I continue to be fascinated by the degree to which Richard Goldstone has become the litmus test for "anti-semitism." The latest chapter consists of a report in the Israeli daily newspaper Yediot Aharonot "scooping" Goldstone's sentencing of blacks to death sentences as a judge under apartheid. While Israeli officials (and Alan Dershowizt compare goldstone to Mengele and other Nazi Germans, Goldstone states he struggled whether to be a judge under apartheid. The cases involved were not "political" but blacks were more likely to receive death penalties in apartheid South Africa. Significant ANC members including Nelson Mandela have consistently praised Goldstone's for his courageous actions to aid black South Africans during the time he served on as a judge.
This latest outcry neglects to talk about important decisions Goldstone issued to limit the power of apartheid, nor do they mention the Israeli Govt's filling the role as chief supplier of arms to apartheid South Africa.
History with a grudge!
If it weren't serious I would think this was funny....A high school student has begun a facebook protest against a quotefrom Palestinian, Edward Said, used as subject of an SAT uestion on the SAT. Here's the quote: " Exile is strangely compeling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and its native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never by surmounted." Apparently because Said is identified as Palestinian, the quote is connoted to apply only to Palestinians???? How about to Sephardic jews kicked out of Spain?
When will Jews give up the victim competition, and decide to make it in this world on their own merits?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Leave Your Sleep: CD by Natalie Merchant
Here's a paragraph from Natalie Merchant's Introduction to her new 2 CD set Leave Your Sleep:
"This collection of songs represents parts of a long conversation I've had with my daughter during her first six years of her life. It documents our word-of-mouth tradition in the poems, stories, and songs that I found to delight and teach her. I pulled these obscure and eccentric poems off their flat, yellowed pages and brought them to life for her. I willed into being this parade of witches and fearless girls, blind men and elephants, giants and sailors and gypsies, floating churches, dancing bears, circus ponies, a Chinese princess and a janitor's boy, and so many others. I tried to show her that speech could be the most delightful toy in her possession and that her mother tongue is rich with musical rhythms and rhymes. I gave her parables with lessons in human nature and bits of nonsense to challenge the natural order of things and sharpen her wit. these poems speak of so many things: longing and sadness, joy and beauty, hope and disillusionment. Grave or absurd, these are the things that make a childhood, that time when we wake up to the great wonders and small terrors of this beautiful-horrible world of ours."
Buy it! A very unique work of music!
"This collection of songs represents parts of a long conversation I've had with my daughter during her first six years of her life. It documents our word-of-mouth tradition in the poems, stories, and songs that I found to delight and teach her. I pulled these obscure and eccentric poems off their flat, yellowed pages and brought them to life for her. I willed into being this parade of witches and fearless girls, blind men and elephants, giants and sailors and gypsies, floating churches, dancing bears, circus ponies, a Chinese princess and a janitor's boy, and so many others. I tried to show her that speech could be the most delightful toy in her possession and that her mother tongue is rich with musical rhythms and rhymes. I gave her parables with lessons in human nature and bits of nonsense to challenge the natural order of things and sharpen her wit. these poems speak of so many things: longing and sadness, joy and beauty, hope and disillusionment. Grave or absurd, these are the things that make a childhood, that time when we wake up to the great wonders and small terrors of this beautiful-horrible world of ours."
Buy it! A very unique work of music!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Grant, LIncoln, and the Jews
In 1862, General Ulysses S. Grant issued an order expelling all Jews from captured southern territory. Subsequently, Lincoln rescinded the order.
WOW!
WOW!
pics from the past
My first wife Irene Wolt died last May. I recently received some pictures that she had kept. The amusing ones were of me with a huge bushy mustache and very very skinny. Well, those days are way past.
Most of the pictures were of an extended trip we took as we moved together from NYC to Venice, CA. the story actually goes back to how we got married. We were living together and had a pretty stable relationship, but had no marriage plans. We were going to leave the hotbed political scene in NYC and escape to join other NY friends in LA. For the move, we were going to buy an old panel truck and travel along the way. Irene's parents said (basically) "Get married and we'll buy you a truck." In our sort of hippie daze we accepted the bribe with the thought we could look about 4 years into the future and still be together. We did not think about the implications of splitting up on the parents. The parents immediately went into denial on the bribe and got us happily (?) married.
Irene's parents had a hardward store in Livington NJ, and working in the back parking lot of their store I built cabinents, a bed, and a camp kitchen into the new 1970 blue Chevy Suburban when it arrived. Great to work on carpentry with a whole hardward store at your disposal.
So off we went with all our belongings packed below the bed....and took ten weeks in Mexico on the way to California. Irene spoke Spanish and was a great travel planner. Many stories from the trip, but the one that swam up from the pictures was our meeting with Alfredo. He was a young Mexican boy we met at a beach in Western Mexico, mostly frequented by American surfers. I don't know how we met Alfredo, but here was his story. He was clearly a bright kid, but his formal schooling ended abou 12, because for high school he had to live away from home and had no money or relative to live with. His parents' backup plan for his education was to send him to this American hot spot to learn English. It still rankles me that in Mexico an young person should need to learn English to advance, but that was how it was.
We ended up driving Alfredo to his home some hours away. We have one picture of him sitting alone on a rock, and one picture of him and his family standing in front of their (I'll have to call it) grass house. Luckily Irene labeled the picture so I know there was Elizabeth, Oscar, Alfredo, and Sr and Sra Lopez. They invited us to stay with them that night and we slept in a loft space in their one room house. The night of conversation we spent there was beyond magical. I'm not romanticizing third world living. I'm grateful for being able to span our language, cultural, and economic differences and meet heart to heart. (My poor Spanish seemed to grow by leaps and bounds that night...probably due to the level of motivation to communicate.) We sat at the table with the whole family. The had a double door (call it dutch door) with the cow standing outside but looking in. The chickens and pig were allowed inside. I learned how Sr Lopez farmed....I would call it sharecropping. He was a step up in the economic/social structure because he could afford a working mule rather than donkey. We left the next day. I know Irene and I wrote to Alfredo for a while. But now I have no idea, but would love to know what he is up to now. Old pictures....
Most of the pictures were of an extended trip we took as we moved together from NYC to Venice, CA. the story actually goes back to how we got married. We were living together and had a pretty stable relationship, but had no marriage plans. We were going to leave the hotbed political scene in NYC and escape to join other NY friends in LA. For the move, we were going to buy an old panel truck and travel along the way. Irene's parents said (basically) "Get married and we'll buy you a truck." In our sort of hippie daze we accepted the bribe with the thought we could look about 4 years into the future and still be together. We did not think about the implications of splitting up on the parents. The parents immediately went into denial on the bribe and got us happily (?) married.
Irene's parents had a hardward store in Livington NJ, and working in the back parking lot of their store I built cabinents, a bed, and a camp kitchen into the new 1970 blue Chevy Suburban when it arrived. Great to work on carpentry with a whole hardward store at your disposal.
So off we went with all our belongings packed below the bed....and took ten weeks in Mexico on the way to California. Irene spoke Spanish and was a great travel planner. Many stories from the trip, but the one that swam up from the pictures was our meeting with Alfredo. He was a young Mexican boy we met at a beach in Western Mexico, mostly frequented by American surfers. I don't know how we met Alfredo, but here was his story. He was clearly a bright kid, but his formal schooling ended abou 12, because for high school he had to live away from home and had no money or relative to live with. His parents' backup plan for his education was to send him to this American hot spot to learn English. It still rankles me that in Mexico an young person should need to learn English to advance, but that was how it was.
We ended up driving Alfredo to his home some hours away. We have one picture of him sitting alone on a rock, and one picture of him and his family standing in front of their (I'll have to call it) grass house. Luckily Irene labeled the picture so I know there was Elizabeth, Oscar, Alfredo, and Sr and Sra Lopez. They invited us to stay with them that night and we slept in a loft space in their one room house. The night of conversation we spent there was beyond magical. I'm not romanticizing third world living. I'm grateful for being able to span our language, cultural, and economic differences and meet heart to heart. (My poor Spanish seemed to grow by leaps and bounds that night...probably due to the level of motivation to communicate.) We sat at the table with the whole family. The had a double door (call it dutch door) with the cow standing outside but looking in. The chickens and pig were allowed inside. I learned how Sr Lopez farmed....I would call it sharecropping. He was a step up in the economic/social structure because he could afford a working mule rather than donkey. We left the next day. I know Irene and I wrote to Alfredo for a while. But now I have no idea, but would love to know what he is up to now. Old pictures....
Monday, May 10, 2010
Goldstone litmus test
Apparently the rght wing Jewish community is applying a new litmus test for Jews....that is a person, organization, or publications' position on Richard Goldstone and his report on the Israeli attach on Gaza. In early May, Michael Lerner, editor of Tikkun, has his house vandalized with posters attacking his support for Goldstone and his report. OK....so now Lerner is an enemy because he supports Goldstone who is an enemy because his report contains criticisms of Israel. You won't believe the hateful stuff said about Lerner on Tikkun's blog site.
It deeply saddens me how easily our Jewish community finds esoteric litmus tests as ways to angrily divide, rather than focusing on the real ball.....what's actually going on, or not going on too bring peace to the Middle East.
In a related matter I personally do not tolerate being called anti-semitic or self-hating jew because of my dovish positions on Israel. I am an American Jew of the Diaspora, and proud of it.
BTW there's an interesting article on the Goldstone Report in Haaretz:
http://www.haaretz.com/news/goldstone-israel-s-frankenstein-s-monster-1.266995
It deeply saddens me how easily our Jewish community finds esoteric litmus tests as ways to angrily divide, rather than focusing on the real ball.....what's actually going on, or not going on too bring peace to the Middle East.
In a related matter I personally do not tolerate being called anti-semitic or self-hating jew because of my dovish positions on Israel. I am an American Jew of the Diaspora, and proud of it.
BTW there's an interesting article on the Goldstone Report in Haaretz:
http://www.haaretz.com/news/goldstone-israel-s-frankenstein-s-monster-1.266995
Friday, May 7, 2010
Blowout Preventers Identified as Weak Link for More Than a Decade
Today's NYTimes (click my title) describes numerous reports identifying the procedures to contain deep sea oil blowouts as inadequate. Regulatory changes were suggested, but of course BP and the rest of the industry opposed increased regulation. In fact the regulating agency decreased inspection frequency of these devices fro once every 7 days to every 14 days so as not to interfere with productivity.
To make matters worse than even our usual puny regulatory mechanisms, in this case the same agency (Mineral Management Services) collects government royalties on oil wells as well as regulating safety aspects. No conlict there, huh?
The current preventers are:
1. too slow to react
2.Not powerful enough to shear through the improved metals used in newer wells
3. Need another layer of redundancy
So how often do we need to shake our heads after a loss of lives tells us we were not prepared? Big Fork? Katrina? the financial crash.
Our inaction is a true tribute to the effectiveness of the anti-government and anti-regulatory ideology (Yes listen up Tea Partyers) so successfully propagated by our corporate leaders. We need to really spread the word and explain: People Before Profits!
To make matters worse than even our usual puny regulatory mechanisms, in this case the same agency (Mineral Management Services) collects government royalties on oil wells as well as regulating safety aspects. No conlict there, huh?
The current preventers are:
1. too slow to react
2.Not powerful enough to shear through the improved metals used in newer wells
3. Need another layer of redundancy
So how often do we need to shake our heads after a loss of lives tells us we were not prepared? Big Fork? Katrina? the financial crash.
Our inaction is a true tribute to the effectiveness of the anti-government and anti-regulatory ideology (Yes listen up Tea Partyers) so successfully propagated by our corporate leaders. We need to really spread the word and explain: People Before Profits!
B Minor Mass
My friends at Haverford introduced me to older classical music. Also to the choral music of Bach, the Masses and Cantatas. I particularly like Christ Lag in Todesbanden (#4.) One of my room mates, Tony Rosner also introduced me to the joy (even for Jewish guys) of attending a midnight mass Christmas eve at one of the big Catholic or Episcopal churches in NYC. We did it together several years.
One of these Christmas eve nights I was driving the old blue/gray 1948 Plymouth along NJ highways to meet Tony for midnight mass. B Minor Mass was on the radio. It filled the car. The music is so rich. Even the interludes are heavenly. I wouldn't make a deal with the devil for much, but to compose like Bach..... Anyway I was driving along in a cold fog and rain. The roads were pretty lonely. I had this sudden vision of something happening to the car and we turn over. I die in the accident; the wheels of the car continue to spin; out the windows surges the continuing music of the B Minor Mass. It seemed a beautiful way to go....and a powerful vision that still comes to me from time to time. There was no suicidal impulse here, it just seemed like the B Minor Mass was....enough.
One of these Christmas eve nights I was driving the old blue/gray 1948 Plymouth along NJ highways to meet Tony for midnight mass. B Minor Mass was on the radio. It filled the car. The music is so rich. Even the interludes are heavenly. I wouldn't make a deal with the devil for much, but to compose like Bach..... Anyway I was driving along in a cold fog and rain. The roads were pretty lonely. I had this sudden vision of something happening to the car and we turn over. I die in the accident; the wheels of the car continue to spin; out the windows surges the continuing music of the B Minor Mass. It seemed a beautiful way to go....and a powerful vision that still comes to me from time to time. There was no suicidal impulse here, it just seemed like the B Minor Mass was....enough.
Class at Haverford
Well I didn't have to learn much about class at Haveford: Me and my buddies in Newark had occasion to take a nail to the side of any really fancy car like a Cadillac that parked in our neighborhood. We hadn't read Marx, but we understood the underlying theory. We just didn't know what to do about it.
I chose Haverford by way of two routes. The first is I had attended Farm and Wilderness summer camp for two years, a Quaker camp, and really taken to it. Another was that my father drew two circles around our home in Springfield. His suggestion for where to go to college....far enough away I could not come home for dinner, close enough to come home for a weekend. Haverford was the Quaker school within that chosen area. It wasn't quite that simple.
Well the day we arrive at Haverford, my dad drives me down in his 1948 Plymouth (this was 1962 and people didn't drive 14 yr old cars then.) We pull up next to the freshman dorm and up behind us pulls a maroon Rolls Royce. We looked at each other and my stomach went south. I think my dad already knew what to expect.
In 1962, Haverford had a pretty heavy participation from private school preppies. They were not entirely pleasant to rough edged city kids like me. I also sensed a hint of anti-semitism, though there were plenty of Jews at Haverford....just that many of them were from private schools too. Well the preppies apparently had a lot more experience than I did in binge drinking. An early infamous episode at Haverford was when some drunk Haverfordians were hosting a party in a dorm for a visiting chorus from a women's school (I believe it wasMount Holyoke) and distinguished themselves and their prep school upbringing by peeing in public in the punch bowl. Now even a guy from Newark would have know better. Haverford had an honor system code of conduct which would adjudicate such behavior. It was administered by students. The behavior to be avoided was behavior degrading to a a female guest...by design a standard that could change with community standards. I can't remember if the perpetrator was suspended or expelled.
Quesiton: What's the one sure way to identify a preppie?
Answer: If he's wearing penny loafers with no socks.
My senior year I took an advanced sociology class at Bryn Mawr. Remember this was the 60's. Our instructor was a very left sociologist named Martin Oppenheimer. He was an early writer on participatory democracy. I was the only guy in the class. We met way upstairs in a medieval looking hall at Bryn Mawr. There were a lot of southern girls in that class. In general, their poise and self assuredness and perfect dress and manors made me uncomfortable. However I took evil glee in the fact that the politics and positions of Dr. Oppenheimer made them uncomfortable, while I just loved it. OK....a moment of class humiliation. This may be TMI for some, so read on at your own risk:
End of spring semester, we were sitting in the classroom, taking our final exam. It was hot and the windows were wide open. It was very quiet. It was very very quiet. I was sitting there merrily taking my test when my body sent the signals of the desire to let off a bit of gas. Well all my life I had been what I would call "silent but deadly." Never caught in the act. So I figured it was safe to let the flatulence go. It was only a natural phenomenon anyway. Deadly it was, silent it was not. I can still see the turning necks of the proper girls in the class. I read, "Aha, we knew he was a cretin." I shrank, I shriveled, there was no where to escape. They had their payback. I still remember.
I chose Haverford by way of two routes. The first is I had attended Farm and Wilderness summer camp for two years, a Quaker camp, and really taken to it. Another was that my father drew two circles around our home in Springfield. His suggestion for where to go to college....far enough away I could not come home for dinner, close enough to come home for a weekend. Haverford was the Quaker school within that chosen area. It wasn't quite that simple.
Well the day we arrive at Haverford, my dad drives me down in his 1948 Plymouth (this was 1962 and people didn't drive 14 yr old cars then.) We pull up next to the freshman dorm and up behind us pulls a maroon Rolls Royce. We looked at each other and my stomach went south. I think my dad already knew what to expect.
In 1962, Haverford had a pretty heavy participation from private school preppies. They were not entirely pleasant to rough edged city kids like me. I also sensed a hint of anti-semitism, though there were plenty of Jews at Haverford....just that many of them were from private schools too. Well the preppies apparently had a lot more experience than I did in binge drinking. An early infamous episode at Haverford was when some drunk Haverfordians were hosting a party in a dorm for a visiting chorus from a women's school (I believe it wasMount Holyoke) and distinguished themselves and their prep school upbringing by peeing in public in the punch bowl. Now even a guy from Newark would have know better. Haverford had an honor system code of conduct which would adjudicate such behavior. It was administered by students. The behavior to be avoided was behavior degrading to a a female guest...by design a standard that could change with community standards. I can't remember if the perpetrator was suspended or expelled.
Quesiton: What's the one sure way to identify a preppie?
Answer: If he's wearing penny loafers with no socks.
My senior year I took an advanced sociology class at Bryn Mawr. Remember this was the 60's. Our instructor was a very left sociologist named Martin Oppenheimer. He was an early writer on participatory democracy. I was the only guy in the class. We met way upstairs in a medieval looking hall at Bryn Mawr. There were a lot of southern girls in that class. In general, their poise and self assuredness and perfect dress and manors made me uncomfortable. However I took evil glee in the fact that the politics and positions of Dr. Oppenheimer made them uncomfortable, while I just loved it. OK....a moment of class humiliation. This may be TMI for some, so read on at your own risk:
End of spring semester, we were sitting in the classroom, taking our final exam. It was hot and the windows were wide open. It was very quiet. It was very very quiet. I was sitting there merrily taking my test when my body sent the signals of the desire to let off a bit of gas. Well all my life I had been what I would call "silent but deadly." Never caught in the act. So I figured it was safe to let the flatulence go. It was only a natural phenomenon anyway. Deadly it was, silent it was not. I can still see the turning necks of the proper girls in the class. I read, "Aha, we knew he was a cretin." I shrank, I shriveled, there was no where to escape. They had their payback. I still remember.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Penmanship
Penmanship used to be far more important than it is today. It's lucky for me, that it is no longer seen as a sign of your personality and culture. We use the impersonal type of email and can easily send digital images of ourselves and what we're doing (a picture worth a thousand words?)
My penmanship is pretty awful. Always has been. I tend to grab the pencil or pen in a death grip that prevents flow and grace. Conversely, with my piano learned hand and finger coordination, I'm a speedy typist.
My mother was a 6th grade teacher and so appalled as my horrible penmanship developed. My guess is that this was an almost personal affront to her. So I had to spend many sessions correcting my grip, and making the circles and other smooth movements that were to morph into pleasing penmanship. All to no avail. I did the work, but never learned the lessons. Win some, lose some....for both my mom and me.
At the personal level, I'm glad that my fast typing is an asset and that I am am not held back by my poor penmanship. Still, I miss the enforced slowness, style, and expressiveness of good handwriting. I also associate gracious handwriting with gracious communication and maybe even actions. I've seen business letters by my father-in-law that flow in a beautiful style, but also filled with gracious and generous words. That's something this and future generations miss.
My penmanship is pretty awful. Always has been. I tend to grab the pencil or pen in a death grip that prevents flow and grace. Conversely, with my piano learned hand and finger coordination, I'm a speedy typist.
My mother was a 6th grade teacher and so appalled as my horrible penmanship developed. My guess is that this was an almost personal affront to her. So I had to spend many sessions correcting my grip, and making the circles and other smooth movements that were to morph into pleasing penmanship. All to no avail. I did the work, but never learned the lessons. Win some, lose some....for both my mom and me.
At the personal level, I'm glad that my fast typing is an asset and that I am am not held back by my poor penmanship. Still, I miss the enforced slowness, style, and expressiveness of good handwriting. I also associate gracious handwriting with gracious communication and maybe even actions. I've seen business letters by my father-in-law that flow in a beautiful style, but also filled with gracious and generous words. That's something this and future generations miss.
Facebook Worlds
I've been on facebook for perhaps a year. Just recently I've been stepping back and trying to understand the larger view. By the way, I'm not an expert and don't really understand the architecture of the whole thin.
Each facebook person has his/her own world. It's defined by your own posts, and the posts of your friends. Custom facebook. So your home page is a page made up of your posts and the posts of these friends. Now your friends all see their own world which is similarly constructed, their own custom world. Now if you want to see a friend's page (or world) you can link to it, but different security settings control how much you see. So if my son allows me as a friend to see his page, I will see halves of conversations he is having....the half from the other person (2 degrees away from me) but not his half of the conversation. You also see tracks of the person 2 degrees away if they have tagged a person in a picture and that person is a friend of yours.
Anyway without the technical terms, that's how it looks to me. What's fascinating is the construct of these custom worlds, each one different and defined It's feels like sliding universes that touch at a few points, but mostly exist as separate entities. Now imagine if some of your friends are friends, then you and they will see parts of the same posts. Now there's more connection.
As to myself, I find that I have several different sets of friends: my actual friends, my kids and their friends who choose to friend me, an environmental grouping in Morgantown, a worldwide accordion group, my various families, a group I went to high school with, and a sailing/boating group. I get to follow all of them, but they are basically unaware of each other. Then I think about multiplying this experience by the millions on facebook...the creation of all these person centered universes or networks. Pretty amazing when you step back and look at it.
Benny - let me know if I have this wrong!
Each facebook person has his/her own world. It's defined by your own posts, and the posts of your friends. Custom facebook. So your home page is a page made up of your posts and the posts of these friends. Now your friends all see their own world which is similarly constructed, their own custom world. Now if you want to see a friend's page (or world) you can link to it, but different security settings control how much you see. So if my son allows me as a friend to see his page, I will see halves of conversations he is having....the half from the other person (2 degrees away from me) but not his half of the conversation. You also see tracks of the person 2 degrees away if they have tagged a person in a picture and that person is a friend of yours.
Anyway without the technical terms, that's how it looks to me. What's fascinating is the construct of these custom worlds, each one different and defined It's feels like sliding universes that touch at a few points, but mostly exist as separate entities. Now imagine if some of your friends are friends, then you and they will see parts of the same posts. Now there's more connection.
As to myself, I find that I have several different sets of friends: my actual friends, my kids and their friends who choose to friend me, an environmental grouping in Morgantown, a worldwide accordion group, my various families, a group I went to high school with, and a sailing/boating group. I get to follow all of them, but they are basically unaware of each other. Then I think about multiplying this experience by the millions on facebook...the creation of all these person centered universes or networks. Pretty amazing when you step back and look at it.
Benny - let me know if I have this wrong!
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