treppenwitz

We Won’t Be Fooled Again

Let's play a little word association game:

 

Palestinian…. Terrorists

 

Palestinian…. Hijackers

 

Palestinian…. Guerillas

 

See where I'm going with this?

 Those who are trying to erase these old word associations with new ones like 'Israeli… colonizer', 'Israeli … genocide', and 'Israeli… apartheid', are being used as dupes by those who want you to forget that for the past half a century we've all had to wait in line at airports for hours because of the Palestinian penchant for threatening and taking the lives of innocent people in the name of their so-called 'struggle' to wipe out the Jewish state.  

There is a reason the word 'Palestinian' associates so naturally in your head with the words I wrote.  They have the ring of historical truth.  

 The world has funneled more aide money to the poor Palestinians than all of Europe received after WWII under the Marshall Plan (yes, even adjusted for time)!  And yet, the Palestinians remain in abject poverty… except, of course, for the terror leaders who are all billionaires!  

I wonder where they got their money?  I wonder why you continue to fund them and demand no accountability???

It is so plainly obvious that antisemitism is fueling this misguided endless support for a medieval, anti-woman, anti-gay, anti-humanist, anti-western, death cult.  

There is literally nothing you anti-Semites won't ignore or forgive if the perpetrators are killing Jews.  You’ll even sacrifice a thousand years of progress and enlightenment.  

 Wake up!  

You have been duped and used by a genocidal ideology masquerading as a gentle self-determination movement.  You are willfully ignoring the fact that the right to national self-determination is inviolate… except when it comes at the expense of another people's right to exist.  And that  - the destruction of Israel and annihilation of the Jewish people – is explicitly written in the charters of these Palestinian terror organizations you are trying to turn into folk heroes and freedom fighters.

Well, guess what? 

We will never forget this, nor forgive this.  Not again.  Never again!!!

We no longer depend on your tolerance or largess for our existence.  A day of reckoning is coming… and those who choose once again to be on the wrong side of history will not be able to wash the blood from their hands by paying reparations or conducting simpering education programs to assuage their individual and collective guilt.  

You are choosing your murderous bedfellows… but you'll find that once your societies are swallowed up by this seventh century death cult you call 'resistance', you will never again be allowed to sleep.

I suggest you google the term 'Dhimmi'.  But by the time you understand the significance of the word, it will be too late.  

[I wrote the first draft of this back in 2004 to describe the mental process I go through at this time of year.]

One gets to do a fair amount of thinking late at night, alone with the dishes.  To be clear, my wife does her fair share of the dishes.  But for the big jobs - particularly after dinner parties, large Shabbat/holiday meals, etc. - I’m the one left surveying the wreckage and not knowing exactly where to begin.

So it is (for me) with the approach of Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur. 

For me, looking back at the year is like surveying the aftermath of a wild dinner party; one where invitations were extended to far more people than the house could comfortably accommodate… the kind of rollicking soirée that is talked about and savored (and paid for), for months.

But every such a party comes at a cost.

Rosh Hashanah (for me) is roughly analogous to standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room looking aghast at the damage.

What was I thinking?!

Every horizontal surface is stacked high with dirty glasses and dishes. 

Empty bottles of Merlot, Syrah and Chardonnay stand abandoned beside half-empty bottles of bourbon and scotch. 

The sinks overflow with greasy dishes, and the dessert service (dishes, tea cups and saucers), seem evenly distributed between the diningroom table and the various kitchen counters.

Soiled linen napkins sit balled on (and under), chairs.  And glasses of every description seem to wink at me from wherever the wandering conversationalists happen to have abandoned them.

On Rosh Hashanah I stand slumped in that imaginary doorway trying to make the insurmountable seem, well, surmountable; trying to place the soiled contents of my slovenly year into some kind of framework where things can be addressed in an orderly fashion.

Anyone who has ever been left to clean up after a big party understands the daunting nature of the task. At first glance it seems the house will never be clean again, so why bother?!.

But then you pick up that first wine glass (with the half-moon of lipstick on the rim), and place it in such a way as to demonstrate to the long departed guests and sleeping house that this spot on the sideboard is where the crystal will be gathered. 

And so Rosh Hashanah begins (for me)… nothing getting washed just yet; just making the insurmountable seem surmountable.

Several circuits of the house bring more dirty wine, whiskey, and water glasses than I ever knew we owned, to join that first one there on the counter.

Then, after emptying the sinks of their precariously piled contents, I draw a basin of hot soapy water.

As the basin fills, I designate other places for dishes and for cups and for saucers - each to each - all according to size. Warming to the familiar task, while I work I take comfort in the muffled sound of the water under its foamy cloak… almost like a prayer.

And so Rosh Hashanah continues (for me).  Nothing getting washed just yet… just making the insurmountable seem surmountable.

Next the sterling flatware and serving pieces are gathered into a pot full of soapy water, and the linen napkins are bundled with the tablecloth into the hamper in the laundry room.

With the leftovers wrapped and put safely into the refrigerator, and the trash bundled to the bin, the place is starting to look more sane… not one iota cleaner, mind you... but some semblance of order has begun to emerge from the chaos.

Now pots and pans of every shape and size are filled with hot soapy water and placed on the stove and sideboard to soak. Measuring cups and carving knives are placed beside legions of serving platters. Spices are returned to their racks, and canisters of flour and sugar are placed back on their shelves; each gestures creating a bit of space… and again, I am comforted by the suggestion of emerging order.

And so Rosh Hashanah ends (for me)… nothing having been washed just yet… but the insurmountable finally beginning to seem surmountable.

If I've done that much, it seems less daunting to stand in the spiritual doorway between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur… balanced on the threshold between what has happened... and the tantalizing suggestion of more good things that might still lie ahead.

I haven’t yet washed a thing, although some of the bigger problems have been identified and been placed in to soak. The glasses all sit with their fellows and the dishes are stacked according to shape and size. Everything still bears the smudges and smears of too much fun… too much indulgence. But now, as I look around, the task seems somehow more manageable… surmountable. 

As I stand listening to the soft ahhhhhhhhhh of the soap bubbles as they settle in the sink, I am almost ready for Yom Kippur. I have a clearer idea of what has to be washed… and I know (hope) that after the necessary work, I will find myself at the end of the process with sparkling china… lovingly polished sterling… and immaculate crystal.  And the house  - and my life - will be looking - and feeling - ready for a fresh beginning.

May we all be inscribed and sealed for a good year.

Challah Bake International

It’s that time of year again!

https://challahbakeinternational.com/sign-up

Yom Yerushalayim

I'm once again following the time-honored ritual below:

Find a quiet place... turn off the lights... put a box of tissues within easy reach... and press play:

Part 1

 

Part 2

Click here to see an interview that General Uzi Narkis gave less than two weeks before he passed away.

Partial Transcript / translation of videos:

Colonel Motta Gur [on loudspeaker]: All company commanders, we’re sitting right now on the ridge and we’re seeing the Old City. Shortly we’re going to go in to the Old City of Jerusalem, that all generations have dreamed about. We will be the first to enter the Old City. Eitan’s tanks will advance on the left and will enter the Lion’s Gate. The final rendezvous will be on the open square above. [The open square of the Temple Mount.]

[Sound of applause by the soldiers.]

Yossi Ronen: We are now walking on one of the main streets of Jerusalem towards the Old City. The head of the force is about to enter the Old City.

[Gunfire.]

Yossi Ronen: There is still shooting from all directions; we’re advancing towards the entrance of the Old City.

[Sound of gunfire and soldiers’ footsteps.]

[Yelling of commands to soldiers.] [More soldiers’ footsteps.]

The soldiers are keeping a distance of approximately 5 meters between them. It’s still dangerous to walk around here; there is still sniper shooting here and there. [Gunfire.] We’re all told to stop; we’re advancing towards the mountainside; on our left is the Mount of Olives; we’re now in the Old City opposite the Russian church. I’m right now lowering my head; we’re running next to the mountainside. We can see the stone walls. They’re still shooting at us. The Israeli tanks are at the entrance to the Old City, and ahead we go, through the Lion’s Gate. I’m with the first unit to break through into the Old City. There is a Jordanian bus next to me, totally burnt; it is very hot here.

We’re about to enter the Old City itself. We’re standing below the Lion’s Gate, the Gate is about to come crashing down, probably because of the previous shelling. Soldiers are taking cover next to the palm trees; I’m also staying close to one of the trees. We’re getting further and further into the City. [Gunfire.]

Colonel Motta Gur announces on the army wireless: The Temple Mount is in our hands! I repeat, the Temple Mount is in our hands! All forces, stop firing!

This is the David Operations Room. All forces, stop firing! I repeat, all forces, stop firing! Over. Commander eight-nine here, is this Motta (Gur) talking? Over.

[Inaudible response on the army wireless by Motta Gur.]

Uzi Narkiss: Motta, there isn’t anybody like you. You’re next to the Mosque of Omar.

Yossi Ronen: I’m driving fast through the Lion’s Gate all the way inside the Old City.

Command on the army wireless: Search the area, destroy all pockets of resistance but don't touch anything in the houses, especially the holy places.

[Lt.- Col. Uzi Eilam blows the Shofar. Soldiers are singing ‘Jerusalem of Gold’.]

Uzi Narkiss: Tell me, where is the Western Wall? How do we get there?

Yossi Ronen: I’m walking right now down the steps towards the Western Wall. I’m not a religious man, I never have been, but this is the Western Wall and I’m touching the stones of the Western Wall.

Soldiers: [reciting the ‘Shehechianu’ blessing]: Baruch ata Hashem, elokeinu melech haolam, she-hechianu ve-kiemanu ve-hegianu la-zman ha-zeh. [Translation: Blessed art Thou L-rd G-d King of the Universe who has sustained us and kept us and has brought us to this day]

Rabbi Shlomo Goren: Baruch ata Hashem, menachem tsion u-voneh Yerushalayim. [Translation: Blessed are thou, who comforts Zion and builds Jerusalem]

Soldiers: Amen!

[Soldiers sing ‘Hatikva’ next to the Western Wall.]

Rabbi Goren: We’re now going to recite the prayer for the fallen soldiers of this war against all of the enemies of Israel: [Soldiers weeping] El male rahamim, shohen ba-meromim. Hamtse menuha nahona al kanfei hashina, be-maalot kedoshim, giborim ve-tehorim, kezohar harakiya meirim u-mazhirim. Ve-nishmot halalei tsava hagana le-yisrael, she-naflu be-maaraha zot, neged oievei yisrael, ve-shnaflu al kedushat Hashem ha-am ve-ha’arets, ve-shichrur Beit Hamikdash, Har Habayit, Hakotel ha-ma’aravi veyerushalayim ir ha-elokim. Be-gan eden tehe menuhatam. Lahen ba’al ha-rahamim, yastirem beseter knafav le-olamim. Ve-yitsror be-tsror ha-hayim et nishmatam adoshem hu nahlatam, ve-yanuhu be-shalom al mishkavam [soldiers weeping loud]ve-ya’amdu le-goralam le-kets ha-yamim ve-nomar amen! [Translation: Merciful G-d in heaven, may the heroes and the pure, be under thy Divine wings, among the holy and the pure who shine bright as the sky, and the souls of soldiers of the Israeli army who fell in this war against the enemies of Israel, who fell for their loyalty to G-d and the land of Israel, who fell for the liberation of the Temple, the Temple Mount, the Western Wall and Jerusalem the city of the Lord. May their place of rest be in paradise. Merciful One, O keep their souls forever alive under Thy protective wings. The Lord being their heritage, may they rest in peace, for they shalt rest and stand up for their allotted portion at the end of the days, and let us say, Amen.] [Soldiers are weeping.

Rabbi Goren sounds the shofar. Sound of gunfire in the background.] Rabbi Goren: Le-shana HA-ZOT be-Yerushalayim ha-b’nuya, be-yerushalayim ha-atika! [Translation: This year in a rebuilt Jerusalem! In the Jerusalem of old!]

Getting My Geek On

I’ve mentioned in the past that I enjoy using a fountain pen, both at work and for private correspondence.  I don’t have a big collection… just two: an antique black Schaeffer Balance is my every day pen for work and play, and a Namiki Vanishing Point pen is the one I travel with since it is virtually immune to leaking in pressurized airplane cabins.

But several days a week I have a problem:  I sometimes wear shirts that don’t have a breast pocket.

For the Namiki this isn’t a problem since the pen's pocket clip is an integral part of the one piece body (no removable cap), so I can simply slip the pen inside my shirt and clip it to the placket between two of the buttons.  This is especially okay when wearing a tie since the tie hides the bit of the pen that protrudes.

But most fountain pens – like my antique Schaeffer – have the clip attached to the removable pen cap; which means that if I clip the pen to the shirt placket, it could come apart and let the pen fall inside the shirt with the nib exposed.  A recipe for a badly ink-stained shirt.

So I took a small leather case that was originally designed for a knife sharpening stone, and Macgyvered it to be able to attach to one of the buttons and be concealed within the shirt.  I’m pretty pleased with the results.

Alone With The Dishes

[I wrote the first draft of this back in 2004 to describe the mental process I go through at this time of year.]

One gets to do a fair amount of thinking late at night, alone with the dishes.  To be clear, my wife does her fair share of the dishes.  But for the big jobs - particularly after dinner parties, large Shabbat/holiday meals, etc. - I’m the one left surveying the wreckage and not knowing exactly where to begin.

So it is (for me) with the approach of Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur. 

For me, looking back at the year is like surveying the aftermath of a wild dinner party; one where invitations were extended to far more people than the house could comfortably accommodate… the kind of rollicking soirée that is talked about and savored (and paid for), for months.

But every such a party comes at a cost.

Rosh Hashanah (for me) is roughly analogous to standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room looking aghast at the damage.

What was I thinking?!

Every horizontal surface is stacked high with dirty glasses and dishes. 

Empty bottles of Merlot, Syrah and Chardonnay stand abandoned beside half-empty bottles of bourbon and scotch. 

The sinks overflow with greasy dishes, and the dessert service (dishes, tea cups and saucers), seem evenly distributed between the diningroom table and the various kitchen counters.

Soiled linen napkins sit balled on (and under), chairs.  And glasses of every description seem to wink at me from wherever the wandering conversationalists happen to have abandoned them.

On Rosh Hashanah I stand slumped in that imaginary doorway trying to make the insurmountable seem, well, surmountable; trying to place the soiled contents of my slovenly year into some kind of framework where things can be addressed in an orderly fashion.

Anyone who has ever been left to clean up after a big party understands the daunting nature of the task. At first glance it seems the house will never be clean again, so why bother?!.

But then you pick up that first wine glass (with the half-moon of lipstick on the rim), and place it in such a way as to demonstrate to the long departed guests and sleeping house that this spot on the sideboard is where the crystal will be gathered. 

And so Rosh Hashanah begins (for me)… nothing getting washed just yet; just making the insurmountable seem surmountable.

Several circuits of the house bring more dirty wine, whiskey, and water glasses than I ever knew we owned, to join that first one there on the counter.

Then, after emptying the sinks of their precariously piled contents, I draw a basin of hot soapy water.

As the basin fills, I designate other places for dishes and for cups and for saucers - each to each - all according to size. Warming to the familiar task, while I work I take comfort in the muffled sound of the water under its foamy cloak… almost like a prayer.

And so Rosh Hashanah continues (for me).  Nothing getting washed just yet… just making the insurmountable seem surmountable.

Next the sterling flatware and serving pieces are gathered into a pot full of soapy water, and the linen napkins are bundled with the tablecloth into the hamper in the laundry room.

With the leftovers wrapped and put safely into the refrigerator, and the trash bundled to the bin, the place is starting to look more sane… not one iota cleaner, mind you... but some semblance of order has begun to emerge from the chaos.

Now pots and pans of every shape and size are filled with hot soapy water and placed on the stove and sideboard to soak. Measuring cups and carving knives are placed beside legions of serving platters. Spices are returned to their racks, and canisters of flour and sugar are placed back on their shelves; each gestures creating a bit of space… and again, I am comforted by the suggestion of emerging order.

And so Rosh Hashanah ends (for me)… nothing having been washed just yet… but the insurmountable finally beginning to seem surmountable.

If I've done that much, it seems less daunting to stand in the spiritual doorway between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur… balanced on the threshold between what has happened... and the tantalizing suggestion of more good things that might still lie ahead.

I haven’t yet washed a thing, although some of the bigger problems have been identified and been placed in to soak. The glasses all sit with their fellows and the dishes are stacked according to shape and size. Everything still bears the smudges and smears of too much fun… too much indulgence. But now, as I look around, the task seems somehow more manageable… surmountable. 

As I stand listening to the soft ahhhhhhhhhh of the soap bubbles as they settle in the sink, I am almost ready for Yom Kippur. I have a clearer idea of what has to be washed… and I know (hope) that after the necessary work, I will find myself at the end of the process with sparkling china… lovingly polished sterling… and immaculate crystal.  And the house  - and my life - will be looking - and feeling - ready for a fresh beginning.

May we all be inscribed and sealed for a good year.

Mentioned in Dispatches

There is a uniquely British concept that deserves a moment of consideration in the way we conduct ourselves in our day-to-day lives:  Its called ‘Mentioned in Dispatches’ (MiD for short). 

MiD is a military term for when the name of a member of the armed forces appears in an official report written by a superior officer and sent to the high command describing their gallant or meritorious action in the face of the enemy.

In some cases, it is a prerequisite to being considered for an individual medal or award.  But even on decorations that are issued to all service members who served during a given campaign (e.g. the Falklands War or the Afghanistan Campaign), if you were ‘Mentioned in Dispatches’ during that time, you are entitled to wear an oak leaf spray on the ribbon of the award to show that it is a bit more than just a participation trophy.

But more importantly, it underscores the fact that the officers alone aren’t responsible for the outcome.  The soldiers make success possible, and MiD is a public recognition of that fact.

Why am I mentioning this today?

I’ve always been in the habit of giving credit when I perform a job whose outcome is dependent on the contributions of others.  It’s the way I was raised, and it was part of the professional culture instilled in me by the mentors I had in my early working life. 

But on a more basic level, people like being thanked.  They like being recognized publicly for their contributions.  And they are more likely to step up again in the future if they know their contributions are appreciated.  Think I’m wrong?  My mom once announced to a room full of adults that I was the world’s best corn husker when I’d carried an armload of husked ears back inside after doing the tedious job.  From then on, if I saw a pile of fresh corn on the kitchen table, that was my job… because I was the best.  You probably have similar memories from your childhood.

Sadly, giving/sharing credit seems to have mostly fallen out of fashion to the extent that the effect is even more profound when you do it. 

I was recently given a rush assignment at work that was outside the scope of my experience, capabilities and comfort zone, and I was sorely tempted to try to beg off with some turf excuse like ‘that’s not really my job’.  Because, let’s face it, who wants to take on a task that looks like it has ‘failure’ written all over it?

Instead, I bit the bullet, said ‘sure’, and went to a colleague who is more knowledgeable, and told them I was in over my head.  They not only pointed me in the right direction, but they happily gave me something that I was lacking; the benefit of their experience.

Later, when I sent out the email with the completed assignment, I copied all the usual people in my professional universe.  But I also made a point of thanking the person who helped me put it together, and mentioned that I wouldn’t have been able to do it without their timely help.

When I saw the guy who’d helped me out in the cafeteria later that day, he thanked me profusely for mentioning him, but said it wasn’t necessary.  I told him that while it might not have been necessary, I saw it as a collaborative effort and he helped me get the job done.  At that moment I felt a warm, professional bond being formed where before there had only been casual prefessional acknowledgement.

Two lessons:

1. Giving someone the opportunity to teach you something is a grossly neglected gift.  We all enjoy sharing / showing off our knowledge and skills.  Most people just never bother to ask.
2. Giving public credit (the professional equivalent of ‘Mentioned in Dispatches’), costs nothing, pays huge dividends by building up the people around you, and strengthens the sense of teamwork and shared responsibility that make any work environment more cohesive.

So go ahead, give credit where credit is due… mention the people who support you in your daily dispatches.  It doesn’t diminish you that you couldn’t do the job alone.  It builds you up as someone willing to share credit for success.

Yom Yerushalayim

I'm once again following the time-honored ritual below:

Find a quiet place... turn off the lights... put a box of tissues within easy reach... and press play:

Part 1

Part 2

Click here to see an interview that General Uzi Narkis gave less than two weeks before he passed away.

Partial Transcript / translation:

Colonel Motta Gur [on loudspeaker]: All company commanders, we’re sitting right now on the ridge and we’re seeing the Old City. Shortly we’re going to go in to the Old City of Jerusalem, that all generations have dreamed about. We will be the first to enter the Old City. Eitan’s tanks will advance on the left and will enter the Lion’s Gate. The final rendezvous will be on the open square above. [The open square of the Temple Mount.]

[Sound of applause by the soldiers.]

Yossi Ronen: We are now walking on one of the main streets of Jerusalem towards the Old City. The head of the force is about to enter the Old City.

[Gunfire.]

Yossi Ronen: There is still shooting from all directions; we’re advancing towards the entrance of the Old City.

[Sound of gunfire and soldiers’ footsteps.]

[Yelling of commands to soldiers.] [More soldiers’ footsteps.]

The soldiers are keeping a distance of approximately 5 meters between them. It’s still dangerous to walk around here; there is still sniper shooting here and there. [Gunfire.] We’re all told to stop; we’re advancing towards the mountainside; on our left is the Mount of Olives; we’re now in the Old City opposite the Russian church. I’m right now lowering my head; we’re running next to the mountainside. We can see the stone walls. They’re still shooting at us. The Israeli tanks are at the entrance to the Old City, and ahead we go, through the Lion’s Gate. I’m with the first unit to break through into the Old City. There is a Jordanian bus next to me, totally burnt; it is very hot here.

We’re about to enter the Old City itself. We’re standing below the Lion’s Gate, the Gate is about to come crashing down, probably because of the previous shelling. Soldiers are taking cover next to the palm trees; I’m also staying close to one of the trees. We’re getting further and further into the City. [Gunfire.]

Colonel Motta Gur announces on the army wireless: The Temple Mount is in our hands! I repeat, the Temple Mount is in our hands! All forces, stop firing!

This is the David Operations Room. All forces, stop firing! I repeat, all forces, stop firing! Over. Commander eight-nine here, is this Motta (Gur) talking? Over.

[Inaudible response on the army wireless by Motta Gur.]

Uzi Narkiss: Motta, there isn’t anybody like you. You’re next to the Mosque of Omar.

Yossi Ronen: I’m driving fast through the Lion’s Gate all the way inside the Old City.

Command on the army wireless: Search the area, destroy all pockets of resistance but don't touch anything in the houses, especially the holy places.

[Lt.- Col. Uzi Eilam blows the Shofar. Soldiers are singing ‘Jerusalem of Gold’.]

Uzi Narkiss: Tell me, where is the Western Wall? How do we get there?

Yossi Ronen: I’m walking right now down the steps towards the Western Wall. I’m not a religious man, I never have been, but this is the Western Wall and I’m touching the stones of the Western Wall.

Soldiers: [reciting the ‘Shehechianu’ blessing]: Baruch ata Hashem, elokeinu melech haolam, she-hechianu ve-kiemanu ve-hegianu la-zman ha-zeh. [Translation: Blessed art Thou L-rd G-d King of the Universe who has sustained us and kept us and has brought us to this day]

Rabbi Shlomo Goren: Baruch ata Hashem, menachem tsion u-voneh Yerushalayim. [Translation: Blessed are thou, who comforts Zion and builds Jerusalem]

Soldiers: Amen!

[Soldiers sing ‘Hatikva’ next to the Western Wall.]

Rabbi Goren: We’re now going to recite the prayer for the fallen soldiers of this war against all of the enemies of Israel: [Soldiers weeping] El male rahamim, shohen ba-meromim. Hamtse menuha nahona al kanfei hashina, be-maalot kedoshim, giborim ve-tehorim, kezohar harakiya meirim u-mazhirim. Ve-nishmot halalei tsava hagana le-yisrael, she-naflu be-maaraha zot, neged oievei yisrael, ve-shnaflu al kedushat Hashem ha-am ve-ha’arets, ve-shichrur Beit Hamikdash, Har Habayit, Hakotel ha-ma’aravi veyerushalayim ir ha-elokim. Be-gan eden tehe menuhatam. Lahen ba’al ha-rahamim, yastirem beseter knafav le-olamim. Ve-yitsror be-tsror ha-hayim et nishmatam adoshem hu nahlatam, ve-yanuhu be-shalom al mishkavam [soldiers weeping loud]ve-ya’amdu le-goralam le-kets ha-yamim ve-nomar amen! [Translation: Merciful G-d in heaven, may the heroes and the pure, be under thy Divine wings, among the holy and the pure who shine bright as the sky, and the souls of soldiers of the Israeli army who fell in this war against the enemies of Israel, who fell for their loyalty to G-d and the land of Israel, who fell for the liberation of the Temple, the Temple Mount, the Western Wall and Jerusalem the city of the Lord. May their place of rest be in paradise. Merciful One, O keep their souls forever alive under Thy protective wings. The Lord being their heritage, may they rest in peace, for they shalt rest and stand up for their allotted portion at the end of the days, and let us say, Amen.] [Soldiers are weeping.

Rabbi Goren sounds the shofar. Sound of gunfire in the background.] Rabbi Goren: Le-shana HA-ZOT be-Yerushalayim ha-b’nuya, be-yerushalayim ha-atika! [Translation: This year in a rebuilt Jerusalem! In the Jerusalem of old!]

Stumbling Blocks

[This is a difficult topic to write about... and it may cause offense to some]

 

One of the most significant stumbling blocks standing in the path of someone who is toying with the idea of becoming more religiously observant (or an observant Jew who who lacks an observant up-bringing/education), is embarrassment. Or more correctly, the fear of embarrassment.

You see, when viewed from the outside (i.e. from a Ba’al T’shuvah-eye view), religious communities and their intricate customs and institutions look like a huge minefield filled with endless opportunities to humiliate oneself.

On one of my first trips to a synagogue after my decision to becoming more observant, I was offered an ‘honor’ during the service… which I quickly declined. The following joke perfectly sums up why:

A non-observant Jew walked into a synagogue one Shabbat morning and timidly took a seat near the back. His intention was to watch the goings on without drawing attention to himself. But to his chagrine, the Gabbai (the person coordinating the service), noticed him sitting by himself and walked over to say hello.

“Shalom alechem” said the Gabbai by way of a greeting. “Are you a Cohen or a Levi?” Without a hint of irony, the newcomer shook his head and said, “No, I’m a Lebowitz. Dave Lebowitz.”

Instantly understanding that the newcomer was not familiar with the workings of a synagogue, the Gabbai gracefully ignored the small gaff and said, “Nice to meet you Dave. I’m Avi. We’d like to honor you with taking out the Torah in a few minutes.”

Dave looked thunderstruck. His big plan to sit inconspicuously in the back was quickly going down the drain, so he decided that the best strategy was to level with the Gabbai.

“Look”, he said, “I’m not religious and I have no idea what goes on in a synagogue. I appreciate the offer but I’d really rather just sit and watch this time around.”

Seeing a good deed in his sights, the Gabbai pressed on; “Don’t be silly, there’s nothing to it. I’ll explain everything you have to do. In fact, I’ll be right next to you the whole time so you can’t go wrong.”

Still seeing hesitation in Dave’s eyes, the Gabbai decided that a full explanation might be best.

“Here’s what will happen,” he began. “In a few minutes I’ll signal to you and we’ll walk up to the front of the synagogue together. We’ll climb the stairs and go stand by those velvet curtains. I’ll stay up there the whole time and I’ll show you exactly where to stand. When I nod to you, you’ll pull on the draw string that opens the curtains. Then I’ll point to one of the Torahs inside the ark. Whichever one I indicate will be the one you’ll need to pick up and hand to the guy who’s leading the service. Then you’ll go back inside the ark and see a bunch of silver ornaments. You’ll pick up the silver crown I’ll point out to you, put it on, then go back and close the curtains with the drawstring and then, when everyone else is following the Torah up to the reader’s table, you can go back to your seat. Later in the service when it’s time to put the Torah back, I’ll signal to you again and we’ll do the whole thing again, except in reverse order. Now that doesn’t sound so hard does it?”

Dave though about it for a moment and, despite his fear of committing some sort of inadvertent sacrilege, he reluctantly accepted the Gabbai’s offer.

A few minutes later the Gabbai caught Dave’s eye and motioned for him to make his way up to the front of the shul. He walked up on wooden legs and waited for the Gabbai’s next cue.

As promised, the Gabbai joined him next to the Ark and gave him a subtle nudge towards the spot where he’d be better able to reach the curtain’s drawstring. When the time came, the Gabbai nodded to Dave and watched approvingly as the curtains parted at just the right moment.

A few more moments passed while the congregation sang, during which the Gabbai took the opportunity to catch Dave’s eye and point out one of the seven sifrei Torah; a large one dressed in a deep maroon mantle. On cue, Dave walked up to the indicated Torah, lifted it into his arms and made a smooth hand-off to the Ba’al Tefilah who, by then, was waiting next to him.

The Gabbai again caught Dave’s expectant glance and jutted his chin towards an ornate silver crown that was sitting on a velvet cushion inside the curtains.

“I told you there was nothing to it” he whispered to Dave. And with that the Gabbai turned to make sure the other Gabai’im had cleared off the reading table in preparation for receiving the Torah.

Just then he heard the sound of muffled laughter coming from the congregation and turned around just in time to see Dave – who was following his instructions to the letter – trying to put the Torah’s ornate silver crown on his own head.

Now as improbable as the scenario in that joke may sound to someone who has grown up in an observant community, it is perhaps the perfect example of the kind of nightmares that keep countless not-yet-observant Jews from walking into synagogues and taking those first tentative steps towards ritual observance.

I can tell you from personal experience that reading Hebrew and knowing the songs are the least of a newcomer’s worries. Rather, knowing where and how to stand… when to bow… when to turn around… and even something as simple as when to say ‘Amen‘, are the things over which a novice is likely to lose sleep.

Obviously anyone who visits a synagogue more than a few times will have no trouble picking up the basics… and a gentle nudge from an understanding Gabbai or friend will often do wonders to bolster someone’s confidence. But at every stage of a ba’al tshuvah’s journey through life, there seem to be ever-new pitfalls and fresh ways to feel like an idiot.

For example, I clearly recall showing up in shul on a Shabbat morning during one memorable Sukkot with my Lulav and Etrog… only to note with horror that nobody else had brought theirs. On another occasion I came to synagogue on the morning of Tisha B’Av and had almost completed putting on my T’fillin before I noticed that nobody else was wearing theirs. On yet another Tisha B’Av, I unwittingly accepted a Gabbai’s offer of the last aliyah to the Torah during the afternoon service… not realizing that this also required me to chant the Haftarah for the day (a friend graciously helped me through the blessings and then bailed me out by performing the required reading).

On one particularly cringe-worthy occasion, I remember being invited to sit next to the Rabbi on Shabbat morning in a small synagogue in California. I was so intent on not making any mistakes that I accidentally recited the weekday Shmoneh Esreh – complete with chest pounding ‘Slach Lanu…“.

It is now almost four decades since I started down the path towards religious observance… and I still see people  - [mostly] unwittingly placing stumbling blocks before their fellow Jews.  The following story shows that even well-educated Jews who have been observant all their lives can be pushed out and shamed by thoughtless people:

There is a young man in his mid twenties to whom I'm closely related, who grew up in an observant community and had the benefit of an excellent Jewish education.  But he had always marched to the beat of his own drummer, and in his late teens entered a period where he struggled to find a balance between his deep spiritual connection to Judaism, and his lack of enthusiasm for organized ritual and prayer.

In spite of his dislike for synagogue services, he continued to come with me every week for Shabbat services because he liked sitting next to me, and knew it meant the world to me to be able to share that precious time together.  

One week as we walked towards our seats in the synagogue, someone we passed took a look at his jeans, sandals and t-shirt and asked this spiritual young man disdainfully, "That's how you come to shul?"

Without a word, he turned around and walked out of the synagogue... and has not been back since.  Because of the insensitivity of one person, a tenuous thread was severed, leaving a gaping hole in two people's lives.

So, if you've gotten this far, please look carefully at the people around you in your community; the stranger as well as the people you think you know well  There are people who are feeling unsure of themselves, shaky in their ritual knowledge, unsure of their place/value in the community, and perhaps struggling to define their relationship with their creator.

You may think you are a good, observant Jew... a pillar of your community and stalwart supporter of daily communal life.  But I assure you, if anything I've written above seems unlikely, implausible or unrealistic to you, you have almost certainly turned someone away... perhaps forever.  

The hedonistic, secular world out there welcomes people without judgement and without conditions.  It is our obligation to be at least as accepting, and to ensure we place as few stumbling blocks before our precious people as humanly possible.

Listening to Movies

Apple Music has given me the opportunity to set the mood for my hour (each way), commute to suite my mood.  But sometimes I'm just not in the mood for music.  So I listen to movies.

Obviously action movies and such don't work because of the explosion and blaring 'adventure' music.  No, to be a good movie to listen to, it has to meet two basic criteria:

1. I have to have seen it often enough to know exactly what's going on in every scene.
2. It has to have great dialogue (think 'Casablanca')

Perhaps no movie meets these criteria (for me), better than 'When Harry Met Sally'.  Nora Ephron's incredible screenplay and Rob Reiner's masterful directing paint mind pictures that are just as enjoyable with the screen off.

The film takes place exactly during the era when I was dating, and is set in New York City (where I lived when I was single, dated, and ultimately met my wife).  The background music is excellent without being intrusive, and the there are layers of intended and unintended meaning in every second of every scene that reveal themselves with each subsequent viewing (or listening).

This morning, as I drove to work, I was struck by so many random things.  So, I guess one additional criteria is that to be good for listening, a movie has to be able to conjure personal memories and reference cultural touchstones from one's life. 

Here are a few:

The double date (when H & S try to fix each other up but end up inadvertently introducing their best friends to one another):  Dating was a memorable part of my single life back in the day... but there was only one double date (that I can recall, at least).  And the woman who arranged that double date; she was dating a college buddy and she set me up with a close friend (it was sooo not the right fit), is married to someone else, and they are some of our oldest friends all these years later.  I think double dates are hopeless.  They're like regular folks trying to do gymnastics; doomed to failure but ultimately memorable.

The whole 'men and women can't be friends thing: Back in  my 20s I would have agreed with Harry;  Men and women can't be friends because the whole sex thing (or at least the potential for it), gets in the way.  But looking back, I remained good friends with most of the people I went out with AFTER we stopped dating... so the romantic interest was no longer part of the equation.  So I'd like to offer an amendment to the earlier rule:  Single men and women CAN be just friends, so long as they were previously something more.

Even Jewish people get nostalgic for Christmas.  Christmas in New York City is a rich secular tradition, not just a religious event.  I don;t care if you are a religious Jew, Hindu, Buddhist or Muslim... I'm convinced that anyone who lived/worked in Manhattan during a formative time in their life, tears up (at least secretly), when Christmas music or seasonal references pop up in later years.  

I could go on, but I guess the real point is that I highly recommend listing to your favorite movies the next time you have a long solo drive.  Trust me... it offers a new level of appreciation you could have never imagined.

It's Time To Bake!

As in years past, this week, in preparation for Shabbat Nachamu, you can once again sign up to participate in the Challah Bake International.

To sign up, click here.

Happy Baking!

The Ultimate Downer of a Wedding Speech

A few years ago I was asked to speak at a wedding-weekend dinner hosted by the groom's family.

In my life, I'd suffered (and slept), through countless rose-colored wedding speeches that if used in an advertisement, would be defined as 'bait-and-switch'.  We married folks have a bad habit of gilding the lily, and IMHO, we do our single friends and children a disservice with our deceptions.

The reason it came to mind now is that the groom (who is still married and now has a beautiful son), reached out to me asking for a copy of the speech.  It turns out his younger brother is getting married soon, and he wants to give his little bro a copy.  He said it was the best advice he received regarding married life.

You can decide for yourselves if I did right or wrong:

 

Most people in my position, if asked to share a few words over a wedding weekend Shabbat meal, would probably offer the kind of speech that is long on blessings for a long, happy life of married bliss… and short on specifics on how to achieve that, or what to do when the real world intervenes and things don’t turn out exactly the way you envisioned them.

I think we can all agree that I’m not like ‘most people’.

So, when I sat down to write these remarks, I had a choice of going in one of two directions.  Happy and fluffy… or honest and a little dark.   I decided on the practical, honest one… even if it may not be as up-beat as one would expect at an aufruf.

To start with, who am I to offer any advice.?  After all, I’m not the groom's father and I’m too old to really be called a friend.  So what right do I have to offer advice?

There’s a term in English for someone who offers frank, harsh, or severe advice in order to educate, encourage, or admonish someone.  Such a person is called a ‘Dutch Uncle’.

I’ve never been able to pin down exactly what my relationship to the groom is.  But I’ve known him since he was born, and he lived in my home for nearly 4 years while he served in the IDF, so I think that ‘Dutch Uncle’ probably best describes not only my relationship to him… but also my responsibility to him. 

[looking at the groom] I can never approach the closeness of your relationship with your parents and family.  And I’m a whole generation removed from being one of your buddies.  So yeah… ‘Dutch Uncle’ feels about right.  I feel like that title gives me the right, and even the responsibility, to tell you some of the important truths I’ve learned over the past 25+ years of marriage. These truths may sound strange to you today.  But some day, if you are doing things right, they’ll start to make sense.

The one thing that seems to cause the most trouble for newly married couples can be summed up in one word:

‘Change’.   

The best illustration of this is an old joke about the difference between men and women that goes like this:

“Men Marry Women with the Hope They Will Never Change. Women Marry Men with the Hope They Will Change.  Both end up disappointed.”

As with most jokes, at its core is a tiny kernel of truth… or at least a half-truth.

The full truth is that both men and women change throughout their lives, and neither really expects it.  And while I don’t have any scientific studies to support me on this, it seems to me that many of the marriages that don’t last contain at least one person who wasn’t able to accept or adapt to changes in their partner or themselves.

I recently read a compelling article in the New York Times by a middle-aged married person like myself, named Ada Calhoun.  It was entitled “To Stay Married, Embrace Change” (for those who are interested in a good read, it was in the ‘Style’ section on April 21^st 2017)

The article starts out with the following statement that caught my attention right away:

“A couple of years ago, it seemed as if everyone I knew was on the verge of divorce”.

That statement really resonated with me for the simple reason that Zahava and I have said the exact same thing to each other more than once over the years.

The author goes on to quote some of her friends whose marriages were in deep trouble:

“He’s not the man I married,” one friend told me.

“She didn’t change, and I did,” said another.

And then there was the no-fault version: “We grew apart.”

The common denominator that shook the foundations of each of these marriages was ‘change’.  Or more correctly, the inability or unwillingness of one or both partners in the marriage to accept or adapt to change.

But if you look at all of the married people you know in your life, not one of them is the same person they were when they stood under the chuppah.  That means that, not only did they change… but they both adapted to and accepted the changes.

If you’ll indulge me one more quote from the article, I think it reinforces this point:

“Sometimes people feel betrayed by…change. They fell in love with one person, and when that person doesn’t seem familiar anymore, they decide he or she violated the marriage contract. I have begun to wonder if perhaps the problem isn’t change itself but our susceptibility to what has been called the “end of history” illusion:  “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished…”

The reason I’ve shared all this with you (and your soon-to-be wife if you decide to show it to her), is that if you don’t remember anything else I say to you for the rest of your life… please remember this one thing:  that as long as you are alive, neither of you are finished, or fully formed.  You are both works in progress and you are both going to continuously change; mentally, physically and emotionally.

Another thing that bears mentioning is that it may be ambitious, and even noble, to try to model your marriage after some of the happier marriages you see around you.  But the truth is you can never know everything that goes on behind the closed doors of those you know and admire.

We put on our best faces for the rest of the world.  But nobody outside your immediate family really knows what your life is truly like.

I’m not telling you all this to scare you.  I just don’t want you to be too hard on yourselves if your married life doesn’t seem to measure up to the marriages of others.

I don’t want you to go into this thing thinking your parents or my wife and and I... or any married couple you may know, have some magical gift or secret recipe for our marriages' longevity.  We don’t. It takes constant work.  Hard work!  And the easier someone’s married life looks, the harder they are probably working at it.

Don’t get me wrong… marriage is great; perhaps the greatest thing of all!  But what makes it great isn’t that it is always good, or always easy or even always happy.  On any given day of being married it can also be hard, challenging or even frightening.

And one of the most frightening things that you will discover is that you are going to fight; …at first, a lot.  And I promise you that your fights are all going to be about one of the following three things: 

~ Money, Family or Sex ~ 

Seriously, if you are married 90 years, nearly every argument you’ll have will be connected - at least tangentially - to at least one of those things.

And like I said, arguing can be scary, for the simple reason that we all tend to think that by fighting, it means our marriage is failing.  After all, nobody else we know who is happily married seems to be fighting!  Guess what?  They are.  

It took me a long time to figure out that our arguments were simply an indication that something or someone in the relationship had changed… and that it caught one or both of us by surprise. 

As humans, we’re hard-wired to notice change… and to be alarmed by it.  From a survival and evolutionary standpoint, change has always been the doorway to the unknown, and the unknown is scary… and often dangerous. So it’s no wonder that change often triggers our primal fight or flight reflex!

Just remember what I said at the start of this upbeat little pep-talk:  Everyone, and everything changes over time, even though nobody expects it.  We’re never finished changing, and as much as we may try to be perfect and find perfection in others.  Perfection doesn’t exist… at least outside of Hashem.

To quote Robin Williams from the film, ‘Good Will Hunting’:

“You're not perfect, sport, and let me save you the suspense: this girl…, she's not perfect either. But the question is whether or not you're perfect for each other.”

And I’ll take that movie quote one step further by telling you that this myth of ‘bashert’ - some perfect soul mate that you are destined to marry and spend your life with - is just that; a myth. 

I’m not saying that you and your bride aren’t soul mates.  Right this minute, you may be.  But tomorrow… and the day after that, you’ll both be a little different.  And you will have to work to recognize the soul mate in each other… just as you’ll continuously have to work to be that soul mate for each other.  And while I can tell you from experience that it is totally worth the effort…it’s also really, really hard. 

And what makes it even harder is that some people are really good at making it look easy.  But don’t be fooled by appearances.  I don’t care who you are; being a grown up is hard.  Being someone’s life partner is hard.  Being a good husband or a wife is really, really hard.

Remember what I told you about never knowing what is going on behind other people’s closed doors.  What you are seeing outside your house is what people want you to see.  You are watching everyone else’s highlight film, while late at night your own blooper reel seems to be playing in an endless loop in your head. 

Keep that in mind any time you are tempted to feel like you, your spouse or your marriage isn’t measuring up.  Chances are you’re doing just fine.  You are just making unfair comparisons.

You may not be aware of this, since you’ve been busy getting ready for your wedding, but May 21^st 2017 is a fairly significant date.  While you two are standing under the Chuppah on Sunday, something momentous, and a little bit sad, will be taking place not too far away.

After more than 100 years, on May 21^st 2017 The Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus will be giving their last performance before folding up the big top for the very last time.  It would be a shame not to find some deeper meaning in the timing.  All that excitement. .. all that magic… all those illusions… coming to an end, at the very moment in time that you two are starting out your new lives together.

What I would suggest you take from this is what I’ve been saying all along:  That what you see outside your new home together isn’t real; at least not completely real.  From where you are sitting, there is magic at work… and illusions… and excitement.  That’s what you’re meant to see.  It’s what you two will also show the world.

Don’t get me wrong; some of it will actually be real.  If you work at it, and conscientiously practice at it, maybe even a lot of it will be real.   But the love, happiness, satisfaction and respect you’ll have later on in your marriage will be completely different from the feverish, confused versions of those feelings you experienced when you first met and started dating.  And I promise you that it can be so much better.

A hint of this washed up in my email inbox a few weeks ago when a friend sent me a screen grab of a tweet someone had written about an event they had witnessed:

“My parents are wine drunk watching jeopardy and my dad just looked at my mom and said "you're my best friend" and that's all I want in life.”

That may not sound like much to you now, but as you travel down the bumpy, lonely, challenging road of life together, sharing that kind of intimate, trusting lifetime bond with another human being will make you feel like you’ve won the lottery.  It will feel like sitting in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night.

Since you are a musician, and the son of a musician, I feel like I should end on a musical note, so I I’d like to close with the wisdom found in the well-loved standard ‘Paper Moon’ as it eloquently explains how everything outside the two of you isn’t really real, and you shouldn’t build your expectations for yourselves based on the illusions created by others;

“Say, it’s only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me
Yes, it's only a canvas sky
Hanging over a muslin tree
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me
Without your love
It's a honky-tonk parade
Without your love
It's a melody played in a penny arcade
It's a Barnum and Bailey world
Just as phony as it can be
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me”

 

[Postscript: At the wedding a couple of days later, I was called up as a witness as 'the Dutch uncle' of the groom.]

So, about that whole kidney donation thing... (Part 4)

[Read Part 1,  Part 2 and Part 3 first for context]

Now that I've shared a little bit about how I got the idea to donate a kidney, and the hoops I had to jump through to get to the point of being allowed to donate, I guess it's time to look outwards and talk a little about the reason for the entire exercise: the person who will (hopefully), wind up walking around with one of your healthy kidneys.

I'd like you to re-read the previous sentence. 

If the word 'hopefully' seems a bit out of place, I assure you it is not.  In fact, it's arguably the most important word in that sentence.  You see, there are several reasons why the person you want to get your kidney might not end up walking around with it:  The two most common reasons are blood/tissue incompatibility and unsuccessful transplant.

Mismatch:  Part of the medical screening process is a blood test to check the donor and recipient comparability.  It's actually a series of blood tests; the first being to check basic blood type compatibility, and subsequent ones (closer to the surgery) to check - and ensure - specific match between your blood and tissue and that of the intended recipient. There's an excellent discussion of the basics of blood and tissue matching for kidney donation here. 

If you want to donate to a relative or friend but aren't a suitable match, you can opt for what's called a Paired Donation; basically you end up donating to a stranger, while a better matched stranger donates to your intended recipient.  More about that here.  

Unsuccessful Transplant: When you make a charitable donation to an in individual or organization, you hope that your money will be used well by the intended recipient(s).  But there's no guarantee.  The organization may misuse or redirect the money, or the individual may squander the money meant to provide food or shelter, on drugs and alcohol.  

If you're considering donating a kidney, you need to make peace with the idea that the transplant may not 'take'.  Here are just a few scenarios: 

• The surgeon may botch the procedure (not likely... but he/she is human). 
• The recipient's body may attack the transplanted organ (despite blood and tissue compatibility). 
• The organ itself may not function properly after transplantation. 
• The recipient may neglect his/her anti-rejection meds, causing the organ to be damaged by the body it was intended to save.

The point is, kidney transplantation - while extremely safe, reliable and overwhelmingly successful - is not a sure thing.   

Think about this for a second:  We tell ourselves that we give our hard-earned charitable donations freely, and with no strings attached, and trust that they will be used as we intend.  But a dirty little secret that we rarely talk about is that we are secretly troubled by the possibility that our monetary gifts might be diverted, misused, or squandered. 

How much more so when giving away something you only have one of?!

I encountered an additional hurdle due to my imperfect Hebrew comprehension.

I didn't have a specific recipient in mind.  Maybe I was naive, but I honestly assumed that I had no say in who received my kidney if I didn't have a specific recipient in mind.  I've been walking around with an organ donor card in my wallet for most of my adult life, and figured that whoever was at the top of the list of people waiting for a transplant was the person who would get my organ when I was rolled into the operating room.

So, you can imagine it came as a bit of a shock when I was in the midst of my full day of medical and psychological screening and the social worker who was interviewing me started out her interview with, "It says here you don't have a specific recipient in mind.  So, tell me the criteria for who will get your kidney?"

I just sat there and stared at her across the table.  It was as though she'd been speaking Chinese.  She'd actually been speaking Hebrew, so there was a real possibility I'd misunderstood her.  I played it back in my head a few times to make sure I understood the individual words... but the sentence still made no sense. 

When I asked her to elaborate, she explained that some people gave general instructions, such as 'The recipient must be Jewish'.  Or 'the recipient must be religious'. 

When I just sat there staring at her, she went on; "Others get very specific", and tossed off a hypothetical,  'I want my recipient to be between the ages of 25 - 35, have blonde hair, blue eyes and be a non-smoker'.

She then restated her question: "Tell me the criteria for who will get your kidney?", and began tapping her pen impatiently on the notepad in front of her.

I was stunned.  I felt like I'd shown up unprepared for an important exam.  Clearly this was something a serious potential kidney donor was supposed to know... and I had no answer. 

Add to that the fact that she'd used the Hebrew grammatical imperative (a command rather than a request), so it seemed that I was required to provide an answer.  

I hedged.  I asked if I could think about my answer and follow up with her.  She scribbled furiously for a few minutes, nodded, and then moved on to the next question in the interview.  But I couldn't help feeling I'd flunked the test right there and then.

I went home and had a really troubled week.  Keep in mind,I hadn't told anyone but my wife I was considering kidney donation, at this point.  And I really didn't want to admit to her that I hadn't given any thought to a critical aspect of the process.

Night after night I lay awake troubled by the weight of the decision.  I couldn't escape the fact that no matter how I phrased my criteria, I was playing God.  The moment I gave any indication of who could receive my kidney, I was also giving clear instructions that others could not receive it.  

I was horrified by the responsibility of having the power of life and death over another human being.

When I went back to the hospital the following week to do a medical test that I hadn't had time for the previous week, and to drop off some follow-up paperwork from my family doctor, I asked to speak with the social worker again. 

When we were seated in her office, I blurted out that I wasn't sure I could go through with it.  I must have looked a wreck after a week of insomnia and a good cry on the drive to the hospital, but she pretended not to notice and simply sat with her pen poised over the legal pad, ready to write.

I told here that if I was required to provide criteria for who would receive my kidney that I couldn't go through with it.  I said that I really, really wanted to donate a kidney, but not if it meant sentencing anyone outside my donation criteria to a slow death on dialysis.  When I finished, I started to gather my things to leave.

I must have looked ridiculous with my red eyes and dramatic pronouncement.  But it was like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest.  For the first time in a week I felt like I could draw a proper breath.  I was disappointed to not be able to go forward with the donation, but I really didn't want to be the one to decide who lives and who dies.

Her reaction was a bit unexpected:  She started to laugh.

For the record, it's hard to feel a sense of closure when the social worker isn't taking you seriously after you've one of the most difficult divisions of your adult life.

She explained that I wasn't required to provide criteria... it was just a standard question since many potential donors preferred to have some control over where their organ went.  But many people opted not to provide any criteria; in fact some preferred not to know who was getting the organ!

She gently explained that I wasn't obligated to provide any guidance on who the recipient would be. She went on, that many people don't want to know who the recipient is until after the surgery is a success.  And others didn't want to know even then.

Hebrew is a simple language in many ways, but to a non-native speaker, it can be tricky sometimes.  Note to self:  The use of the imperative does not preclude options.

So, I told her to write down that I preferred not to have any say over who got my kidney (assuming I would pass all the medical and psychological testing, and be approved as a donor).  The transplant team, I felt, would be in a much better position to weigh the two most important factors I could think of: who would be the best match for my kidney... and who needed it most.

I slept like a baby that night.

Stay tuned for the next installment which will provide a short overview of the transplant surgery and the recovery period... and meeting my recipient. 

As always, if you want to be informed of new posts here, follow me on twitter @treppenwitz

 

 

A Cautionary Tale In Three Pictures

Quod Erat Demonstrandum

Photo Friday

Okay, boys and girls (not that I'm suggesting gender is a fixed binary structure...), it's that time again.

Just click on the thumbnail to view the full size image:

Meme Dump

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As always, if you'd like to be notified when new posts are up, please follow me on twitter @treppenwitz