:
A. SEVEN NATIONS
א כִּי יְבִיאֲךָ, יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, אֶל-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר-אַתָּה בָא-שָׁמָּה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ; וְנָשַׁל גּוֹיִם-רַבִּים מִפָּנֶיךָ הַחִתִּי וְהַגִּרְגָּשִׁי וְהָאֱמֹרִי וְהַכְּנַעֲנִי וְהַפְּרִזִּי, וְהַחִוִּי וְהַיְבוּסִי--שִׁבְעָה גוֹיִם, רַבִּים וַעֲצוּמִים מִמֶּךָּ. 1 When the LORD thy God shall bring thee into the land whither thou goest to possess it, and shall cast out many nations before thee, the Hittite, and the Girgashite, and the Amorite, and the Canaanite, and the Perizzite, and the Hivite, and the Jebusite, seven nations greater and mightier than thou;
[...]
ה כִּי-אִם-כֹּה תַעֲשׂוּ, לָהֶם--מִזְבְּחֹתֵיהֶם תִּתֹּצוּ, וּמַצֵּבֹתָם תְּשַׁבֵּרוּ; וַאֲשֵׁירֵהֶם, תְּגַדֵּעוּן, וּפְסִילֵיהֶם, תִּשְׂרְפוּן בָּאֵשׁ. 5 But thus shall ye deal with them: ye shall break down their altars, and dash in pieces their pillars, and hew down their Asherim, and burn their graven images with fire.
~Deuteronomy 7: 1, 5
B. PHILISTINES
כג וְסַרְנֵי פְלִשְׁתִּים, נֶאֶסְפוּ לִזְבֹּחַ זֶבַח-גָּדוֹל לְדָגוֹן אֱלֹהֵיהֶם--וּלְשִׂמְחָה; וַיֹּאמְרוּ--נָתַן אֱלֹהֵינוּ בְּיָדֵנוּ, אֵת שִׁמְשׁוֹן אוֹיְבֵנוּ. 23 And the lords of the Philistines gathered them together to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and to rejoice; for they said: 'Our god hath delivered Samson our enemy into our hand.'
~Judges 16: 23
C. MOAB
אָז יִבְנֶה שְׁלֹמֹה בָּמָה, לִכְמוֹשׁ שִׁקֻּץ מוֹאָב, בָּהָר, אֲשֶׁר עַל-פְּנֵי יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וּלְמֹלֶךְ, שִׁקֻּץ בְּנֵי עַמּוֹן. 7 Then did Solomon build a high place for Chemosh the detestation of Moab, in the mount that is before Jerusalem, and for Molech the detestation of the children of Ammon.
~Kings I 11:7
D. AMON
ה וַיֵּלֶךְ שְׁלֹמֹה--אַחֲרֵי עַשְׁתֹּרֶת, אֱלֹהֵי צִדֹנִים; וְאַחֲרֵי מִלְכֹּם, שִׁקֻּץ עַמֹּנִים. 5 For Solomon went after Ashtoreth the goddess of the Zidonians, and after Milcom the detestation of the Ammonites.
~Kings I 11:5
But there is no mention that I can find of Amalek's gods or idols. And that is totally fascinating. Here are all the places that Amalek comes up and not once is there a reference to this nation's idols or gods.
Indeed, when God commands Saul to wipe out the Amalekites, he makes mention of destroying all their posessions but says nothing of destroying their idols. This suggests that they have no idols because in other places there are explicit commands given to destroy idols and gods as well. Here is God's decree:
עַתָּה לֵךְ וְהִכִּיתָה אֶת-עֲמָלֵק, וְהַחֲרַמְתֶּם אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר-לוֹ, וְלֹא תַחְמֹל, עָלָיו; וְהֵמַתָּה מֵאִישׁ עַד-אִשָּׁה, מֵעֹלֵל וְעַד-יוֹנֵק, מִשּׁוֹר וְעַד-שֶׂה, מִגָּמָל וְעַד-חֲמוֹר. {ס} 3 Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.'
~Samuel I 15: 3
And you know what else is fascinating? When Samuel comes to kill Agag, the king states, "'Surely the bitterness of death is at hand." But even there he is stubborn- he does not acknowledge God or the role of God in his death. In contrast, when Samuel hews him into pieces, he does so "before God."
(Incidentally, this explains why Saul's rebellion was looked upon in such harsh terms. If the Amalekites were a godless nation who were total atheists and saw the material world as the only thing that existed, then for Saul to refuse to heed God's command in its totality shows that he has ingested/ been negatively affected by their creed. It is almost as though Saul has taken on a bit of the Amalekite spirit and thus rebels...this is why his punishment was so harsh.)
Thus, the reason we are meant to kill Amalek is because Amalek is the root of total godlessless and "kochi v'otzem yadi" in this world. This was a nation that had no idols. Every nation had its gods but Amalek has no gods, none at all, and refuses to acknowledge the role of God in this world. This is the reason they must be utterly wiped out- their ideology and their creed is anathema to God.
Incidentally, Urchin's totally brilliant idea regarding all this was stated by Rav Moshe Sternbuch and Rav Yehoshua Leib Diskin (as noted in this devar torah.) The actual devar torah was given by Rabbi Daniel Yaakov Travis. He notes:
- Amalek’s basic assumption is that only teva, nature, has true existence. Anything which does not fit into this framework is discounted. Today, as Amalek’s influence grows stronger, doubt of the existence of the Alm-ghty is almost a given in most Western societies. What is it that fuels Amalek to challenge the most basic tenets of our belief?
[...]
In contrast to Amalek, who completely deny Hashem’s existence, the erev rav and all idol-worshipers through the generations believed in a Divine power. No one was ever so foolish as to think that manmade idols of gold and silver created the universe. The ideology of idol worshipers is based on the erroneous idea that Hashem is too exalted to trouble Himself with our petty, day-to-day existence, so people should pray for assistance to idols that act as intermediaries between us and the Alm-ghty.
Urchin, you are fabulous!
The Fairy Queen 3
the angels they burn inside for us
are we ever
are we ever gonna learn to fly
the devils they burn inside of us
are we ever gonna come back down
come around
I'm always gonna worry about the things that could make us cold
this is the last time
that I'm ever gonna give in tonight
are there angels or devils crawling here?
I just want to know what blurs and what is clear - to see
still I can see the pain in you
and I can see the love in you
and fighting all the demons will take time
it will take time
~ excerpt from the song 'Angels or Devils' by Dishwalla
are we ever
are we ever gonna learn to fly
the devils they burn inside of us
are we ever gonna come back down
come around
I'm always gonna worry about the things that could make us cold
this is the last time
that I'm ever gonna give in tonight
are there angels or devils crawling here?
I just want to know what blurs and what is clear - to see
still I can see the pain in you
and I can see the love in you
and fighting all the demons will take time
it will take time
~ excerpt from the song 'Angels or Devils' by Dishwalla
The thing about strong people, the Fairy Queen reflected, is that they refuse to allow anything to make them cold. Where others become cynical or jaded, the strong people persevere in loving all those who cross their paths. Maybe it kills them sometimes, but in the long run, it's worth it. Despite this, their journey on earth is a walk through hell. They look forward to meeting God. "At last," they will say when they see Him. "Why did it take so long for You to bring me to You?"
And God will say, "I needed you to learn how to care for others."
"Why?" the Fairy Queen will ask.
"Didn't you know?" God will question, His eyes curious. "You are my shepherdess."
"A Queen is a shepherdess?" the Fairy Queen will laugh, her eyes alight.
"But of course," God will answer. "As was Moses, as was David."
"But I'm nothing like them," the Fairy Queen will protest.
"Don't you know that everyone can be like Moses or Jeroboam?" God will question.
"Well yes, but..." she'll trail off.
"You are my shepherdess," He'll say. "The walk through hell was necessary. Consider my other servants."
And the Fairy Queen will look at Moses and David and all those assembled and realize that what God says is true.
"You made it so the only one I could ever trust was You," she will say. "Everyone else betrayed me."
"Yes," God will say, His voice sonorous.
"But that's the case with Moses and David as well. Aaron had betrayed Moses by the making of the Golden Calf. Miriam when she spoke ill of his separation from his wife. He was forbidden to live with Tzipporah. The people suspected him of adultery with their wives. He had only You. It was the same with David. His father-in-law wished to kill him, his wife rebuked him, his advisor defected to his sons, who rebelled against him. He took the woman who loved him through hurting another and every time he looked at her he remembered his sin. Jonathan, who loved him, was taken from him. You were the only constant in his life as well. You were the only one he could turn to."
"Precisely," God will say.
"But why?" the Fairy Queen will ask.
"That is the only way to forge the strong ones," God will say.
And the Fairy Queen will cry, but they will be healing tears, for at last, she understands completely. "Thank you, God," she will whisper.
"My daughter," He will say. And she will bow her head. Because that is true. She has always been and will always be His. Before He formed her in the womb, He knew her, and before she was born, He sanctified her. There are people created solely for God; their lives are lived in His shadow. God had cast His mantle over her before she had wits to think or a mouth to speak, and no matter her rebellion, she would remain as one touched by His will.
And while this realization was painful, there was a strange element of comfort in it.
I Am Held Prisoner
CEILING COLLAPSE 181ST STREET, IRT #1 SUBWAY STATION
There is a shut down of service on the #1 train due to a ceiling
collapse at W. 181st St.
Temporary shuttle service is being provided to and from the 168th St.,
181st St., 191st St., and 215th St. stations.
The MTA anticipates the station will be closed at least 48 hours
(through Tuesday).
There are no restrictions to pedestrian or vehicular traffic in the
area.
~
A ceiling collapse? My dear, beloved MTA, how in the world does a ceiling collapse- did no one notice it was rotting away before?
There is a shut down of service on the #1 train due to a ceiling
collapse at W. 181st St.
Temporary shuttle service is being provided to and from the 168th St.,
181st St., 191st St., and 215th St. stations.
The MTA anticipates the station will be closed at least 48 hours
(through Tuesday).
There are no restrictions to pedestrian or vehicular traffic in the
area.
~
A ceiling collapse? My dear, beloved MTA, how in the world does a ceiling collapse- did no one notice it was rotting away before?
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Fairy Queen Emerges
It's extraordinarily rare that I look into the mirror and think:
It's far more often that I pray:
But my mother bought me the absolutely most gorgeous dress in the entire world- it was meant for a fairy queen or some ethereal creation...and it makes me look like I wandered out of some world where the beautiful people belong. It's in honor of Daughter of God's wedding (she's getting married tonight! To The Man With the Colored Coat! I'm so excited I can hardly breathe.)
And I'm tempted to declaim:
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.
Anyone know where that's from? If you have to look it up, it does not count.
And let's put it this way...nobody would be ashamed to know me tonight.
It's far more often that I pray:
But my mother bought me the absolutely most gorgeous dress in the entire world- it was meant for a fairy queen or some ethereal creation...and it makes me look like I wandered out of some world where the beautiful people belong. It's in honor of Daughter of God's wedding (she's getting married tonight! To The Man With the Colored Coat! I'm so excited I can hardly breathe.)And I'm tempted to declaim:
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.
Anyone know where that's from? If you have to look it up, it does not count.
And let's put it this way...nobody would be ashamed to know me tonight.
I Found The Clip!
This is the "Darling, I don't know how to tell you this but there's a Chinese family in our bathroom" clip. Huzzah. *smile*
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Lion's Den
A story
“Yes,” she answered sweetly, the picture of propriety in a grey pencil skirt, a crisp white shirt tucked in neatly. She wore a necklace of reflecting little mirrors rimmed in gold; her earrings were gold and crystal. She had pulled her hair back neatly into a ponytail.
“Please make sure that the Franklin- Russo merger is completed on time today.”
“Certainly,” she answered him, walking briskly over to the copy-machine. As she bent to retrieve her documents, which she had printed via the multipurpose capability on the copier, she found an odd piece of paper.
It was a picture of an ordinary man’s ID Card. Height: 5”9, Weight: 170 lbs, Hair Color: Brown, Eye Color: Blue. Someone had written on it before faxing it over. ATT: Madeleine, it read. Bar XII.
Madeleine smoothed her facial expression into one of polite surprise. Carefully eyeing the video monitor, she walked over to her manager. “Sir,” she said, and extended the piece of paper to him.
“Do you know this man?” he questioned carefully, turning the picture over to see if there was any writing on the back. There was none.
Madeleine took in the brilliant efficiency of his office, symbolized by the minimalist black-and-white décor. Not one spot of color marred the effect; his windows were of clear glass and opened out on the city’s skyline.
“Of course not, sir,” she stated clearly, smiling at him.
“Well then, very good,” he affirmed, nodding his head. “You did right to bring this to me, Maddy, my dear.” He did not notice her instinctive shudder. She did not like him to call her by any endearments, including nicknames. “Well then, back to work with you.”
Gracefully, she dipped her head and glided out of the office, a swan caught within a cage of mechanical corporate lust. Returning to her desk, she filed papers, spoke on the phone, answered emails and tapped out texts on her BlackBerry. At precisely 5:00, she gathered her belongings and belted her tan trenchcoat over her waist. Reaching for her Gucci purse, she was surprised to see the boss standing at her cubicle. She paused.
“Maddy,” he said in his unctuous voice. “What are your plans for tonight?”
“To return home, sir,” she answered. “I figured I would shower and watch some TV. That’s all.”
“How would you like to go to Bar XII with me tonight?”
She smiled at him. “Why, that would be lovely, sir,” she stated.
*
Seated on an expensive red cushion, a Cosmopolitan perched in her hands, Madeleine dispassionately observed her employer’s roving eyes. First he focused on her face, his eyes drawn to her lips; unconsciously, he licked his own. His gaze swept down her body, taking in the thrust of her breasts, her trim waist, the way in which her camel-colored boots hugged her shapely feet. She wondered how he refrained from panting.
“People of America,” a voice announced suddenly, and Madeleine kept her eyes riveted upon her employer’s.
“Why, what’s this?” he said in surprise, starting forward. He was slightly drunk.
Carefully, Madeleine turned around. She schooled her expression into a mask of disinterest, viewing the intruder as a mild nuisance.
“Set yourselves free of this oppressive government!” the voice continued, insistent and calm. “It is a government ruled entirely via the auspices of science and reason. To speak to God and to recognize God is forbidden. And those of us who do so are deemed mentally ill! Yes, it has been categorized as a sickness to worship God. It is a form of mental illness. And you, all of you,” his eyes swept over the crowd, open, inviting, warm, “know that this is not true. This is yet another form of rebellion, an intellectual Tower of Babel. As you climb to the dizzying heights, you forget your creator and your maker; you have turned Him into a disease.”
He stepped forward, a group of men assembled behind him. “I have a representative of every religion in the world here,” he stated, “and we shall all pray together.”
Priest, rabbi, imam, shaman and oracle, no matter the type of theist they were, stood behind him. The imam took out his prayer rug and knelt on the floor. The rabbi looked at everyone with kindly eyes, then took out a siddur, his lips whispering the words lovingly. The priest began to sing a hymn.
“To pray is to be truly human,” the voice insisted. “Prayer to the Almighty is a way of showing our thanks to Him. He is our Creator, Maker, the one who gave us this beautiful world. And look at the state we have reached! It is an illness, an actual illness, to believe in a Deity. The psychologists and psychiatrists have banded together to proclaim that all of us are mentally ill. We are hallucinating, they say. We speak to figments of our imagination. We converse with the hidden parts of ourselves, the parts that are sickening. They have operated upon us in order to do away with our fear of God. They have lobotomized us. And yet we are still here. We still believe.”
“He is inciting us towards madness,” one scandalized elderly woman asserted.
“Yes! He wants us all to be insane like he is,” Madeleine’s boss answered drunkenly.
“Kill him!” the mob screeched, afraid of his contamination.
Madeleine remained silent as she watched the intruder.
“Repeat after me, o’ those of you who know the truth,” the man implored. “Speak these words, if not aloud, then in your heart. Thou has counted my wanderings; put Thou my tears into Thy bottle; are they not in Thy book?’
The frightened customers looked at one another, unsure as to whether they should do as the man said.
“Thou has counted my wanderings…” one teenage girl covered in piercings began.
“Good!” stated the intruder, his voice kind. “Let us continue, then.” He paused for a moment. “Then shall mine enemies turn back in the day that I call; this I know, that God is for me.”
“Then shall mine enemies,” the goth’s boyfriend continued, standing up.
“In God--I will praise His word--in the LORD--I will praise His word—“
The wail of sirens and the flashing of signals heralded the arrival of the police officers. They stepped into the bar warily, their guns raised. “Cease and desist,” they ordered. “We have orders to take you and your companions to a mental hospital, where they will treat you in order to rid you of your delusion.”
“In God do I trust, I will not be afraid; what can man do unto me?” continued the blue-eyed man.
Shots rang out and he fell lifeless to the floor. Blood reddened his white shirt; his mouth was frozen in forbidden prayer.
“A madman,” the policeman said grimly, “trying to convert others to his delusions. Possibly dangerous, disturbing the peace, trying to harm others. Do not fear,” he told the customers. “We have this under control.”
The imam, priest, rabbi and others stepped forward. The other policemen cornered them swiftly, placing them in chains. Their handcuffs sparkled in the dim light.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Atlasia,” the police officers dipped their hats as they led the religious leaders out into the paddywagon.
“For thou hast delivered my soul from death,” muttered Madeleine bitterly as she looked upon the face of her dead brother.
“What’s that you say, sweetheart?” questioned her boss, one hand reaching to fondle her breast.
She stepped away from him. “I said I must be getting back,” she stated, and turning on one heel, she exited the bar. It was not until she was home and safely ensconced under the covers that she began to cry, the tears mixing with her violent self-hatred. Her brother had been brave. It was she who remained a coward. And as she cried, a kind of resolve came to her, so that she dried her eyes and slept at last.
*
“Come on, baby.” Andrew irritated her, insistent as a doting puppy. “It’ll be fun.”
“Perhaps,” she said. He stood beside her, watching her apply makeup while looking into the vanity. She wore nothing but a nude-colored bra and a pair of lacy black panties.
“You’ve never been to a concert like this one,” he urged her. “It’s Cat’s Cradle. How could you miss Cat’s Cradle?”
“Honestly,” she stated, dabbing shimmering eyeshadow atop her matte color, “quite easily.”
“You never want to do anything, Madeleine,” he whined.
“Actually, I’d like to go to The Lion’s Den tonight,” she stated calmly.
“That’s a bar, right?”
“Precisely.”
“I’ll pick you up at 10?” he inquired.
“Go ahead,” she stated. “It’s unnecessary, though. I am quite capable of going there alone.”
“I want to be with you,” he insisted.
“In that case, 10 it is,” she asserted.
When he left the room she reached for her dressing gown; it was patterned in a shell pink. Light and loose, she wrapped it around herself before falling to her knees. She cared nothing for the censors, for the movie cameras that would review her actions tonight. She kneeled upon her knees and prayed and gave thanks to God, in whom she still believed.
Then she sat down to write several letters to several news agencies. She sealed them all with a kiss of her lipstick, then decided what to wear that night.
*
She was a bombshell. A knockout in tight black lace, her lips rimmed a decadently sensual red, her patent leather black shoes pointed and sexy, she sashayed into the club, exuding sex appeal.
Andrew wrapped his arm possessively around her. “What would you like to drink?” he inquired.
“A Scotch on the rocks,” she stated recklessly. She tossed her head, her curls beautiful in the array of rainbow colors that swept over her skin and caressed her.
“Look, it’s the King,” Andrew stated, affectionately noting their mutual friend. “What’s he doing here?”
Max King was the news anchor for ABC 7. Madeleine’s eyes swept the room as she noted other news outlets, with video cameras and equipment, had entered the room. Brazenly, she stepped over to King and kissed him full on the lips. Andrew’s eyes widened in confusion, but King stepped back and looked at her, his lips reddened by her lipstick. He seemed sad.
“Thy God whom thou servest continually, He will deliver thee,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek.
Madeleine stepped forward to the Kareoke stand, taking the microphone from the woman who was singing. “People of America,” she began. “I’d like to sing with you tonight. But I don’t want to sing any song. I want to sing a prayer, one that you will never forget.”
The room buzzed with people who were scandalized. A prayer? Was this beautiful woman also numbered amidst the mad ones?
“You’re too beautiful to waste your life this way,” a man protested. “You know the country has declared there is no God, and those who claim there is are mentally ill.”
“I don’t care if you’re mad,” a woman protested, “just pretend you don’t think there is one. That’s what we all do.”
“But don’t you see,” Madeleine stated, her voice heartbreakingly lovely, “that’s precisely the reason we should tell the truth. We are not mad. We are not insane. We are not the mentally ill. To the contrary, we are the only ones who know that we owe a debt of gratitude to the God who watches over all, who sees us still and who loves us despite everything.
“Last night, in Bar XII, my brother was killed. He was killed for speaking up for his beliefs, for asserting that there is a God and that those who believe so ought not to be numbered among the insane.
The news anchors greedily filmed her speech, inching closer to focus upon her exquisite lips and frame as she spoke the scandalous words.
“I thought it would be apropos, seeing as we are gathered at The Lion’s Den tonight,” she continued, “to recite from Psalm 57.” She paused, then smiled. “My soul is among lions, I do lie down among them that are aflame; even the sons of men, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword.”
Andrew spoke up and in that moment she could have melted in his arms, giving herself to him completely. “My soul is among lions,” he began, and other people at the bar chimed in.
“Be thou exalted, O’ God, above the heavens; Thy glory be above all the earth.”
The policemen were having trouble fitting through the door, seeing as they had to walk through the cameramen and news anchors and everyone else who was blocking their path. Nonetheless, they continued inexorably, determined to do their duty and cart away this dangerously ill person. Her mental instability suggested that she might do anything, harm anyone, so as to get her way.
“They have prepared a net for my steps,” Madeleine continued, looking directly at the Chief of Police. “My soul is bowed down; they have digged a pit before me, they are fallen into the midst thereof themselves. Selah.”
She extended her arms as though to embrace the roomful of people, hold them close to her in ecstasy. “My heart is stedfast, O God, my heart is stedfast; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises.”
The shot cracked out and Madeleine did not flinch. Wonderingly, she felt her skin, unsure as to where the bullet had passed through her, for she did not feel any pain.
Then she saw him, bleeding on the floor. Andrew had jumped in front of her, dying to defend her. She knelt on the floor beside him and kissed his lips, his blood painting her skin red. The vulturous cameramen closed in for the shot.
The policemen took her sensual hands and enclosed them in bracelets of steel. She bowed her head as though in a kind of rapture and followed them. She met King’s eyes as she walked carefully out of the room.
“Believe in Him, my friends,” she shouted, the assembly at the bar bemused and afraid. “It is only because they are afraid of you and the truth you speak that they deem you mad.” She chuckled to herself. Then she spoke to the police officer, the one who had killed Andrew. “The King of Gath once questioned: Do I have need of madmen, that you have brought a man to play the madman before me? Nowadays, we do have need of madmen, however.”
King, the news anchor, had pushed through the crowd and was filming her conversation with the policeman. The Chief shot an anxious glance at the camera, his lips trembling nervously. Then, pulling his gun, he pointed at his fellow policemen.
“Get back, I say,” he threatened them. “Back, or I shoot you, and you know what an expert marksman I am.”
The policemen fell back. The Chief undid her handcuffs. “I believe, too,” he told her. “Run.”
“Angel!” one of his fellow cops cried out, reaching for his gun. “I’ll cover you!”
“Angel?” questioned Madeleine wonderingly, rubbing her wrists as she stumbled away from him.
“My nickname,” he said gruffly. “Go.”
King caught hold of her wrist, passing the camera to one of his assistants. “I’ll take care of her,” he growled at the man, then authoritatively escorted her to his car.
“Your God has sent his angel and hath shut the lion’s mouths, and they have not hurt you,” he stated, and leaning across the car seat, kissed her on the mouth.
“I want to make love to you all night,” he informed her as he revved the engine.
“We shall be as the dead,” Madeleine stated, almost as though she were caught within a dream.
“Not if they don’t find us,” he informed her, “and I am certain that they won’t.”
She turned to him joyfully. “Do you believe as well?”
He smiled at her. “I am the King,” he told her softly. “How could I not believe?”
“But Andrew,” she stated, her eyes sorrowful.
“Andrew gave his life for you,” he informed her. “He too believed in God.”
“With any luck, our entire society is mad,” she laughed gleefully.
“Or perhaps we are the sane ones,” he countered.
“For a night’s time,” she bargained with him, “and then we must go out again. The world will only take back what is theirs and the right to their God when they see that we are willing to die for Him.”
“We shall die tomorrow if you like, pretty Madeleine,” he assured her. “Only let us have our night of The Lion’s Den.”
“With pleasure,” she smiled at him, and the two disappeared into the darkness.
She shivered, drawing the black shawl closer to herself. The silver spangles that speckled the shawl caught the moonlight, glinting softly in the night. She exhaled, her life’s breath taking the form of a plume of smoky vapor in the night air. Her hair was brown and fell in waves; her eyes were fringed by dark long lashes. She watched the people from afar, wishing that she had strength enough to join them.
“Madeleine,” she heard her boyfriend say. She turned, applying a smile to her face as quickly as though she had drawn it in lipstick.
“Andrew,” she stated.
“You’re cold,” he offered, solicitously offering her his sweatshirt.
“That’s all right,” she told him. She looked at him, poor, sweet Andrew. He really deserved much better than her. She lived in her mind and her thoughts were unpleasant; she despised him for his weakness in returning to her when he ought to have thrown her aside due to her behavior and unreliability. At the same time, in a secret place in her heart, an ember of love flickered for him.
She saw the people in the shadow of the wall. It was the wall of prayer, the place where people had assembled for centuries. People would leave notes within the crevices and cracks of the wall; their tears would allow the stones to sink further into the ground. She saw the fires, leaping and flickering in the distance; she could faintly hear the screams.
Andrew, in his beautiful black jeans and Abercrombie t-shirt, was unaware. He ran his hand through his black curls, turned to her with a pair of dark black eyes. He held a cigarette between his slim fingers. “Want one?” he offered.
She inclined her head. He offered her one, then flicked open his lighter. She dipped slightly so as to catch the flame. It burned within the slender tube and she inhaled, her eyes still focused upon the shadow of the commotion taking place by the wall.
She would not close her ears to the sounds. The wails resounded, screams and shouts reaching across the ages. She stared blankly at the shadows and shivered unintentionally once more.
“What is it, Madeleine?” questioned Andrew.
“Nothing,” she said, because he would not understand.
But in the silence within herself, she spoke the true answer. She believed in God.
*
“Madeleine,” her boss boomed out, the voice unctuous, fruity, and ugly. It made her blood run cold.
“Madeleine,” she heard her boyfriend say. She turned, applying a smile to her face as quickly as though she had drawn it in lipstick.
“Andrew,” she stated.
“You’re cold,” he offered, solicitously offering her his sweatshirt.
“That’s all right,” she told him. She looked at him, poor, sweet Andrew. He really deserved much better than her. She lived in her mind and her thoughts were unpleasant; she despised him for his weakness in returning to her when he ought to have thrown her aside due to her behavior and unreliability. At the same time, in a secret place in her heart, an ember of love flickered for him.
She saw the people in the shadow of the wall. It was the wall of prayer, the place where people had assembled for centuries. People would leave notes within the crevices and cracks of the wall; their tears would allow the stones to sink further into the ground. She saw the fires, leaping and flickering in the distance; she could faintly hear the screams.
Andrew, in his beautiful black jeans and Abercrombie t-shirt, was unaware. He ran his hand through his black curls, turned to her with a pair of dark black eyes. He held a cigarette between his slim fingers. “Want one?” he offered.
She inclined her head. He offered her one, then flicked open his lighter. She dipped slightly so as to catch the flame. It burned within the slender tube and she inhaled, her eyes still focused upon the shadow of the commotion taking place by the wall.
She would not close her ears to the sounds. The wails resounded, screams and shouts reaching across the ages. She stared blankly at the shadows and shivered unintentionally once more.
“What is it, Madeleine?” questioned Andrew.
“Nothing,” she said, because he would not understand.
But in the silence within herself, she spoke the true answer. She believed in God.
“Madeleine,” her boss boomed out, the voice unctuous, fruity, and ugly. It made her blood run cold.
“Yes,” she answered sweetly, the picture of propriety in a grey pencil skirt, a crisp white shirt tucked in neatly. She wore a necklace of reflecting little mirrors rimmed in gold; her earrings were gold and crystal. She had pulled her hair back neatly into a ponytail.
“Please make sure that the Franklin- Russo merger is completed on time today.”
“Certainly,” she answered him, walking briskly over to the copy-machine. As she bent to retrieve her documents, which she had printed via the multipurpose capability on the copier, she found an odd piece of paper.
It was a picture of an ordinary man’s ID Card. Height: 5”9, Weight: 170 lbs, Hair Color: Brown, Eye Color: Blue. Someone had written on it before faxing it over. ATT: Madeleine, it read. Bar XII.
Madeleine smoothed her facial expression into one of polite surprise. Carefully eyeing the video monitor, she walked over to her manager. “Sir,” she said, and extended the piece of paper to him.
“Do you know this man?” he questioned carefully, turning the picture over to see if there was any writing on the back. There was none.
Madeleine took in the brilliant efficiency of his office, symbolized by the minimalist black-and-white décor. Not one spot of color marred the effect; his windows were of clear glass and opened out on the city’s skyline.
“Of course not, sir,” she stated clearly, smiling at him.
“Well then, very good,” he affirmed, nodding his head. “You did right to bring this to me, Maddy, my dear.” He did not notice her instinctive shudder. She did not like him to call her by any endearments, including nicknames. “Well then, back to work with you.”
Gracefully, she dipped her head and glided out of the office, a swan caught within a cage of mechanical corporate lust. Returning to her desk, she filed papers, spoke on the phone, answered emails and tapped out texts on her BlackBerry. At precisely 5:00, she gathered her belongings and belted her tan trenchcoat over her waist. Reaching for her Gucci purse, she was surprised to see the boss standing at her cubicle. She paused.
“Maddy,” he said in his unctuous voice. “What are your plans for tonight?”
“To return home, sir,” she answered. “I figured I would shower and watch some TV. That’s all.”
“How would you like to go to Bar XII with me tonight?”
She smiled at him. “Why, that would be lovely, sir,” she stated.
Seated on an expensive red cushion, a Cosmopolitan perched in her hands, Madeleine dispassionately observed her employer’s roving eyes. First he focused on her face, his eyes drawn to her lips; unconsciously, he licked his own. His gaze swept down her body, taking in the thrust of her breasts, her trim waist, the way in which her camel-colored boots hugged her shapely feet. She wondered how he refrained from panting.
“People of America,” a voice announced suddenly, and Madeleine kept her eyes riveted upon her employer’s.
“Why, what’s this?” he said in surprise, starting forward. He was slightly drunk.
Carefully, Madeleine turned around. She schooled her expression into a mask of disinterest, viewing the intruder as a mild nuisance.
“Set yourselves free of this oppressive government!” the voice continued, insistent and calm. “It is a government ruled entirely via the auspices of science and reason. To speak to God and to recognize God is forbidden. And those of us who do so are deemed mentally ill! Yes, it has been categorized as a sickness to worship God. It is a form of mental illness. And you, all of you,” his eyes swept over the crowd, open, inviting, warm, “know that this is not true. This is yet another form of rebellion, an intellectual Tower of Babel. As you climb to the dizzying heights, you forget your creator and your maker; you have turned Him into a disease.”
He stepped forward, a group of men assembled behind him. “I have a representative of every religion in the world here,” he stated, “and we shall all pray together.”
Priest, rabbi, imam, shaman and oracle, no matter the type of theist they were, stood behind him. The imam took out his prayer rug and knelt on the floor. The rabbi looked at everyone with kindly eyes, then took out a siddur, his lips whispering the words lovingly. The priest began to sing a hymn.
“To pray is to be truly human,” the voice insisted. “Prayer to the Almighty is a way of showing our thanks to Him. He is our Creator, Maker, the one who gave us this beautiful world. And look at the state we have reached! It is an illness, an actual illness, to believe in a Deity. The psychologists and psychiatrists have banded together to proclaim that all of us are mentally ill. We are hallucinating, they say. We speak to figments of our imagination. We converse with the hidden parts of ourselves, the parts that are sickening. They have operated upon us in order to do away with our fear of God. They have lobotomized us. And yet we are still here. We still believe.”
“He is inciting us towards madness,” one scandalized elderly woman asserted.
“Yes! He wants us all to be insane like he is,” Madeleine’s boss answered drunkenly.
“Kill him!” the mob screeched, afraid of his contamination.
Madeleine remained silent as she watched the intruder.
“Repeat after me, o’ those of you who know the truth,” the man implored. “Speak these words, if not aloud, then in your heart. Thou has counted my wanderings; put Thou my tears into Thy bottle; are they not in Thy book?’
The frightened customers looked at one another, unsure as to whether they should do as the man said.
“Thou has counted my wanderings…” one teenage girl covered in piercings began.
“Good!” stated the intruder, his voice kind. “Let us continue, then.” He paused for a moment. “Then shall mine enemies turn back in the day that I call; this I know, that God is for me.”
“Then shall mine enemies,” the goth’s boyfriend continued, standing up.
“In God--I will praise His word--in the LORD--I will praise His word—“
The wail of sirens and the flashing of signals heralded the arrival of the police officers. They stepped into the bar warily, their guns raised. “Cease and desist,” they ordered. “We have orders to take you and your companions to a mental hospital, where they will treat you in order to rid you of your delusion.”
“In God do I trust, I will not be afraid; what can man do unto me?” continued the blue-eyed man.
Shots rang out and he fell lifeless to the floor. Blood reddened his white shirt; his mouth was frozen in forbidden prayer.
“A madman,” the policeman said grimly, “trying to convert others to his delusions. Possibly dangerous, disturbing the peace, trying to harm others. Do not fear,” he told the customers. “We have this under control.”
The imam, priest, rabbi and others stepped forward. The other policemen cornered them swiftly, placing them in chains. Their handcuffs sparkled in the dim light.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Atlasia,” the police officers dipped their hats as they led the religious leaders out into the paddywagon.
“For thou hast delivered my soul from death,” muttered Madeleine bitterly as she looked upon the face of her dead brother.
“What’s that you say, sweetheart?” questioned her boss, one hand reaching to fondle her breast.
She stepped away from him. “I said I must be getting back,” she stated, and turning on one heel, she exited the bar. It was not until she was home and safely ensconced under the covers that she began to cry, the tears mixing with her violent self-hatred. Her brother had been brave. It was she who remained a coward. And as she cried, a kind of resolve came to her, so that she dried her eyes and slept at last.
“Come on, baby.” Andrew irritated her, insistent as a doting puppy. “It’ll be fun.”
“Perhaps,” she said. He stood beside her, watching her apply makeup while looking into the vanity. She wore nothing but a nude-colored bra and a pair of lacy black panties.
“You’ve never been to a concert like this one,” he urged her. “It’s Cat’s Cradle. How could you miss Cat’s Cradle?”
“Honestly,” she stated, dabbing shimmering eyeshadow atop her matte color, “quite easily.”
“You never want to do anything, Madeleine,” he whined.
“Actually, I’d like to go to The Lion’s Den tonight,” she stated calmly.
“That’s a bar, right?”
“Precisely.”
“I’ll pick you up at 10?” he inquired.
“Go ahead,” she stated. “It’s unnecessary, though. I am quite capable of going there alone.”
“I want to be with you,” he insisted.
“In that case, 10 it is,” she asserted.
When he left the room she reached for her dressing gown; it was patterned in a shell pink. Light and loose, she wrapped it around herself before falling to her knees. She cared nothing for the censors, for the movie cameras that would review her actions tonight. She kneeled upon her knees and prayed and gave thanks to God, in whom she still believed.
Then she sat down to write several letters to several news agencies. She sealed them all with a kiss of her lipstick, then decided what to wear that night.
She was a bombshell. A knockout in tight black lace, her lips rimmed a decadently sensual red, her patent leather black shoes pointed and sexy, she sashayed into the club, exuding sex appeal.
Andrew wrapped his arm possessively around her. “What would you like to drink?” he inquired.
“A Scotch on the rocks,” she stated recklessly. She tossed her head, her curls beautiful in the array of rainbow colors that swept over her skin and caressed her.
“Look, it’s the King,” Andrew stated, affectionately noting their mutual friend. “What’s he doing here?”
Max King was the news anchor for ABC 7. Madeleine’s eyes swept the room as she noted other news outlets, with video cameras and equipment, had entered the room. Brazenly, she stepped over to King and kissed him full on the lips. Andrew’s eyes widened in confusion, but King stepped back and looked at her, his lips reddened by her lipstick. He seemed sad.
“Thy God whom thou servest continually, He will deliver thee,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek.
Madeleine stepped forward to the Kareoke stand, taking the microphone from the woman who was singing. “People of America,” she began. “I’d like to sing with you tonight. But I don’t want to sing any song. I want to sing a prayer, one that you will never forget.”
The room buzzed with people who were scandalized. A prayer? Was this beautiful woman also numbered amidst the mad ones?
“You’re too beautiful to waste your life this way,” a man protested. “You know the country has declared there is no God, and those who claim there is are mentally ill.”
“I don’t care if you’re mad,” a woman protested, “just pretend you don’t think there is one. That’s what we all do.”
“But don’t you see,” Madeleine stated, her voice heartbreakingly lovely, “that’s precisely the reason we should tell the truth. We are not mad. We are not insane. We are not the mentally ill. To the contrary, we are the only ones who know that we owe a debt of gratitude to the God who watches over all, who sees us still and who loves us despite everything.
“Last night, in Bar XII, my brother was killed. He was killed for speaking up for his beliefs, for asserting that there is a God and that those who believe so ought not to be numbered among the insane.
The news anchors greedily filmed her speech, inching closer to focus upon her exquisite lips and frame as she spoke the scandalous words.
“I thought it would be apropos, seeing as we are gathered at The Lion’s Den tonight,” she continued, “to recite from Psalm 57.” She paused, then smiled. “My soul is among lions, I do lie down among them that are aflame; even the sons of men, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword.”
Andrew spoke up and in that moment she could have melted in his arms, giving herself to him completely. “My soul is among lions,” he began, and other people at the bar chimed in.
“Be thou exalted, O’ God, above the heavens; Thy glory be above all the earth.”
The policemen were having trouble fitting through the door, seeing as they had to walk through the cameramen and news anchors and everyone else who was blocking their path. Nonetheless, they continued inexorably, determined to do their duty and cart away this dangerously ill person. Her mental instability suggested that she might do anything, harm anyone, so as to get her way.
“They have prepared a net for my steps,” Madeleine continued, looking directly at the Chief of Police. “My soul is bowed down; they have digged a pit before me, they are fallen into the midst thereof themselves. Selah.”
She extended her arms as though to embrace the roomful of people, hold them close to her in ecstasy. “My heart is stedfast, O God, my heart is stedfast; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises.”
The shot cracked out and Madeleine did not flinch. Wonderingly, she felt her skin, unsure as to where the bullet had passed through her, for she did not feel any pain.
Then she saw him, bleeding on the floor. Andrew had jumped in front of her, dying to defend her. She knelt on the floor beside him and kissed his lips, his blood painting her skin red. The vulturous cameramen closed in for the shot.
The policemen took her sensual hands and enclosed them in bracelets of steel. She bowed her head as though in a kind of rapture and followed them. She met King’s eyes as she walked carefully out of the room.
“Believe in Him, my friends,” she shouted, the assembly at the bar bemused and afraid. “It is only because they are afraid of you and the truth you speak that they deem you mad.” She chuckled to herself. Then she spoke to the police officer, the one who had killed Andrew. “The King of Gath once questioned: Do I have need of madmen, that you have brought a man to play the madman before me? Nowadays, we do have need of madmen, however.”
King, the news anchor, had pushed through the crowd and was filming her conversation with the policeman. The Chief shot an anxious glance at the camera, his lips trembling nervously. Then, pulling his gun, he pointed at his fellow policemen.
“Get back, I say,” he threatened them. “Back, or I shoot you, and you know what an expert marksman I am.”
The policemen fell back. The Chief undid her handcuffs. “I believe, too,” he told her. “Run.”
“Angel!” one of his fellow cops cried out, reaching for his gun. “I’ll cover you!”
“Angel?” questioned Madeleine wonderingly, rubbing her wrists as she stumbled away from him.
“My nickname,” he said gruffly. “Go.”
King caught hold of her wrist, passing the camera to one of his assistants. “I’ll take care of her,” he growled at the man, then authoritatively escorted her to his car.
“Your God has sent his angel and hath shut the lion’s mouths, and they have not hurt you,” he stated, and leaning across the car seat, kissed her on the mouth.
“I want to make love to you all night,” he informed her as he revved the engine.
“We shall be as the dead,” Madeleine stated, almost as though she were caught within a dream.
“Not if they don’t find us,” he informed her, “and I am certain that they won’t.”
She turned to him joyfully. “Do you believe as well?”
He smiled at her. “I am the King,” he told her softly. “How could I not believe?”
“But Andrew,” she stated, her eyes sorrowful.
“Andrew gave his life for you,” he informed her. “He too believed in God.”
“With any luck, our entire society is mad,” she laughed gleefully.
“Or perhaps we are the sane ones,” he countered.
“For a night’s time,” she bargained with him, “and then we must go out again. The world will only take back what is theirs and the right to their God when they see that we are willing to die for Him.”
“We shall die tomorrow if you like, pretty Madeleine,” he assured her. “Only let us have our night of The Lion’s Den.”
“With pleasure,” she smiled at him, and the two disappeared into the darkness.
Sacred
What do you consider sacred? Why?
(I mean this in any way/ context imaginable - and referring to everything or anything, whether it be tangible, intangible, an idea or a physical item.)
(I mean this in any way/ context imaginable - and referring to everything or anything, whether it be tangible, intangible, an idea or a physical item.)
Friday, August 14, 2009
Treats! (Shabbat Kallah + Friday Night Seudah)
Here be treats. Most of this is for the Shabbat Kallah, but the circular strawberry-chocolate cake is for my hosts tonight.
And here's the strawberry-chocolate cake for tonight's hosts:
I'm going to make an awesome Mommy one day.
These are cookies dipped in non-pareils.
These are chocolate peanut butter ganache tarts, with the recipe courtesy of the awesome 'Couldn't Be Parve' blog.
And here's the strawberry-chocolate cake for tonight's hosts:
I'm going to make an awesome Mommy one day.
How To Make A Shabbat Kallah Cake
(Daughter of God, you are totally forbidden to look at this until I give you permission.)
So, you wonder, how can one make a Shabbat Kallah cake? After all, we can't have writing on the cake on Shabbat...not unless we put the writing on plastic that you lift off the cake.
Aha! But here comes Chana and her insanity to teach you how...and more importantly, to create a record, because there is no way this will remain intact by the time I attempt to bring it to the other side of the Heights.
From Above:
So you don't understand what that's about, do you? So wait for it...wait for it...
Squee. *takes a bow* Thank you, thank you- yes, I know I'm insane. But the good kind of crazy.
So, you wonder, how can one make a Shabbat Kallah cake? After all, we can't have writing on the cake on Shabbat...not unless we put the writing on plastic that you lift off the cake.
Aha! But here comes Chana and her insanity to teach you how...and more importantly, to create a record, because there is no way this will remain intact by the time I attempt to bring it to the other side of the Heights.
From Above:
So you don't understand what that's about, do you? So wait for it...wait for it...
Squee. *takes a bow* Thank you, thank you- yes, I know I'm insane. But the good kind of crazy.
The Case of the Missing Pralines
I thought I had brought them home. Maybe we left them by the side of the road when the awesome little old man with the green shopping cart came zipping by. In any case, I have searched and searched for them and I cannot find them. Which means I have to go get dressed, go outside and buy another box of pralines. Which I hate doing on Fridays. Damn tzniufying.
Just another reason I should have been born a boy.
Just another reason I should have been born a boy.
Fedex Bureaucratic Nonsense
This is a woefully sad tale.
The Man from Fedex comes to deliver my package. He requires a signature.
Man from Fedex: How old are you?
Me: 20
Man from Fedex: Then you can't sign for this.
Me: (affronted) It's my package!
Man from Fedex: It's my job.
Me: But that's my name, right there!
Man from Fedex: Yeah, but you've got to be 21 or older to sign for it. Can you get the super to sign for you?
Me: ?! (looks around for super's number, can't find it)
Man from Fedex: I'll come back tomorrow.
Me: I can't sign for it tomorrow; it's my Sabbath.
Man from Fedex: So on Tuesday.
Me: (thinking- what good does that do me? no one over 21 will be here on Tuesday) How about if I call the person who sent me the package and they tell you they give me permission to accept the package?
Man from Fedex: Nope. See you Tuesday. I'll try to find the super but otherwise, Tuesday it is.
Me: (thinks- OMG.)
I cannot wait to be 21.
The Man from Fedex comes to deliver my package. He requires a signature.
Man from Fedex: How old are you?
Me: 20
Man from Fedex: Then you can't sign for this.
Me: (affronted) It's my package!
Man from Fedex: It's my job.
Me: But that's my name, right there!
Man from Fedex: Yeah, but you've got to be 21 or older to sign for it. Can you get the super to sign for you?
Me: ?! (looks around for super's number, can't find it)
Man from Fedex: I'll come back tomorrow.
Me: I can't sign for it tomorrow; it's my Sabbath.
Man from Fedex: So on Tuesday.
Me: (thinking- what good does that do me? no one over 21 will be here on Tuesday) How about if I call the person who sent me the package and they tell you they give me permission to accept the package?
Man from Fedex: Nope. See you Tuesday. I'll try to find the super but otherwise, Tuesday it is.
Me: (thinks- OMG.)
I cannot wait to be 21.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
אור
Anyone who knows me knows how much I adore light. Thus, it makes sense that the song 'אור' by Alon de Loco (accompanied by Gad Elbaz) is probably my favorite love song. It incorporates light, God, and man's recognition of the amazing gift God has given him. In the music video, the song refers to Alon de Loco's daughter. So when he sings "at ha'kol" he is referring to this beautiful little girl. I think the song gorgeously expresses the way any father feels about his children...I know it's the way my father feels about his daughters.
Listen to the song here (and to just hear Gad Elbaz's version, here.)
Here are the lyrics:
אלון דה לוקו - אור
אני צועק אור כן את האור
את הכוח את הכל
אני צועק אורי אורי אור
כן את האור, את הכוח את הכל
מהרגע הראשון שראיתי,
את חיי אני שיניתי
היית כל מה שרציתי, ציפיתי, קיוותי בחיי
אוחז אותך בשתי ידי
דמעות של אושר בעיני
צועק תודה לאלוהיי נתן לי את האור
אז אני צועק אור...
אז עכשיו אני יודע
שאלוקים אותי שומע
שלח מלאך שבי נוגע
נתן לי את האור
שום דבר אותי לא יעצור
לא יפיל ולא ישבור
לא להביט שוב לאחור
רק לכיוון האור
אז אני צועק אור כן...
יש לך זוג עיניים מדהימות
ולחיים מתוקות
יפה יפה שבא לבכות
את לי האור
היא מתנה מאלוקים
הטעם לחיים
סימן שמתפללים אותך שומעים
כן היא האור
אז אני צועק אור....
Listen to the song here (and to just hear Gad Elbaz's version, here.)
Here are the lyrics:
אלון דה לוקו - אור
אני צועק אור כן את האור
את הכוח את הכל
אני צועק אורי אורי אור
כן את האור, את הכוח את הכל
מהרגע הראשון שראיתי,
את חיי אני שיניתי
היית כל מה שרציתי, ציפיתי, קיוותי בחיי
אוחז אותך בשתי ידי
דמעות של אושר בעיני
צועק תודה לאלוהיי נתן לי את האור
אז אני צועק אור...
אז עכשיו אני יודע
שאלוקים אותי שומע
שלח מלאך שבי נוגע
נתן לי את האור
שום דבר אותי לא יעצור
לא יפיל ולא ישבור
לא להביט שוב לאחור
רק לכיוון האור
אז אני צועק אור כן...
יש לך זוג עיניים מדהימות
ולחיים מתוקות
יפה יפה שבא לבכות
את לי האור
היא מתנה מאלוקים
הטעם לחיים
סימן שמתפללים אותך שומעים
כן היא האור
אז אני צועק אור....
The Wizened Little Old Man & The Awesome Black Lady
Dear The Little Wizened But Nevertheless Sprightly Old Man With The Green Shopping Cart,
You saw me huffing, puffing and panting, holding three bags of groceries and straining to carry them up the hill. You, with your wonderful mustache, cap, and strength, took them from me, put them in your green shopping cart, sprinted over to my apartment building and then fought me to bring them to my door. During this time, all I did was helplessly repeat "Thank you" while you talked to me in Spanish, which meant I didn't understand a word. I have no idea what poeta means, alas.
Then there's the awesome black lady who took my groceries from the door and brought them to the elevator for me.
Sprightly Old Man & Awesome Black Lady- I love you! And, my friend with the green shopping cart, you are in the esteemed company of the man from Isaac's Bake Shop on my list of favorite little old men. That is quite the honor, so you should be happy!
You saw me huffing, puffing and panting, holding three bags of groceries and straining to carry them up the hill. You, with your wonderful mustache, cap, and strength, took them from me, put them in your green shopping cart, sprinted over to my apartment building and then fought me to bring them to my door. During this time, all I did was helplessly repeat "Thank you" while you talked to me in Spanish, which meant I didn't understand a word. I have no idea what poeta means, alas.
Then there's the awesome black lady who took my groceries from the door and brought them to the elevator for me.
Sprightly Old Man & Awesome Black Lady- I love you! And, my friend with the green shopping cart, you are in the esteemed company of the man from Isaac's Bake Shop on my list of favorite little old men. That is quite the honor, so you should be happy!
Dance Song Of The Day
Today's dance song: הסוד
Woke up this morning and that was all that was going through my head...
Dance party on the subway ;)
Perhaps my theme:
אני אמשיך לחיות, ולהנות
וכל היום לרקוד, ולבלות
ובלילות לצאת, עם חברים
ולנצל כל רגע בחיים
Translation:
I'm going to continue living and enjoying
And dance and spend
And go out in the evenings with my friends
And to savour every moment of life
Woke up this morning and that was all that was going through my head...
Dance party on the subway ;)
Perhaps my theme:
אני אמשיך לחיות, ולהנות
וכל היום לרקוד, ולבלות
ובלילות לצאת, עם חברים
ולנצל כל רגע בחיים
Translation:
I'm going to continue living and enjoying
And dance and spend
And go out in the evenings with my friends
And to savour every moment of life
Yechiel, My Soldier
My fantastic Scarsdale cousin Yechiel was on that Nefesh B'Nefesh flight that was all over the news (the one with 55 people who are joining the army.) Well, he's one of those folks. Currently he's on a Kibbutz in Israel but soon enough he'll head off to the IDF, where he'll stay for three years. Three years! Gods, Yechiel- I miss you. Anyway, Yechiel has a blog and you should read it. Here tis.
By the way, just because I missed you I read I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. (Don't get too cocky, though- I'm still not smoking any hookah with you.) It is absolutely the most disgusting book ever and I had fun bashing it in my Sex & Gender Roles class. And if you ever meet Tucker Max, kindly beat him up and tell him that is courtesy of the female sex. But it made me think of you. ;) Dude, I freaking miss you and you haven't even been gone a full two weeks. Clearly this is just another example that proves I'm homeless and need to mooch off of you cuz I'm tired of living off of the stuff in the garbage cans. *smirk* Guess you'll have to share some of your sage words of wisdom regarding my living situation and the fact that I'm studying Bible (insert your roll of the eyes here) with me.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Hip-Hop, the Industry
Some of the things I learned in this Sex & Gender Roles class were actually great.
For instance, there's a fascinating documentary entitled "Hip-Hop: Beyond Beats & Rhymes." It focuses upon the hypermasculinity, sexism and violence promoted by this culture. Of course, this is spread across the entire musical genre (just listen to Z100- I hate that "do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips" song). But I have never seen any music video as utterly disgusting and misogynistic as Nelly's "Tip Drill." He literally slides a credit card down this woman's posterior- and that's the least of it. That's going to give me bad dreams for the rest of my life. And the sad thing is that I bet it's a turn-on for plenty of people. And I can even see why it is...but it's total, utter objectification of women and it's sick.
See the entire documentary on YouTube here.
For instance, there's a fascinating documentary entitled "Hip-Hop: Beyond Beats & Rhymes." It focuses upon the hypermasculinity, sexism and violence promoted by this culture. Of course, this is spread across the entire musical genre (just listen to Z100- I hate that "do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips" song). But I have never seen any music video as utterly disgusting and misogynistic as Nelly's "Tip Drill." He literally slides a credit card down this woman's posterior- and that's the least of it. That's going to give me bad dreams for the rest of my life. And the sad thing is that I bet it's a turn-on for plenty of people. And I can even see why it is...but it's total, utter objectification of women and it's sick.
See the entire documentary on YouTube here.
Empathy as a Code of Honor: Verstehen
I learned the most awesome new word in class. It's basically a codified way of stating that one must be empathic toward other people and look at their world from their point of view rather than from yours. Thus, you cannot be judgemental, but rather strive to feel, see and experience through their eyes. The word is verstehen.
Coconut Milk
I need a place that I can purchase parve coconut milk (with a hechsher.) Or I need total proof that cans of the substance without a hechsher (i.e. Goya) are kosher. Who has recommendations? Key Food only has Goya, which drives me slightly out of my mind.
Update: Never mind- the CRC says it's kosher!
Some brands available that are acceptable: Goya brand Coconut Milk – (when labeled “Product of Dominican Republic”)
Huzzah.
Update: Never mind- the CRC says it's kosher!
Some brands available that are acceptable: Goya brand Coconut Milk – (when labeled “Product of Dominican Republic”)
Huzzah.
I Am Triumphant
I spent an hour and a half talking to my Sex & Gender Roles teacher about my assignment. Thus, she raised my grade on my assignment from an 88 to a 94 (apparently the highest grade increase she's ever given. Ha. ) This means I have an A- overall (on that paper). In short, I win.
Thought I'd let you guys enjoy this parting shot of mine.
QUESTION: What is next for gender theory? Where do you feel there needs to be additional discourse? In this discourse, what questions should be explored? Be sure you explain why you feel the way you do.
ANSWER: So I have two answers to the question, one from within the framework of sociology and one outside of its comfort zone.
From inside the framework of sociology: I believe that more work needs to be done exploring what it is to be a male (within different cultures, societies, countries and suchlike.) While we did hear a bit about masculinity theory, feminism has been explored to an incredible extent. I think Kimmel's point about being the average white male and thus being invisible is well taken. Consider how many films confront the issue of the white male dissatisfied with his life and job, looking for some other purpose. From 'Fight Club' with its nihilistic, anarchy-driven approach to the entertaining 'Office Space' we've fought or spoofed the typical stereotypical white male career and job spectrum. But what about really documenting that experience and taking back the meaning of success, redefining it so that it doesn't mean working a job one hates in order to make the most money but doing something one loves, something creative that gives back to the world? Men, and certainly white men, have a whole slew of expectations waiting for them. How do they confront these expectations? How do they live their individual lives? Do they feel themselves to be empowered or not so much? It'd be interesting to discover more regarding that.
Outside of sociology's comfort zone: I think it would be interesting for sociology as a discipline to contemplate how exactly it comes up with its vision of the world it wants to create. For example, within this class we have talked a lot about "equality, freedom from oppression, liberty, acceptance" and so forth. Who is it who gets to define these terms? The sociologists? The people who feel oppressed? And how precisely ought law to be created? What if people find their freedom in unacceptable ways per sociologists i.e. what if a woman feels free when she goes for a traditional role where she is theoretically "subjugated" to her husband? Do we take the individual into account or only the mass- and who determines what is okay for the masses? For instance, nowadays it is in vogue to claim that homosexuality is a sexual orientation, not a deviation or aberration from the norm. Thus, homosexuals ought to have equal rights, etc under the law and some would even press for homosexuals to have the ability to get married as well. Now, let me state clearly I do not wish to offend anyone; I am writing from the perspective of where this logic ought to extend, not intimating a comparison. But out of curiosity, why is incest forbidden according to the law? I mean, perhaps it disgusts you or we do not want children abused, but suppose that you have a 21-year-old daughter and a 40-year-old father who have consensual sex. Why is that forbidden under our law? Isn't there a separation between church and state- if so, since when have morals entered the equation? Family members are oppressed due to the fact that the law prevents them from engaging in consensual sex with one another, aren't they? Or if not- why not? Who makes the laws, who gets to define 'oppression' and who is oppressed, and while the discipline of sociology aims to help society...who gets to define what helps society and what hurts it? I'd love to hear the answers to these questions.
(Just figured it's the last class, so I might as well throw out some fun ideas...have a party, people. *smile*)
Thought I'd let you guys enjoy this parting shot of mine.
QUESTION: What is next for gender theory? Where do you feel there needs to be additional discourse? In this discourse, what questions should be explored? Be sure you explain why you feel the way you do.
ANSWER: So I have two answers to the question, one from within the framework of sociology and one outside of its comfort zone.
From inside the framework of sociology: I believe that more work needs to be done exploring what it is to be a male (within different cultures, societies, countries and suchlike.) While we did hear a bit about masculinity theory, feminism has been explored to an incredible extent. I think Kimmel's point about being the average white male and thus being invisible is well taken. Consider how many films confront the issue of the white male dissatisfied with his life and job, looking for some other purpose. From 'Fight Club' with its nihilistic, anarchy-driven approach to the entertaining 'Office Space' we've fought or spoofed the typical stereotypical white male career and job spectrum. But what about really documenting that experience and taking back the meaning of success, redefining it so that it doesn't mean working a job one hates in order to make the most money but doing something one loves, something creative that gives back to the world? Men, and certainly white men, have a whole slew of expectations waiting for them. How do they confront these expectations? How do they live their individual lives? Do they feel themselves to be empowered or not so much? It'd be interesting to discover more regarding that.
Outside of sociology's comfort zone: I think it would be interesting for sociology as a discipline to contemplate how exactly it comes up with its vision of the world it wants to create. For example, within this class we have talked a lot about "equality, freedom from oppression, liberty, acceptance" and so forth. Who is it who gets to define these terms? The sociologists? The people who feel oppressed? And how precisely ought law to be created? What if people find their freedom in unacceptable ways per sociologists i.e. what if a woman feels free when she goes for a traditional role where she is theoretically "subjugated" to her husband? Do we take the individual into account or only the mass- and who determines what is okay for the masses? For instance, nowadays it is in vogue to claim that homosexuality is a sexual orientation, not a deviation or aberration from the norm. Thus, homosexuals ought to have equal rights, etc under the law and some would even press for homosexuals to have the ability to get married as well. Now, let me state clearly I do not wish to offend anyone; I am writing from the perspective of where this logic ought to extend, not intimating a comparison. But out of curiosity, why is incest forbidden according to the law? I mean, perhaps it disgusts you or we do not want children abused, but suppose that you have a 21-year-old daughter and a 40-year-old father who have consensual sex. Why is that forbidden under our law? Isn't there a separation between church and state- if so, since when have morals entered the equation? Family members are oppressed due to the fact that the law prevents them from engaging in consensual sex with one another, aren't they? Or if not- why not? Who makes the laws, who gets to define 'oppression' and who is oppressed, and while the discipline of sociology aims to help society...who gets to define what helps society and what hurts it? I'd love to hear the answers to these questions.
(Just figured it's the last class, so I might as well throw out some fun ideas...have a party, people. *smile*)
Shall I Sing Out To You, God?
David composed psalms for you; I write you angry prayers. I found a song, though, and I think it was made for me. It's 'Above the Wreckage' by Dishwalla. Here are the lyrics.
My favorite part:
Watch her rise above the wreckage
See her fly through glass
See the world spin ‘round again (again, again, again)
And don’t waste your beautiful, your beautiful life
Don’t waste your beautiful, your beautiful life
Down here
~
Shall I be a reborn angel for you, God? I give up everything the way You want me to. You test me and test me, whether it's my teacher's voice in my head or the corroboration various situations offer for that premise. Sure I hurt but that's why I sing out...sing out...sing out to You...because that's what my namesake did. Lovely Chana who threatened to become a Sotah so as to have a child. And what shall I threaten you with, God? If I threaten to go off and become a prostitute, for instance, you'll probably just give me a role like Rachav's and I'll wander about rescuing spies *rolls eyes.* If I threaten to become an atheist, You'll just laugh and your laughter will resound in my ears. What in the world can I threaten you with? I, unlike my lovely namesake, haven't been given those tools. Unfair, God. But you know what? Despite it all, despite your Joker's hand and the way you totally mess around with my life, I really love You. Perhaps one day I will be like Istahar and become Your angel...or a star. Apropos given there are meteor showers tonight. God, I feel like You and I understand one another. There's a game and I'm not sure where I am in it, but I'm some kind of player...I feel like I'm Ender being told I'm playing computer games but really I'm exploding the entire universe where the Buggers exist and someone's going to tell me that one day. And then I'll wind up Speaker for the Dead and it'll really be a party. But God, I've got to tell you...it is one wild ride. And in a way I wonder what the hell is coming next.
My favorite part:
Watch her rise above the wreckage
See her fly through glass
See the world spin ‘round again (again, again, again)
And don’t waste your beautiful, your beautiful life
Don’t waste your beautiful, your beautiful life
Down here
~
Shall I be a reborn angel for you, God? I give up everything the way You want me to. You test me and test me, whether it's my teacher's voice in my head or the corroboration various situations offer for that premise. Sure I hurt but that's why I sing out...sing out...sing out to You...because that's what my namesake did. Lovely Chana who threatened to become a Sotah so as to have a child. And what shall I threaten you with, God? If I threaten to go off and become a prostitute, for instance, you'll probably just give me a role like Rachav's and I'll wander about rescuing spies *rolls eyes.* If I threaten to become an atheist, You'll just laugh and your laughter will resound in my ears. What in the world can I threaten you with? I, unlike my lovely namesake, haven't been given those tools. Unfair, God. But you know what? Despite it all, despite your Joker's hand and the way you totally mess around with my life, I really love You. Perhaps one day I will be like Istahar and become Your angel...or a star. Apropos given there are meteor showers tonight. God, I feel like You and I understand one another. There's a game and I'm not sure where I am in it, but I'm some kind of player...I feel like I'm Ender being told I'm playing computer games but really I'm exploding the entire universe where the Buggers exist and someone's going to tell me that one day. And then I'll wind up Speaker for the Dead and it'll really be a party. But God, I've got to tell you...it is one wild ride. And in a way I wonder what the hell is coming next.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Shabbat Candles
Since the time I was very little, I have been fascinated by candles. On Shabbat, I would stare at the candles, totally mesmerized. The reason why is because I have always seen the shapes of people dancing in the flames. Thus, it occurred to me to make a painting in honor of my friends who are getting married: Daughter of God & The Man With The Colored Coat and Rocket Man & The Flower Princess.
Also, at least according to the tradition in my house, we light a candle for each person (so in my house, we light six candles.) For myself, here in Washington Heights, I light one. When my mother got married, she lit two. Thus, the connection between the actual people and the Shabbat candles, is, in my mind, very much there.
The reason I painted it tonight was because I was listening to Candleburn by Dishwalla, one of my favorite songs, and I remembered that I had wanted to do so. (It's one of the most beautiful songs you'll ever hear.)
So here tis (you should enlarge it to see it better.)
Anyway, Rocket Man lives far away, but Daughter of God, I thought perhaps I might give it to you (assuming you wanted it). Obviously, I don't know if this is your style of painting or if you like the concept, but if it is, I'd love for it to be an additional wedding present for you. If not, no worries (I am very particular about artwork so I totally understand if you are as well). And of course, I'm just an amateur. Anyway, mazal tov, sweetness, either way. I love you lots.
Random Update: Daughter of God loves my picture, so I shall give it to her and have helped make the kallah happy before her wedding day. *smile* And now I am happy, too.
Also, at least according to the tradition in my house, we light a candle for each person (so in my house, we light six candles.) For myself, here in Washington Heights, I light one. When my mother got married, she lit two. Thus, the connection between the actual people and the Shabbat candles, is, in my mind, very much there.
The reason I painted it tonight was because I was listening to Candleburn by Dishwalla, one of my favorite songs, and I remembered that I had wanted to do so. (It's one of the most beautiful songs you'll ever hear.)
So here tis (you should enlarge it to see it better.)
Anyway, Rocket Man lives far away, but Daughter of God, I thought perhaps I might give it to you (assuming you wanted it). Obviously, I don't know if this is your style of painting or if you like the concept, but if it is, I'd love for it to be an additional wedding present for you. If not, no worries (I am very particular about artwork so I totally understand if you are as well). And of course, I'm just an amateur. Anyway, mazal tov, sweetness, either way. I love you lots.
Random Update: Daughter of God loves my picture, so I shall give it to her and have helped make the kallah happy before her wedding day. *smile* And now I am happy, too.
Pat Conroy & The Power of the Human Spirit
Today Pat Conroy's new novel came out. Therefore, today, after class, I headed over to Lincoln Square's Barnes and Noble and read it. It's called South of Broad. 512 pages of sheer humanity. See, when I first learned of Pat Conroy, his books seemed melodramatic and impossible to me. They were too lush, like a fruit that was slightly overripe. But I learned to love Pat Conroy because I learned to see that he was writing for and about the human spirit and its sheer indominability. He speaks of sin turned to sacrament, of the broken people who never come home the way they should. And when you finish reading him you feel like you've been blessed, because something sacred that hollows you out and nevertheless fills you has come into your life. You remember that you're lucky, that you're blessed. You realize that Conroy has figured out how to capture the soaring heights the soul can reach, and taught you yet again that love is only worthwhile when given freely, without constraints or limits. It's endless and unquenchable, and depends not on the one who is loved but on the lover. That's why we love people no matter what they do, and we're purer and the more sanctified for it.
There's a passage that particularly struck me; it's on page 172.
But then Conroy comes right back at you with something magnificent and life-affirming, something beautiful that warms you through your body and makes you feel like he's injected you with some sort of life-giving potion. This appears on page 510:
To live is to choose to be vulnerable, but life is the greatest gift we have. Sometimes I don't remember that. Thank you, Conroy, for reminding me. And thank you, my friend-in his and every sense of the word-, for first showing me the power vested in his evocative, dark, sarcastic, hilarious and tragic works.
There's a passage that particularly struck me; it's on page 172.
- "We were the girls of Charleston," Molly says. "They raised us to be the most charming of idiots. We're the sweet confections, the sugar dumplings who are the pride and joy of a dying society. I don't think my parents even know they were coconspirators in the scheme to erase my brain."
But then Conroy comes right back at you with something magnificent and life-affirming, something beautiful that warms you through your body and makes you feel like he's injected you with some sort of life-giving potion. This appears on page 510:
- We have been touched by the fury of storms and the wrath of an angry, implacable God. But that is what it means to be human, born to nakedness and tenderness and nightmare in the eggshell fragility of mortality and flesh. The immensity of the Milky Way settles over the city, and the earthworms rule beneath the teeming gardens in their eyeless world. I am standing with my best friends in the world in complete awe at the loveliness of the South.
To live is to choose to be vulnerable, but life is the greatest gift we have. Sometimes I don't remember that. Thank you, Conroy, for reminding me. And thank you, my friend-in his and every sense of the word-, for first showing me the power vested in his evocative, dark, sarcastic, hilarious and tragic works.
Monday, August 10, 2009
God, It's Me, Chana
You're making me crawl and I hate it. You made the snake crawl, on its belly, through the dust. (And then it eats the dust, which is kind of like it is eating man, which demonstrates its victory in making man fall since man is made of dust; I touched on that point somewhere else. But anyway, that's tangential.) The point of this is: you're making me crawl, abject, making me watch how nothing comes right and how I betray You without trying to and how goddamned hard it is to watch everyone think I'm a fundamentalist backwater kid. What is this; will your humiliation process humble me? Is it going to help me somehow? You already tore my pride to shreds; why the need to go further with this? How far will the experiment go? And who the hell will I be when you're done?
Only You could know how much I value that people respect my intelligence and only You could devise so cruel a punishment as to let me watch people think I'm a total idiot, brainwashed and stupid, in order to show me that truly nothing matters- nothing matters but knowledge of God.
Only You could know how much I value that people respect my intelligence and only You could devise so cruel a punishment as to let me watch people think I'm a total idiot, brainwashed and stupid, in order to show me that truly nothing matters- nothing matters but knowledge of God.
כב כֹּה אָמַר יְהוָה, אַל-יִתְהַלֵּל חָכָם בְּחָכְמָתוֹ, וְאַל-יִתְהַלֵּל הַגִּבּוֹר, בִּגְבוּרָתוֹ; אַל-יִתְהַלֵּל עָשִׁיר, בְּעָשְׁרוֹ. 22 Thus saith the LORD: Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, neither let the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches;
כג כִּי אִם-בְּזֹאת יִתְהַלֵּל הַמִּתְהַלֵּל, הַשְׂכֵּל וְיָדֹעַ אוֹתִי--כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה, עֹשֶׂה חֶסֶד מִשְׁפָּט וּצְדָקָה בָּאָרֶץ: כִּי-בְאֵלֶּה חָפַצְתִּי, נְאֻם-יְהוָה. {ס} 23 But let him that glorieth glory in this, that he understandeth, and knoweth Me, that I am the LORD who exercise mercy, justice, and righteousness, in the earth; for in these things I delight, saith the LORD. {S}
~Jeremiah 9: 22-23
Olly the Brooklynite: Durkheim, Derisha & Delicacies
Today I went to school only to become very saddened due to the fact that the teacher marked me down for saying what I think. But I shall talk it over with her tomorrow, and I think I can get the grade changed since she is really very nice and she was tired by the time she graded my paper.
Then my other teacher talked to me about the paper I had written marrying Durkheim and the Rav and told me he thought I had the workings for a Sociology Thesis there and that he wanted me to write it. He thought the way I had brought Jewish theology (specifically the Rav's "Sacred and Profane") and connected it to Durkheim was really good. So I appreciated that, even though I don't think I'll be writing that thesis. He smoked while he spoke to me so now I smell like cigarettes and that reminds me of Sam.
After that I took the 6 train to 28th street and met up with my buddies the manicurists because they are the only people in New York who can do my eyebrows right. Onward to NYC Looking Good for a haircut (for the simple reason that I refused to spend exorbitant amounts of money on this) and then I decided I wanted to go to Brooklyn. Why, you ask? Several reasons.
1. My Unlimited MetroCard expires tomorrow
2. I wanted to visit the little old man at Isaac's Bake Shop (and wanted to buy fresh bread)
3. I wanted to go to Eichlers!
4. I had to visit Oh Nuts (you know I love candy stores, even if I don't buy anything.)
So all of this was accomplished, although not in that order. Random fact: I love the Eichlers people; they are always so nice to me. I have about a million books I want to read...most importantly, I checked out Volume 3 (Partners in Life) of the R' Getsel Ellinson series and read it in the store. It's great. Did you know that it used to be that the man would see his wife the night before he married her? The Derisha on the Tur explains that. But the man was engaged to the lady before without seeing her! Egad. There's plenty more interesting stuff in that book. (Did you know that if you rape your wife you are very guilty per Jewish law? Hurrah for Jewish law; I approve of no marital rape.)
Also, for whoever asked me about the 'Nissuin/ Kidushin she'lo K'Das Moshe V'Yisrael' by the same author, I asked Shmulik (amazingly helpful guy who is in charge of all the Hebrew sefarim) and he couldn't find it in their system so Eichlers doesn't sell it. *sad face*
Random aside: Asked two different people there- does Eichlers not sell Judaic journals? They had Hakirah (which cracked me up, since different teachers of mine from Stern were quoted), but not the other journals I was looking for. What if I wanted to get ahold of Azure, Tradition, Yeshurun, etc- where would I look?
Anyway, I went to Isaac's Bake Shop on the way back, although the little old man wasn't there. The man with glasses was! So I got my pumpernickel bread and my smiley-face cookie and told him all about how this is my favorite bakery and wait for it, wait for it...he asked me..."You grew up around here?"
Now what is it with all these people thinking that I am a Brooklynite? (Though I admit, today was black shirt + short pencil jean skirt + pearl earrings and necklace, so I understand.) So I explained to him that no, I am from Chicago, but I went to school at Stern in Midtown and there are no bakeries there so I've been to Queens and Brooklyn and elsewhere and my favorite bakery is Isaac's Bake Shop. And he was happy and appreciative, so I was happy.
On the 1 train back I stood next to a lady with a squalling child, but then got a seat next to this lovely blonde-haired lady who told me all about her kids coming home from camp, how she was going to miss her train to New Jersey because of the delays, and how she had studied accounting but hated it and had gone into social work. And thus I was happy, because I like when random people talk to me.
Huzzah!
P.S. I wish that Eichlers had a Barnes & Noble/ Borders policy where they had big squashy armchairs and you could just sit down and read all day. Totally my dream come true. Also, I don't see that they have a gift registry of the kind I want, but Z Berman Books does! Look at this- the Z. Berman Gift Registry. I'm totally doing that when I throw my splendiferous party.
Then my other teacher talked to me about the paper I had written marrying Durkheim and the Rav and told me he thought I had the workings for a Sociology Thesis there and that he wanted me to write it. He thought the way I had brought Jewish theology (specifically the Rav's "Sacred and Profane") and connected it to Durkheim was really good. So I appreciated that, even though I don't think I'll be writing that thesis. He smoked while he spoke to me so now I smell like cigarettes and that reminds me of Sam.
After that I took the 6 train to 28th street and met up with my buddies the manicurists because they are the only people in New York who can do my eyebrows right. Onward to NYC Looking Good for a haircut (for the simple reason that I refused to spend exorbitant amounts of money on this) and then I decided I wanted to go to Brooklyn. Why, you ask? Several reasons.
1. My Unlimited MetroCard expires tomorrow
2. I wanted to visit the little old man at Isaac's Bake Shop (and wanted to buy fresh bread)
3. I wanted to go to Eichlers!
4. I had to visit Oh Nuts (you know I love candy stores, even if I don't buy anything.)
So all of this was accomplished, although not in that order. Random fact: I love the Eichlers people; they are always so nice to me. I have about a million books I want to read...most importantly, I checked out Volume 3 (Partners in Life) of the R' Getsel Ellinson series and read it in the store. It's great. Did you know that it used to be that the man would see his wife the night before he married her? The Derisha on the Tur explains that. But the man was engaged to the lady before without seeing her! Egad. There's plenty more interesting stuff in that book. (Did you know that if you rape your wife you are very guilty per Jewish law? Hurrah for Jewish law; I approve of no marital rape.)
Also, for whoever asked me about the 'Nissuin/ Kidushin she'lo K'Das Moshe V'Yisrael' by the same author, I asked Shmulik (amazingly helpful guy who is in charge of all the Hebrew sefarim) and he couldn't find it in their system so Eichlers doesn't sell it. *sad face*
Random aside: Asked two different people there- does Eichlers not sell Judaic journals? They had Hakirah (which cracked me up, since different teachers of mine from Stern were quoted), but not the other journals I was looking for. What if I wanted to get ahold of Azure, Tradition, Yeshurun, etc- where would I look?
Anyway, I went to Isaac's Bake Shop on the way back, although the little old man wasn't there. The man with glasses was! So I got my pumpernickel bread and my smiley-face cookie and told him all about how this is my favorite bakery and wait for it, wait for it...he asked me..."You grew up around here?"
Now what is it with all these people thinking that I am a Brooklynite? (Though I admit, today was black shirt + short pencil jean skirt + pearl earrings and necklace, so I understand.) So I explained to him that no, I am from Chicago, but I went to school at Stern in Midtown and there are no bakeries there so I've been to Queens and Brooklyn and elsewhere and my favorite bakery is Isaac's Bake Shop. And he was happy and appreciative, so I was happy.
On the 1 train back I stood next to a lady with a squalling child, but then got a seat next to this lovely blonde-haired lady who told me all about her kids coming home from camp, how she was going to miss her train to New Jersey because of the delays, and how she had studied accounting but hated it and had gone into social work. And thus I was happy, because I like when random people talk to me.
Huzzah!
P.S. I wish that Eichlers had a Barnes & Noble/ Borders policy where they had big squashy armchairs and you could just sit down and read all day. Totally my dream come true. Also, I don't see that they have a gift registry of the kind I want, but Z Berman Books does! Look at this- the Z. Berman Gift Registry. I'm totally doing that when I throw my splendiferous party.
Don't Frown, Don't Scorn, Cause I Walk A Different Street To You
If my Sex & Gender Roles class had a theme song, it'd be 'The Fake Sound of Progress' by Lostprophets.
Somebody told me that I'd always have to bow
If that was true I would have fallen apart by now
The more you think, the less you act their way
So can you hear this, the fake sound of progress
Never reason with a fool, but is that unkind,
Looks like I've lost my mind once again
I know it all sounds so contrived, but it's got to me
You know I've got to be more than this
Don't frown, don't scorn, cause I walk a different street to you
You look so worn, I bet that life has has got you blown
But it will never get to me
~
Best lines thus far: "Well, if you're in this class, regardless of your religion, you must be somewhat progressive."
"Right. So I recall that we didn't like the word 'tolerance' so we won't use that word in class."
(Both of those, in case you care, are aimed at me. I'm patronizingly and condescendingly told that I am 'progressive' despite my religion- oh, yippee- and it's a bad thing if I suggest 'tolerance' for homosexuals and transgendered individuals should be the goal, not full-out marching in allied parades. This is aside from the fact that I am "elitist and a bit ignorant" which is "sad because you're so smart" in the words of one friend of mine because I won't marry anyone who isn't a Jew. Listen, I totally understand where you're coming from- all of you- but I don't think it's right for you to look down on something you don't understand. The Bible and religion have gone out of fashion and out of vogue- but you've never even read them! You have no idea what they're about. If you want to criticize, it'd be best if you'd read the texts first. Obviously I respect you and your point of view. But it irks me that you feel you have a right to criticize what is totally outside of your knowledge base.)
Somebody told me that I'd always have to bow
If that was true I would have fallen apart by now
The more you think, the less you act their way
So can you hear this, the fake sound of progress
Never reason with a fool, but is that unkind,
Looks like I've lost my mind once again
I know it all sounds so contrived, but it's got to me
You know I've got to be more than this
Don't frown, don't scorn, cause I walk a different street to you
You look so worn, I bet that life has has got you blown
But it will never get to me
~
Best lines thus far: "Well, if you're in this class, regardless of your religion, you must be somewhat progressive."
"Right. So I recall that we didn't like the word 'tolerance' so we won't use that word in class."
(Both of those, in case you care, are aimed at me. I'm patronizingly and condescendingly told that I am 'progressive' despite my religion- oh, yippee- and it's a bad thing if I suggest 'tolerance' for homosexuals and transgendered individuals should be the goal, not full-out marching in allied parades. This is aside from the fact that I am "elitist and a bit ignorant" which is "sad because you're so smart" in the words of one friend of mine because I won't marry anyone who isn't a Jew. Listen, I totally understand where you're coming from- all of you- but I don't think it's right for you to look down on something you don't understand. The Bible and religion have gone out of fashion and out of vogue- but you've never even read them! You have no idea what they're about. If you want to criticize, it'd be best if you'd read the texts first. Obviously I respect you and your point of view. But it irks me that you feel you have a right to criticize what is totally outside of your knowledge base.)
R' Yeruchem Gorelick Zingers
This is extremely entertaining. It seems I have a plethora of yeshiva students who read my blog(at least amongst the ones who declared themselves to me.) Incidentally, if you really exist, you should comment! And did you know that some of the guys in Ner Yisrael read The Observer (or at least they did during my year?) Anyway, one of my friends in yeshivish circles who knows the full story and had it confirmed for him by one of his Rabbeim added to a lecture of R' Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff's which is transcribed here on the Harry Maryles blog. (My friend noted that sometimes R' Rakeffet says things in Yiddish but doesn't translate them so you have to know Yiddish.)
In one part of the lecture, R' Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff states:
The same guy walked in and kissed the mezuzah and apparently R' Gorelick said "You have other mitzvos; why don't you kiss that?"
I thought that was hilarious.
In one part of the lecture, R' Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff states:
- What bothers me is there is a falshe frumkeit here. Rav Yerucham Gorelick used to use that word. I have to tell you, Rav Yerucham was so insightful that I shiver and I shake today. [For example,] in my days in Y.U. there was [only] one boy who wore his tzitzit out. One boy! [Years later] I taught his daughter. I taught his son. Every time he walked into class with his tzitzit out, Rav Yerucham went crazy. I cannot repeat what he said to him in public. "Falshe frumkeit, ayich mit ayer falshe frumkeit" [false religiosity, you with your false religiosity] Rav Yerucham was going off the wall. f.f., falshe frumkeit! I don't know how Rav Yerucham called the shot. That boy, [now a] man, became a chazan in one of the biggest Conservative shuls in the United States.
The same guy walked in and kissed the mezuzah and apparently R' Gorelick said "You have other mitzvos; why don't you kiss that?"
I thought that was hilarious.
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