Piano Man

I caught a nice rendition of this song at a piano bar not long ago. So I went and looked up the original. A nice song, ain't it?

The Road Not Taken

--by Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Ruminations

Jews own the world. We dominate science and literature (even science fiction!). Particle physics and cognitive psychology. Banks, news-media and the entertainment industry. So how come I can't find a single nice Jewish gymnast? We are a failure!

Chanukah is a beautiful holiday -- it truly is. The lights, the songs, the family parties. But we do need a Santa figure to complete the picture. I think I'll tell the little ones that the Rebbe comes down the chimney to leave them presents under the menorah. (They already know that he knows who's been naughty or nice, so we've got that part covered.)

After some experimentation, I can report that Jingle Bells is a nice song to sing to yourself while soaking in a hot bath, particularly when it's snowing outside. For the shower, I recommend singing Hava Nagila -- dancing a little jig doesn't hurt. But don't slip!!! (I can't overstate the importance of this last step.)

Xenon forms way too many compounds to be called a noble gas. I mean, xenon hexafluoride? Come on!

A tetrahedron is a beautiful thing.

Is the fact that as pervasive and important a mathematical constant as Pi is an irrational number a simple cosmic accident, or a sign of an intelligent designer with a wicked sense of humor?

Is the fact that sex is messy and sticky and makes you assume weird and bendy positions you'd never assume otherwise a sign of an intelligent designer with a wicked sense of humor, or a sign of an intelligent designer with an adolescent sense of amusement and a slight sadistic streak?

Does Jacob Stein really mean all the mean things he says, or is he simply a misunderstood soul in desperate need of a hug?

Death

He's dying, apparently.

"Eight months -- at the most." The doctor, wearing a cool matter-of-fact demeanor wholly inappropriate to the words coming out of his mouth, shifts from foot to foot, eager to run to his next patient. He's a busy man; he has additional death-sentences to deliver and poisons that bring destruction but with it, a hope for that most precious of commodities, life, to administer. There's no time today. He rushes off -- morphing from angel-of-death to bearer of good news and later back again, like some grotesque gargoyle sprinkled with pixie-dust -- leaving only shocked silence behind.

Impossible! He's much too young!

"Six months," the second-opinionator said, a bit more glumly. "With treatment."

"And without?"

"Two months. And," he adds casually, "that may be the better option from a quality-of-life perspective."

"No way!"

Yes, way. And so it is. Another person falling victim to the vicissitudes of an indifferent universe. As much as it sucks watching someone close to you watch someone close to her die a slow, painful, confusing death, I imagine it sucks even more to actually die a slow, painful, confusing death. 'Suck it up,' I think to myself. 'Try to lighten the mood. Where's the wit and the humor? Leave the gloom for the blog!' Indeed. Jokes are easy. Some understated absurdities delivered with a twinkle and a phony oh-I-just-thought-of-that spontaneity and you're set. He laughs and laughs, and I feel much better about myself. But when nobody is watching, I can't help but think.

And think.

And think.

What will I tell the children? They're very close to him, and they'll have questions -- lots of them. Even if they won't articulate them, it'll probably be better if I speak with them about it eventually. Of course, we'll need a different approach with the teen-aged children than we do with the younger ones. I cannot in good conscience reinforce the nonsense everybody else will be selling -- heaven and hell and eternal life. Although, I will not be cruel and contradict it -- that wouldn't make any sense either. But I doubt that brings much comfort anyway. All it does is cause you to make stupid decisions.

Like, deciding treatment based on what this or that Rebbe said -- someone they dug up from the far sides of the earth. Are you frigging kidding me??? We're talking about life-and-death here, and you're making decisions on a senile old man's word because you think he is holy and has a special connection to God? The same God that brought this on in the first place! I seethe and simmer, but I don't say anything; it's futile. I have no real word in this, and it'll only cause further pain and suffering. I calm down when I realize we are really talking death-and-death here, not life-and-death. When you don't have much to lose, making decisions based on whatever brings you comfort makes logical sense. Even lighting candles and promising to be good so God won't punish him anymore. Wait....... punish HIM??? Why, you think God misplaced your address and decided to punish him to get back at you? He can't find you on Google? What kind of pathetic deity is that? Oh well. Anyway, what to tell the children? The best approach is probably to explain your own view of life (and death) and how you deal with it yourself, made more palatable for younger ears of course. So, how do I deal with it myself? Good question!

Life is fleeting; death is inevitable. We all need to live a life meaningful to us in the here and now, and enjoy every day as it comes. Life is a wonderful gift, not to be squandered on ruminations of fear and death. Live a good life as best you know how, and you'll have no regrets when the inevitable catches up with you -- be it today, tomorrow, or hopefully, many many years from now. Grab life by the horns and enjoy the ride, because all too soon you'll be thrown off. Most important, make sure people around you enjoy your ride as well -- bull riding in an empty arena is a joyless and meaningless and pointless exercise. Live every day as though it is your last, yes, just like our sages said. You will not go wrong.

What a hypocrite!

What would I do if I knew I'll most probably be dead in, say, eight months? I'm pretty sure it will not be what I'm doing now. There are things I need -- absolutely need -- to say, things I must -- must! -- do, places I'd like to go, before I'm finished here. So what am I waiting for? For a death sentence lovingly delivered, wrapped in white and green with the sweet-sour smell of disinfectant and the cacophony of beeping machinery all around? Or maybe death will come suddenly, like a silent monster sneaking out of a child's worst nightmares and with a sudden whoooosh! is gone again, taking your most prized possession with it? Who really knows? Why am I not taking my own advice? Maybe because some things are best left unsaid and undone. Or maybe, just maybe, because I'm a cowardly fool. Perhaps something in-between those two?

Meanwhile, watching a car roll off a cliff in slow motion -- getting increasingly battered on the sharp and menacing rocks on the way down, each dull thud! a sure sign things are worse and the bottom is closer, waiting for that final terrible sound it makes when it reaches bottom, soon, soon, too soon -- just makes me cringe. Poor passenger. What can I say? Death just puts a crimp in my step.

Jihad

Recently, I found myself at a family simchah (celebration), seated next to some pious and scholarly friends and relatives. While I don't particularly enjoy the scholarly kind of discourse this usually entails, it's certainly better than the stupid and inane discussions of Hasidic politics and which Rebbe now hates whose brother and who exactly is going to which Hell that usually passes for pleasant chit-chat at these events, and I have much more to contribute, too. So the discussion is going along swimmingly -- Talmudic quotes, halachic nitpickings, comments on the food -- until the attention turns to the poor guy sitting at the other table in jeans and brown shirt, small kippah perched atop a head-full of unruly hair, the neat store-bought folds clearly identifying the kippah as new and the wearer as an 'outsider'.

"Who's he?" someone asks.

"Oh, he's Yankel's brother," someone else says, "the one who went to live with his father after the split. Remember?"

There's an audible gasp and from the audience around the table with eyes opened wide in pained surprise, as if an invisible boot just collectively kicked everyone in the gonads.

"Him??? Wow. Look at him. He's a regular goy now!"

This is followed by much clucking of tongues and shaking of heads. An unbelievable sight, he is. He could've grown up such a nice Chassidish young man, just like his brother. Instead, he doesn't look like us at all!

We didn't get much time to digest this tragedy when the most pious at the table quickly turned the discussion back to practical matters. First, there's the matter with the wine. He surely doesn't keep Shabbos even in public, and thus can turn the wine into yayin nesech -- unkosher wine, just by touching it. There's some discussion on that, and I start feeling uncomfortable. Next, the discussion veers to more weighty matters: are we allowed -- nay, are we commanded -- to kill him, as we do a heretic? Again, there's some discussion pro and con -- while I can't help thinking, Jeezus christ on a stick! here we go again! Are these people listening to themselves? Are they totally unaware that they sound exactly like the despised Muslim Jihadis? I need to say something. But what?

At last, the most learned of the group pronounces the verdict: we're not allowed to kill him, but we're also not allowed to save him from mortal danger -- a concept known as lo ma'alin v'lo moridin. After this exhausting scholarly dialogue, the conversation turns back to the mundane. Needless to say, I'm totally exasperated at this point. "What a pity," the fatwa originator is now saying, "he could've grown up such a nice young man, instead of the worthless, brainwashed secular soul he is now."

I see my chance. "You realize" I cheerfully intone, "that he thinks exactly the same of you?" That elicited a smug chuckle, exactly as expected. Seeing me as an ally, he couldn't help interpreting my words the opposite from how I intended it. Everyone around the table was quick to agree. Sure, he thinks the same of us. He thinks WE are brainwashed. Ha ha, how incredibly silly of him -- he can't see the truth in front of his very eyes! I give some time for this self-congratulatory groupthink to sink in. Finally, the gabble subsided.

"You know the difference between him and us, though," I lean in conspiratorially. Of course everyone knows the difference. He's wrong, and we're right! He wants to eat pig and have lots of degenerate sex, while we're holy and pious! He's silly, we're smart!

"Well, he wouldn't even dream of killing you, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have second thoughts about saving you if he sees you in mortal danger!"

Silence. Some uncomfortable shifting in the seats. "Huh???"

"As I said. Doesn't that mean he's actually right about the brainwashing, while you are all wrong?"

More uncomfortable silence. "Uh, uhm, err, well, see, I certainly would save him in THIS day and age. Those things are not applicable today."

"Thank God! You sounded pretty self-righteously serious when you discussed this just five minutes ago."

And we all went back to eating the food. To the Jihadi's credit though, I'm pretty sure he finally thought about it. Twice.

A Play

A synagogue. People are walking about, mumbling and periodically shouting at an invisible presence in that disembodied manner of the subway tramp. Suddenly:

Moshe: "Shhhhh!!!!"

Baal: [Icy stare; goes back to discussing the merits of the Kuzari and the chemical differences between protium and deuterium]

Moshe: "Shhhhhh!!!!" [Thump, thump, thump]

Baal: [Glare]

Moshe: "Hisssssssssss! We're davening!!!"

Baal: [Sarcastically] "We are?"

Later, Moshe and Baal meet outside:

Moshe: "Sorry for that; I understand we all have a yetzer hara (evil inclination), and I sometimes fall prey to it as well. But have you ever thought about the terrible calamity you bring about by talking in the middle of prayers?"

Baal: [Sweetly] "Oh, thank you for worrying about my soul and my eternal reward. At least somebody does! That's so kind of you."

Moshe: "You don't understand. It's not you I'm worried about, it's me! If I don't say anything I'm liable to get punished myself!"

Baal: "Wow, now I've lost all respect for you. I thought you were selflessly worrying about my wellbeing. Turns out you're just being a selfish crank! All you care about is yourself?"

Moshe: [Stare]

Baal: [Fuck you, too]

===---===---===

An apartment. Children and adults are walking about mumbling to themselves, and periodically shouting (but not at an invisible presence).

She: "Seen the latest news out of Iran? See how they oppress women? How messed up they are!"

He: "Yeah. I think we should move there. We'd be happy."

She: [Smile] "What makes you say that?"

He: "Well, we live in Iran now. We might as well go all the way."

She: [Huh?] "How?"

He: "Have you tried going out with uncovered hair lately? Uncovered arms? How about with colored stockings? You'd be burnt at the stake, pilloried, and if that's not enough, run out of town! How about if you dress in a way considered too modern? Didn't work out too well for Toby."

She: "That's totally different."

He: "How, exactly?"

She: [Uh, uhmmm. Hmmm...] "I don't go out with that stupid looking chador!"

He: "You're right. You do shave your hair clean off, though. Don't you think those frum chador-wearing women think that is stupid?"

She: "Let's finish this conversation."

He: "Okay." [Damn it!!!]

Sufi Hakafos and Sheine Meidelech

How I spent my Simchat Torah: (Run at double speed to get an almost exact approximation of my hakafot. Can you spot me?)

(Hat-tip: Ben Atlas)

How I'd rather spend it: (Sheine meidelech... swimming in the sea, according to the singer. Can't argue with that logic, can you?)

Yom Kippur Reflections

Beseech, beg, shout. Again and again. Is God deaf? Is he impressed by tears, by gal, by song? How many times does he need to hear how great and wonderful He is, how we are all sinners, slaves, and the very embodiment of Nothing next to His infinite greatness? Is his infinite ego that fragile?

"Forgive us, for we have sinned!" The list in the prayers is long and complicated, and of course repeated often. Sins that I've never even dreamed of, and wouldn't want to be in the same room with those who have. I'm weary. Did anybody commit these?

And of course the promises. Totally sincere. "I'll never do that again!" It's Yom Kippur after all -- a time for repentance. What hypocrisy! Why the mask? We know you'll be back to the same shenanigans as soon as the day is over! Is your God so feeble minded that he's fooled by the same faux sincerity display every single year, like the travelling side-show fooling the foolish with the three-card Monte every year again?

And so, locked away in my humble little hideaway, I reflect: will I live another year under my mask? Will I continue to live but not live, love but hate, be passionate but stay empty, yearn for nothing, laugh heartily -- but more so, bitterly? Can I afford to do that again? Can I afford not to?

Time to go. Musaf is coming up. And I'll have you know that thanks to Larry Craig, I did NOT take a wide stance here. That would be inappropriate; it's Yom Kippur, for God's sake!

Have an easy fast -- even though by the time you read this the fast is
probably over.

Bite Your Tongue

"Hi!" he smiled sweetly, turning to face me with the air of a man who just bumped into a really pretty girl (which, just to be clear, I most definitely am not) at a bar (which, just to be clear, it most definitely wasn't) and has great hopes for the conversation that might ensue. I fix him with a quizzical look -- the look that silently expresses 'do I know you from somewhere? Can't you see I'm busy? Do you know where the nearest bathroom might be, or my ten year old might pee his pants soon? Where did the oldest wander off to? Oops, the little one is kicking the display that says 'Do Not Touch!' again. Why is it so dark in here? There you go, just throw up. I'll get a tissue. Hey, how did the baby get THAT?!?! Yes, I'm enjoying myself -- aren't we all? Why do you ask?'

"Are you from around here?" he continued cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to my thoughts.

"Yes. You?"

"No. From France -- Marseilles."

"Oh." Apparently, there aren't that many Jews in Marseilles, and this typical French tourist decided that now is a good time to talk to the Jew right here in the museum. Great.

"You know, this is really tough," he continues, vaguely motioning in the direction of the huge flat screen modeling the big bang and the formation of our planet over and over and over again in an endless loop, like the movie Groundhog Day writ large. "After all, we KNOW Hakadosh Baruch-Hu created the world out of nothing, less than six thousand years ago. It says so explicitly in the Torah. Right? What are we supposed to think?"

Oops. I do a quick double take, adjusting my mental image from 'typical French tourist' to 'bare-headed, bare-shouldered, Chareidi French Jew' as fast and with as little facial expression as I could muster. What tipped him off that I might help him with his predicament? Was it the long payos? The big black velvet yarmulke? Damn. Now this is really great. He traveled all the way from France to New York so he could discuss theology with........ me! The irony is delicious. Dark thoughts start forming in my head. I'll explain to him the stupidity of what he just said. I'll laugh in his face. Or maybe I should tell him he can be a believing Jew and still believe in the big bang? It's possible -- many pull that off. Or should I tell him I don't believe in his ridiculous God?

"I know," I shrug, "it's tough."

"But........ it's really tough, isn't it?" He sighed a long drawn-out sigh.

Oh man. This is too much. I shrug again, smile the sweetest smile possible under the circumstances, bite my tongue, and hurry off to find a bathroom.

===---===---===

"Look, there are so many goyim in here" I vaguely hear my oldest saying to my second-oldest. I wasn't really listening up to this point, so much as being happy they are entertaining each other instead of arguing or fighting. But now my interest is piqued. "I know what we should do," she continues. "Lets refrain from looking at some of them and then we can pray for whatever we want and our prayers will be answered. My teacher said if you keep holy and stop yourself from looking at a goy, you can pray for whatever you want."

What an excellent education she's getting! And I'm paying for it, even. How proud that makes me! But my second is unconvinced. "Yeah? I'll refrain from looking at the next one and then pray for Moshiach. And when he doesn't come, I'll know it isn't true!" A budding scientist, I think to myself. I wonder how long it'll take until he applies the scientific method to everything she's taught. Oh well. Anyway, I need to say something. I can't let the 'dirty goyim' bromide pass without a comment, lest my own children turn into the very people I cannot stand with a worldview I cannot stomach. But as soon as I open my mouth, my wife shoots me a dirty look. She knows my views on this particular subject and we have agreed to disagree. But of course, I better not confuse the children with my poisonous opinions. I understand that look well. It says 'you better bite your tongue, or I'll do it for you, and not in the good way.' So I do as told, and bite my tongue -- again.

===---===---===

"A food stand!" I exclaim enthusiastically. I need to get something to eat, or at least a drink. Maybe even for the children as well. "Everything has an OU" I add helpfully, with faux enthusiasm. It has an OU-D, but does it really matter? But my poor wife is horror-stricken.

"Not in front of the children!" she hisses. "You know we have to be careful with their chinuch -- their upbringing!" Yeah, I know. Start them off on OU-D and soon they'll think there might be nothing wrong with looking at goyim! Next thing you know, they're dancing with a shiksa while balancing a pig on their heads. I bite my tongue yet again -- really hard this time. It hurts (no, not the tongue), but is still better than the alternative. Or is it?

In the spirit of Tish'a Ba'av

Blue and green and wind, a beginning full of hopes,
A future sight unseen, yet to know the ropes
Shimmering glass, glistening, as far as you could see
Eyes blinded by light, surely that's for me

Oh laugh and run and stumble, wounds are never sore,
See! It is life, forever more

Dreams haunting and fresh, and sweet as apple pie,
Disturbed by angry diamonds, telling you a lie
Worry and distemper, the sharp horizon etched
Shadows stamp and shout, not as far-fetched

Laugh and run and stumble, shaken to the core,
See! It is life, never more

Atop glistening stars - gauzy heaven blown by air,
Beneath - flaming marble, you look and stare
Cry and shout and bellow, in deafening silence beseech
Back - a hellish hollow, forward out of reach

Laugh and run and stumble, remember days of yore?
See! It was life, tossed out the door

Ring of Fire burns, without any fuel at all
Scorched around the edges, when the flames were small
Yellow and red and white, much bigger than he
And so it burns a hole, where the soul used to be

Laugh and run and stumble, don't listen to lore,
See! This is life, and so it will be more

A lonely figure on a ship, on the waves of space,
Chilled by the mist of time, finding no solace
Battered, crushed by Nothing, black irony is thus
Chased a phantom, from a dream, that never even was

Laugh and run and stumble? Not like before,
It was life indeed, but now it is no more