Category: JEWISH

Duck’s Yizkor Lights

WE always light candles on Yizkor. Depends on how many people we want to remember and how much light we can handle. It’s a Jewish custom to remember the dead. A cemetery visit would not hurt, but its geographical range is limited.

We also make a donation. By being better people, we elevate the memories of the dead, most of whom should not have died in vain.

Here, we honor and remember Sharon’s mother and father and mine. The middle candle is for all the people whom no one remembers, including all the people killed in Israel this year, all the people of Palestine killed this year and all the people killed in the Ukraine.

May there be peace.

Chanukah Latke Adventure

My Potato Head, Frenchy, Monsieur Pommes Frites, Pomme de Terre Tête controls Hanukah at Duckpond. He supervises the LATKES from start to finish. Then …

So, when I opened the bag of potatoes and he saw potato blight, he went nuts. These potatoes could not be grated. They were soft and mushy. He went nutsy cuckoo.


Off to Publix. With many watching, he wandered into the potato bin and made his selections. He felt them and talked with a few. I had the charge card.

Signed, sealed and delivered. I paid. I carried him. I carried the precious cargo: the potatoes.

What a happy camper. He was ready. Add a menorah, a dreidel, and some chanukah gelt and we were ready. Then he did a “ready for my closeup, Mr. Demille.”

Happy Chanukah.

 

Burlington VT Knows Hate

Ohavi Zedek Synagogue in Burlington VT was the site of an anti-semetic attack in 2009. First they went to Temple Sinai. Then they went to the Chabad. Everyone knew about it and few came, not Peter Welch, not Bernie Sanders, and not Pat Leahey. Miro Weinberger, the Mayor, a Jew, also passed. I went and cried, too upset to even make a lot of photos. And I can still hear the kid yelling hateful slogans he didn’t know the meaning of and had been taught to say.

My friend Stan Greenberg, who is blind, said he came to “Bear Witness” and to protect the shul against evil thoughts. He brought his dog, Ernie. “They’ll come through me,” he said. “I’m not moving.”

Clowns who follow the haters made fun, showing the absurdity. But as good intentions as they had, the stench of the haters and the sound of their chants could be smelled and heard. Nothing could make it go away.

Rabbi Joshua closed the Thrift Shop. He went back to his study. No mitzvahs today.

We try to live in peace, but we have little to do with what others do. We try to do our best to be kind and giving, to be thoughtful and loving. But sometimes it don’t work. Killing those who would kill you first may be morally correct, but killing those who haven’t had a chance to live and don’t know why they are dying and cannot do anything about it, never is.

 

 

 

No Thanksgiving

Not that Thanksgiving was ever one of my favorite holidays, but today’s Thanksgiving hurts more than any and means less. The deaths in Israel and Gaza of innocent people, old and young alike, leaves me bereft. I grieve mightily for the losses on both sides and the absence of dignity and purpose in the entire affair.

My heart breaks for the living, as well as the dead, parents, siblings, friends, associates. I cannot imagine what it feels like to have lost someone or not to know if someone was lost. The sorrow and sadness keeps me awake at night, despite feeling personally safe and despite not personally knowing anyone who died. I see the destruction in my dreams and hear the cries. I can smell the fetid air and taste the pollution on my tongue. No one feels safe and everyone knows it.

I know the pain of isolation and aloneness, the despair of not having family or friends, of being hated. I never learned to hate, though I did learn to be hated. I learned love through my wife. No god ever shined countenance on me or gave me peace and no hater ever said they were sorry or tried to renew a friendship or family relationship. My life was destroyed, but I got to leave with my head up, some trinkets and a spouse. Where do they go and with whom.

Stripped of my career, legacy and heritage, I was left only with my self-esteem and a loving, caring wife. At least I had that. What will they have: more fear of annihalition, complete destruction, obliteration. Who will care for them in sickness and in health? Who will they trust to protect them?

No one will come to our table to share a harvest feast. We don’t eat turkey or tell the story of the Native American Wampanoag people. There will be no arguments about who made the best stuffing or gravy and no collapses on the couch to watch football games. Just some Osso Bucco and a glass or two of red “whine”.

I can only hope that tomorrow some hostages on both sides are released.