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Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Finally a Cycling Post

After two days of honestly being too tired to write and going to bed at 9:00, I felt required to at least send a quick message.
The cycling is fabulous.  The red and yellow wildflowers are in bloom, the sky is blue, the single track cycling is totally awesome and forest and the dirt roads adventures are more than exciting because hard winter rains in the Negev have washed out many a road (see picture).  Fantastic.
Of course, the butt hurts, the mud is caked on, the sun has done it's burning and I have nothing about which to complain. 
This afternoon, I have the opportunity to write because we exchanged an end of the day (and unnecessary) extra circle ride for a visit to a boutique brewery.   The old Israel had two beers, Maccabi and Goldstar.  Both loved only by those who loved Israel more than taste.  The new reality of Israel is an economy populated by small entrepreneurs.  This brewery in which I sit is a good omen for an expansive and quenched future.
A little riding and a little culture.

Friday, February 26, 2016

LGBTQ in Israel

Yesterday was a weird mix of gender identity politics and Zionism.  The universal and the particular.

I joined a group for an all day study with leaders and members of the LGBTQ community in Israel, hearing of its successes and challenges.  We began in Jerusalem with a group involved at the Jerusalem Open House, a center, a refuge, for the LGBTQ and the organizers of the Jerusalem Pride March.

Israel is a complex environment.  Progress has been made surrounding issues of LGBTQ rights, as Israel is part of the Western world where the understanding that people regardless of gender or sexual identity are people, just people endowed by their creator . . .  But Israel can also be a hostile place for the LGBTQ community.  Last year at the Jerusalem Pride March six participants were stabbed, one fatally.  And despite government's claims to being the one gay friendly place in the Middle East, it is far from a safe place.

And that brings me to the issue of pink-washing, the exaggerated use of benefits gained by the LGBTQ community in Israel to mask the real dangers the community still faces in Israeli society and law and to present Israel as a gay friendly place.

Indeed the rest of the day was shared with some very seriously brave and out people, including three transitioning individuals and four lesbian rabbis.  As the pink-washing claims, an open meeting with these two panels, held first in a Tel Aviv LGBTQ center and then outside! in the adjoining park, would be more than impossible in nations that surround Israel.

Yet, the stories we heard were not ones of safety and security.  Rather they were of small progress and larger apprehension.

And something else.  It seems to me, a straight ally of a limitedly raised consciousness, that the LGBTQI struggle for liberation in the United States is a transnational, universal liberation movement at its core.  People everywhere just got to be free.  But in Israel there is a national dynamic, a Zionist dynamic overlay.  Creating equality will build the nation.  State building is the essence of Israeli self understanding.  The people we met want a better Israel not only for themselves and not only for a better world but also because they want a better Jewish State.  The Zionist dream still lives.

Monday, February 22, 2016

Why I love the French and Struggle with Israelis

Why I Love the French and Struggle with Israelis

I am on my way to the Reform Rabbis Convention in Israel (and a subsequent bike ride).  My itinerary passed through Charles  De Gaulle airport in Paris.  I discovered what I already knew, that the food, even in the airport, would be superior and that with the invocation of the words, “thank you,” all could be made right in the world.
I also flew Air France so the experience started fresh out of Detroit.  It was still airplane food, Yet the unflavored yogurt for breakfast was superior.  And when I asked for a whisky for my nap cap coffee before going to sleep, the flight attendant suggested a brandy, because she had a good one.

Or maybe it was the airport shopkeeper who responded to my distress when I discovered I needed a ‘nano to micro sim card converter,’ which he did not have.  He called the store’s other airport outlet and found me the device.  And perhaps it was because I greeted him as a person, before asking if he had the converter.
Kindness and politeness and good food, and I did not even mention the terrific carmel euclair topped with a thin slab of chocolate in the 'take and go' kiosk!

Then I get on the plane for Tel Aviv.  The guy next to me sprawls out over both of his seat mates (me included) and goes to sleep.  And the guy across the way from me took the stuff he did not want, the pillow, blanket, and the magazines from the storage pouch and put them under his seat, that being the under seat storage area of someone else, while stretching out into his own under seat area.  When discovered  (yes I did give him up) he explained that he was tall and need the extra room.  I could only think from both these encounters that if you can get away with taking what is not yours, it's ok.  Bad policy in my mind.

And don't get me started on the large number of people who spent the flight visiting with friends basically unconcerned with anyone else who might be just sitting quietly.  I touched, or more accurately was touched by, more people on this flight than in a crowded New York subway car.

And yet I struggle with the truth that the Israelis are my people and despite my family history in Alsace, the French are not my people.   My future and our future for generations are tied to the Israel.   This is perhaps the great struggle in Jewish life today.   Half the world’s Jews live in Israel.   The next biggest chunk live in America.  We are one people, yet we experience  the world very differently.  

And then about half way through the flight, I begin to notice the a change.  The push and shove mutates into warmth as strangers begin to converse.  The cabin now resembles a summer camp dinning room with story telling.  There has been a switch in seats and the Orthodox person across the aisle is teaching about Little Purim, which is today.  He is having a beer, explaining that in leap years there is an extra Purim just for fun.  My sleepy seat mate is up and we are talking about Israeli culture.  Before was not rude as much as settling in.  Now set, the party begins all the way to Tel Aviv.

Friday, October 3, 2014

Our Jewish Homes: Genesis

Kol Nidre Sermon

On Rosh HaShanah, I spoke about the possibilities ahead of us at Temple Beth Emeth, after successfully navigating the narrow passage created by the great recession. We created a smooth transition wishing well to two key staff members and at the same time graciously welcoming two new contributors. We are taking on the challenge of the new dynamics of synagogue engagement with younger Jews. And we are continually committed to programs, activities and services that are ever fresh and deeply rooted.

Yet, in all that I said last week, I made no reference to Genesis, our cooperative engagement with Saint Clare of Assisi Episcopal Church. That happened, in part, because Genesis needs no inclusion. Genesis is who we are. For 40 years we have lived in Genesis and been sustained by its vision of interfaith cooperation. And if you are sitting here, saying to yourself (or your neighbor), “What’s Genesis?,” I would reply that its invisibility is a strength. Together, with Saint Clare’s, we have built a home that successfully houses both of us. And moreover, provides a platform for interfaith activities like the Back Door Food Pantry. And moreover, provides opportunities like the erev Thanksgiving service that brings our members into honest conversation with St Clarians. And yet moreover, moreover, Genesis is one of the very few places in the world where Jews and Christians can casually live out their separate faiths in close proximity. The real beauty of Genesis is transforming the “other” into the friend, the stranger into the fellow seeker. Not by mixing but by deepest regard and mutual respect.

When I came to Beth Emeth, Genesis was still young and fragile. Part of my vetting for this position involved making what felt like loyalty statements to our partnership. I was grilled on the issue. Anything that I might say that seemed to some folks to miss the mark of absolute loyalty was sharply brought into question. Understandable. Genesis, when founded, was hotly debated in both the church and the synagogue. Doug Evett, the founding minister, told me that some of his members quit the church when Genesis was created. They did not want to be that intimate with Jews. But before you get too riled up, many Jews told us that they would never join a synagogue so tied to Christians. Both our organizations needed members, and we had taken this bold cooperative step that would actually limit our reach. A worthy sacrifice. Genesis is where we do our totally Jewish thing while others do their Christian thing in each other’s company. Pretty terrific.

But all is not as it might be. Life is never stagnant. And today Genesis is troubled. If this is news to you it is because our leadership has done everything possible to meet the challenges with the least amount of noise. Nothing has been secret but nothing has been alarmist. But there are issues. And you, all of you, need to hear of them. The church has chosen to request the Interfaith Resolutions committee to meet. This committee is the place to bring unresolvable problems from the congregations when all else fails. If this were congress, we would call it the nuclear option. In 40 years this committee has never met. We use to laugh about this at Genesis Annual meetings. Now it’s not funny. Saint Clares has also asked us to put on the back burner the planning process for a hoped for 40th anniversary celebration. There are issues.

I believe that the path to our present began several years ago when the minister or Rector of Saint Clare’s and I met about space issues in our building. For several previous years we, TBE, had grown and began to use more space, like Sunday night Religious School, while the church, suffering from an internal crisis was contracting. However, Saint Clare’s had hired an exciting innovative minister to be their rector and he needed space to grow his new program. The philosophy we had previously used was to work together, he and I and our staffs, to make sure everyone’s space needs were met. But the minister wanted a committee to discuss the issue outside of Genesis, with an eye toward guaranteed Church times and spaces and guaranteed Temple times and spaces whether or not they were used. We could request from each other permission to borrow the time, but it was a shift from from partnership to neighborliness.

Soon afterwards came the request to alter our financial arrangement so that we, TBE, would pay more than Saint Clare’s. We actually had, on several previous occasions, offered this to Saint Clare’s in the interest of fairness and we had been rebuffed. When we rebuilt the building in the mid 90’s we did succeed in working with Saint Clare’s to use our unequal annual budgets as the basis of our contributions to the project, but we were clearly told, by Saint Clare’s, that all upkeep costs, that is the Genesis annual budget, would be split equally. Then a few years ago, Saint Clare’s had a change of heart, and we worked with them to devise a new formula. We worked this out.

Then this year came most challenging test. Saint Clare’s proposed 30 some odd amendments to the Genesis by-laws. Saint Clare’s claims that the 40 year old by-laws, that we thought to have served us well, actually are and have been for 40 years, in violation of Episcopal regulations. This despite the fact that the then Bishop signed the original Genesis agreement that clearly states agreement with the by-laws. This new position, that the by-laws are impossible for the church to abide, first caused the church to request a by-laws revision committee. And when that failed to create something new, they requested, that the TBE Board work directly with Saint Clare’s and rewrite the by-laws. When that did not succeed, the church requested, as I said, the nuclear option, the Interfaith Resolutions committee, a last resort standing committee that has never met.

And what is wrong with the by-laws? The church seeks to make Genesis, which has always operated as a lay-driven cooperative, a representative body charged with managing our facility, into a weaker group that would need to respond to any demands given by either the church or the temple. No more discussion or thoughtful compromise, just absolute agreement to the demands of either of us. This is not at all what was envisioned at the beginning.

Ma la-asot? I really don’t know what to do. I don’t even know with whom to speak. So I decided to share this with you and to speak clearly. I will get, metaphorically and perhaps actually yelled at, for this sermon and it will also be open for comments on our web site. The fate of our synagogue is in question. Not its survival but its very nature. The church has held at least two general meetings, well attended, to share and discuss with all its members, this issue. You deserve no less.

But I chose Yom Kippur for this conversation starter because this day asks us to show chesid v’emet, true compassion. We say, “How can I ask God to forgive my sins, if I don’t forgive those who have wronged me?” We say this not in hope of Divine forgiveness, but in passion for human forgiveness. We seek compassion today. Saint Clare’s is our partner in a relationship that is so much more like a marriage than a business. And they are apparently in pain. They have not embarked on this path out of cruelty toward us. Rather they are deeply committed to Genesis and to us and deeply unhappy. And yes to some large extent we are committed to helping them achieve happiness as they are to us. Perhaps there are now sparks of anger in the room? Toward me, toward the church, toward their leaders, toward our leaders. I ask you to put such energies aside. I ask you to display compassion.

When I came to TBE, as I said, I was vetted for my loyalty to Genesis. I was even interviewed by the then rector, and in that moment we became friends. And, in truth, I became a loyal disciple of Genesis. I believe in its power and message, that two congregations can grow individually in each other’s company and be better for it. Genesis is not about money saved, nor is Genesis about environmental issues, inasmuch as one building can serve us both. No, Genesis, at its heart, is the precious notion that we will be better people because we value the journey of others different than ourselves. In a very small piece of the human landscape we say, loud and proud, that there is room for everyone. Genesis is why we, that is TBE, has such a profound commitment to social justice. Genesis is why we are an inclusive congregation. Genesis is why we are good to each other within Beth Emeth. Sure we might have been just as good without Genesis as our teacher. But I doubt it. 31 years and no one has tried to fire me. What kind of synagogue are we? Jews don’t act this way. But we live a lesson of acceptance. Genesis permeates the synagogue whether you know it or not.

We have reason to love Genesis and seek its success. And we have reason to seek a resolution that will preserve the love and the cooperative spirit that have sustained us for four decades. And if we can’t, then I will grieve, deeply, for something so precious and transformative. I hope that in conversation we will find the path we all can comfortably walk. I don’t know where we will end up, and I pray we are led by compassion.

Dear God,

Help me to be strong in our commitment to our friends in Saint Clare’s Church. May we continue to build a strong union together. May we respect their journey, their hopes and aspirations to live lives infused with your presence. Wherever we find ourselves, may we be grateful for time we spend together and hopeful for continued engagement. Genesis was a gift You bestowed upon us; that we created in partnership not only with Saint Clares but with You, the God of the universe. Genesis strengthens us and we hope brings others to see both the humanity we all share and the one God behind us all. May we go forward with open hearts.

To watch this sermon, click here.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Our Jewish Homes: Israel, Rosh Hashanah Sermon

The Torah lies to Abraham. No worse, God lies to him. Abraham, Go kill your son! The Torah tells the world that this is only a test; tells the world except for Abraham. Things for Abraham are not as they appear. How could Abraham think that God would want his precious beloved son, his heir, stabbed to death, drained of blood and charred to bone and cinders upon an alter? This is not what our God would have wanted. How’d Abraham miss this? Because Abraham was threatened that the life he had built with God would be lost if he did not obey. There were, I believe, two ways to pass this test. The pious and cruel way Abraham tried or the activist way. “Excuse me God,” Abraham might of said, as he did at Sodom and Gomorrah. “Forgive my impertinence, but this is really a bad idea.” I think that God would have given Abraham an A+ on the exam. This is what Moses says to God when God threatens to kill all his children--that is the entire Jewish people--in the desert. Why didn’t Abraham see how wrong this was and how out of character for God? Where was the supreme value we place on life?

We Jews claim that we and God value life above all. If, for example, next week on Yom Kippur, if there is any health related reason not to fast, determined either by a physician or by the patient, then the person must eat. Not may eat but must eat. The value of life is a touchstone of what it means to be a Jew. And in those moments, when we look beyond ourselves, we yield to the universality of the value of life among all peoples. Life is the great value. Yes, there are exceptions. Yet we understand them as aberrations. Isis, Hamas, Boko Haram, terrorists in general, wanton murderers--these are those who do not value life. For the rest of us, and certainly for Jews, life is precious beyond precious.

Let’s talk about Hamas for a moment. They don’t value life or at least value it the way we do. As Benyamin Netanyahu said, speaking of the great loss of life in Gaza, “We use rockets to defend people, while they use people to defend rockets.” Over a six week period, Hamas, the government, the elected government of Gaza, fired 4,500 rockets at Israel, essentially all of them at civilians. And the tunnels they dug into Israel did not end at military installations. No, they opened up on to people’s homes and schools. There is much to be said to defend the rights of the Palestinian people including their right of self-determination, but they lack good leadership. A Hamas victory, as they would define it, would include the murder of all six million Israelis and then Hamas would want to come after us. This is how they value life.

Yet, I want to reverse myself. Hamas, or Isis or Boko Haram or any other “they” you want to point to, don’t seem to value life as we do. But I think that actually instead of proving our superiority, these groups, despite their evil, point to a deeper truth. Despite our righteous stance, no one, including ourselves, really values life. We are not aggressive killers, but so often we, the good people, act without regard for life. How many times is there an injustice committed in which a person loses his or her life? And how many, many times is this injustice followed by riots that kill scores more? Ferguson is but the most recent example here at home. And why would police officers, who also lay honest claim to the value of life and a willingness to defend life at often the ultimate sacrifice, want militarize themselves? Did 9/11, thirteen years ago, make the world so dangerous that Missouri needs to be armed against foreign invasion?

The value we claim for life, does not match our actions and never did. We don’t value life, we value our lives and we value our lives above the lives of other people. The United States has consistently taken a hard stance against the proliferation of nuclear weapons. Through treaty and sanctions it has been a rock of our foreign policy for 70 years. It was the convincing selling point of our invasion of Iraq, even if that was a lie. Americans agree that we can’t allow anyone else, anyone dangerous to possess nuclear weapons. We are so convinced of this. We are the only country ever to use a nuclear weapon. And we did it twice, even after we obliterated the civilian population of Hiroshima with the first bomb. There were reasons, good reasons, all of which come down to valuing our lives more than our enemy’s.

We value life. We value our lives. As do all people. So perhaps the only way to survive is to stay on top. I feel badly that Palestinian civilians died, essentially defending their elected government’s rockets and tunnels. I do not feel badly that Israel built an infrastructure that decades later built Iron Dome that defended its people against those very rockets. Kol hakavod. Bravo.

That’s part of the core identity of Zionism. To rebuild the Jewish people from the bottom up. In Europe, in the early part of the 20th century, we were weaker than the Palestinians are today. Expulsions, discrimination, pogroms and the pogrom to end all pogroms, the Holocaust. The Russian ambassador in the United States, Count Cassini, at the time of the horrific Kishinev Pogrom and strangely the maternal grandfather of fashion designer Oleg Cassini, said, "There is in Russia, as in Germany and Austria, a feeling against certain of the Jews. The reason for this unfriendly attitude is found in the fact that the Jews will not work in the field or engage in agriculture.” We were not permitted to engage in agriculture and so we needed to be raped and murdered in Kishinev. Zionists were farsighted and determined to end the cycle, not by killing their enemies, but by rebuilding the Jewish people literally from the ground up. We would farm, drive trucks, build buildings, create labor unions and systems of national healthcare. Iron Dome is simply one of Zionism’s many successes.

I wish the Palestinian people equal success. But truth be told, Palestinian aspirations and Zionist aspirations are in conflict. We both claim the same land. And it is not about 1947 borders designed by the United Nations and accepted only by Israel or ‘48 borders defined by the War of Independence or the much expanded borders of 1967, again defined by war. It is about the whole place. And to my personal frustration, sharing is not high on anyone’s agenda. Just the opposite. Everyone wants peace but only on their own terms.

Truth: Maybe one you share with me. I support one side in this conflict even as I support human dignity for all. I would love to live long enough to see two states living in peace side by side. But even with all the flaws I might find in aspects of Zionism and all the weaknesses I see in the present Israeli government, I would rather see Israel win than Hamas. No, that is not quite right. It is not a case of rather. I just want Israel to win. To be secure, Jewish, and to prosper. Besides which, if Hamas wins, by their definition half of world Jewry would be murdered immediately and the other half, us, later. That is their stated goal. Maybe Israel and their elected government and perhaps even Zionism, as a historic movement, lack the necessary concern for Palestinians, but the asymmetry of hatred is astounding.

The rabbis of old taught that if you and I are in the desert with one bottle of water and we both know that the bottle is just enough to sustain one person, and only one person, on the journey to safety, then the person holding the water gets to keep it. You can’t be a lover of life unless you love your own life. Suicidal sacrifice is permitted but not demanded. And as groups, we always chose our lives over the lives of others. We want to live as free people in Israel even if others have to die. Better we should live in peace, but better we should live. That is the value of life.

Two months ago, I was flying to Tel Aviv through the very organized Frankfurt airport. Pre-boarding was announced for our flight. You know, for those needing assistance etc., etc. Every Israeli just charged the gate. Israelis can be so wonderfully annoying. The next day I was sitting, eating shawarma, at an outdoor restaurant on Bazel Street. The eatery "Bazel Congress" and the street commemorate the first Zionist Congress that Theodor Herzl gathered in 1897 to unite a very diverse Jewish Europe in the quest for Jewish statehood. He herded the Katz, spelled K-a-t-z. A large sign over the restaurant framing the rounded entrance said, “The customer is always wrong.” Israelis today can be so wonderfully annoying.

A few of the staff had pinned 3x5 cards to their shirts that said, "nigmar???" or, "is it over?" They were marking the news that Israel had begun to pull back from their forward positions in Gaza. This was a war Israel did not want. Israelis want peace. They are not annoying at all. But until some real accommodation to legitimate Palestinian aspirations is found, wars will continue. The Jewish West Bank settlers’ vision, that seems very appealing to the present government, that given enough time the Palestinians will just leave, is pathetic. No mutual compromise, no peace, less life. Nigmar, is it over? Not for some time, but in that time I will choose a side, my side.

After lunch, a friend and I walked over to the park on the banks of the Yarkon river. A lush spot indeed considering it, like all of Tel Aviv, is built on sand. Sitting on a park bench, enjoying the world, the dreaded air raid sirens went off. I watched parents and children scurry for cover. Then, after some seemingly long passage of time, the sound of two Iron Dome missiles blasting Hamas rockets. The afternoon was a mix of politics, hopes and military strength. I walked home in the late afternoon, put on a swimsuit and rode Mediterranean waves into the dusk. The water was beyond delightful but even this was tinged with politics, playing in the face of danger, with no shelter in sight. But this is the life I value, my life, even when I put it at risk.

Last week, I officiated at a memorial service for a beloved aunt who died in her sleep at 104. One of those few times when passing is not a euphemism for death but a description of the event. She passed, in her sleep, at 104. Among the memories recalled at the service was her dedication to Zionism that began long before Israel became a nation. However, what moved me the most, what really shook my emotions, was hearing that among her papers lay a certificate for trees bought to be planted in Palestine with the JNF, the Jewish National Fund, in honor of her birth in 1910. We have been at this project a long time. My first tree was bought 10 cents a week in Hebrew school. A dime bought one of 10 leaf sticker to be licked and glued to a to a picture of a tree. When I wrote this last week, I could not find the cent symbol, the half circle with the line, on my keyboard. We have been at this a long time. Zionism is the Jewish national liberation struggle. Winning success was not easy and continued survival is not easy, but it is our lot.

How’d we do it? How’d we succeed? Some luck. Some sympathy. Enormous determination. And real work. As the Arab proverb puts it so well, “Luck belongs to the skillful.” JNF took that money and reforested the barren land. That’s a lie, well a half truth. What JNF did was buy land, build the electrical grid, and the sewage and water system, build roads and encourage settlement where it would do the most good. Oh, yeah, they also reforested the land. Meanwhile, the workers unionized, the producers of dairy and farm products created cooperatives to bring their product efficiently to market. National health care was developed and an army created. All before 1948, way before.

I lived in Israel for a year on a kibbutz close to Gaza founded on erev Yom Kippur as part of the successful plan to establish Jewish settlements in the empty Negev region. On many a Shabbat morning, a group of us would ride through Gaza, past refugee camps built in 1948 to house Palestinians temporarily until Israel could be destroyed. We were headed to the beach. I know beaches, I grew up on Long Island. I spend summers riding wave crashing on spectacular white sand beaches. Gaza has great beaches. So when Israel withdrew from Gaza, there was an opportunity to build a tourist industry based on those beaches. Europeans would have flocked to those resorts as they came in droves to Eilat, which has rocky, not so spectacular beaches, after the Oslo accords made peace look close. Sadly, in Gaza, the building supplies, the cement and such, were needed elsewhere to build hardened tunnels from Gaza to kill Jews and to deliver rockets through Egypt to kill Jews. Our Zionist leaders built the infrastructure of a state. That is valuing life. Their leaders, not the people, but the leaders of Gaza, sought and seek our death. What a waste. The Palestinian people deserve a state. Unfortunately, their leadership has failed them.

And so has ours. The future of Zionism and Israel will not be secured without compromise. The value of our own lives requires compromise. I went to a web site of a rabbi I follow for his lectures that I often recommend to others. He had an article about the three boys murdered by Hamas that, along with the subsequent revenge killing, touched off this war. He used a phrase after mentioning the three boys. When recalling those killed in such a manner, you can say either, may the memory of our martyrs be a blessing or you can say May God avenge their blood. I was saddened to see the second. Even if I value my life first, I must value other lives as well. I must or my own life is diminished. Today the water bottle can be shared and still, we both can get out of the desert.

Look at Abraham. So confused. He values his life with God. He values Isaac’s life. Only one will survive he is told. Unsure Abraham, whose knife must have lingered above the boy long enough for God to observe this most terrible of human conflicts, the choice between right and right, between life and life. And God must admit the shame of asking the question, of giving the test. The real test is if we can preserve ourselves in a way that preserves the human dignity of everyone.

To watch this sermon, click here

Friday, August 8, 2014


Yesterday ended our tour, and perhaps the cease fire,  but I don't know.  I'm in the blank world of transit. 

Yesterday was a day of much talking and meeting with everyone jockeying for position.  Our one outing took us to Har Hertzl, Israel's military cemetery.  

Our guide put his heart into the visit, which he based on the army's role.  Israel has a citizen army so every story of sacrifice is perceived as the loss of intimate member of society.   Of course, this is true in much of the free world, yet it has a outsized dynamic power in Israel.  Among the graves we visited was one of a new immigrant to Israel who served in the army without a local family.  Each Friday his best army buddy comes to the cemetery and brews coffee for the two to share, just as they used to do on the buddy's apartment porch each week.

Finally, we came to the new graves of a few of the fallen in this most recent war.  It's powerful to stand next to a grave of someone so recently alive and well who died in your defense. 

The graves were being prepared for the built up grave makers used at Har Hertzl.   A worker was actually removing a few inches of dirt to allow the stones to be set.  I watched for a while moving lightly in thought.  The smell of something pulled me back.  It was the smell of the dirt being removed.

Dirt is wonderful, both dead and alive, both dust and rebirth.  As in all things, it is what we do with it and how we live our precious lives in its company.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

A More Appetizing Post

Today was filled with activities not to my liking,  though I take responsibility for my dislike.   We handed out flowers to elderly Russians, who were gathered back to the shelters in which they had slept during the war.  Then we gave out presents to preschool children.   Later we also did real work, moving insulation from one side of a building site to the other.  Seriously, my issues.
But lunch was perfection.  Our group's leader met an Iraqi immigrant many years earlier when the their kids were in high school.  The friend, Gidon, lives in S'derot, the town with a hilltop view of Gaza and a museum collection of rockets to prove it.  For years now S'derot has been under rocket attack.
Gidon took us to a simple Iraqi restaurant with barely room for our group of ten.  The table was already covered in salads.  Tomatoes with cilantro.   Beets with cumin.   Plates upon plates.  Then came the (pastry) cigars stuffed with potato.   And then the spiced meatballs and the grilled curry chicken and the ground lamb kabobs.  
And what's good food without worthy conversation.   [I once went to a fabulous restaurant where every table was discussing how fabulous the food was.]   Gidon shared his story.  He essentially walked from Iraq to Israel.  He became a nurse serving S'derot a town with a doctor half a day a week.  Gidon wooed his wife through letters he has saved.  They raised four children and educated them to be professionals.  He built a life and a future.  And said just like the other Isrealis we met he called the Hamas a gang of terrorists.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

A no brainer; just the heart.

A video referenced below:

Tonight we joined in a post 9th of Av celebration and concert in Modi'in.   It began with songs of prayer for the soldiers of Israel,  and the wounded on both sides, and the dead.  

The leaders of the evening said at one point that our prayers and hearts needed to extend to  other side of the battle.   This was a sentiment shared in the room.  Then a woman shouted out, "but not Hamas."  Under normal circumstances in such an Israeli gathering an argument might have ensued.   Tonight, the combination of shared pain and shared opinion lead to reflective silence.  Then we said Kaddish with our hearts.

I feel justified with my analysis of what happened because of events earlier in the day.  We met with an Israeli general, a recent immigrant from Long Island working in a food rescue program,  the Rabbi and a few congregants of a Reform congregation and finally the former Deputy Mayor of Ashkelon.   Four very different people with one clear shared message. 

They said: The war was necessary.   The loss of life is shocking.  The rockets and tunnels needed to be stopped.  Hamas is evil but is a player.  Thank God for Iron Dome.   But now perhaps there is hope.  I [they all separately said] am optimistic.   We can do better.

Here is the real complxity.  There is a terrible feeling of real necessity in regard to this war.  And a real feeling of loss for the soldiers dead and wounded.  And a real feeling of shame for the great loss and suffering of the people of Gaza.  And a real sense of gratitude for the Iron Dome that saved Israel from outrageous attacks on her cities.  And real hatred for Hamas.  And real hope.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Changing Gears

Today I joined my group of rabbis, a cantor and assorted lay leaders.  Out of some desire for separation I walked, a suitcase in tow, from the North Port to the deep south end of Tel Aviv in the mid-day sun.  Like in a steamroom, which Tel Aviv resembles, I sweated out the past to ready myself for this solidarity mission.

A good plan, as it turned out.  Yesterday, I was enjoying sitting in a park despite the rocket fire.  Today,  the talk is of the wounded and the orphan, of the struggle and the larger realities.  Then we were off to Beit Daniel, Tel Aviv's leading Reform synagogue, for the reading of the very sad Book of Lamintations.   Tonight begins the 9th of Av,  saddest day of the year, as it marks the sacking of Jerusalem.   Lamintations is the poetry observing the event.

The mood is set for us and perhaps the nation as well.  Most Israelis care little for the 9th of Av.  But this year, the calloused brutality of Hamas, has a bit of the feel of destruction of Jerusalem 2,500 years ago.

The Rabbi tonight called for a time when silence will speak.   From her mouth to the ear that always understands the silent prayer.

Real Hopes

Yesterday I was sitting, eating shwarma, at an outdoor restaurant on Bazel Street.  The street food eatery "Bazel Congress" and the street itself cememorate the first Zionist Congress that united a very diverse Jewish Europe in the quest for Jewish statehood.  But the restaurant and street were less about politics than an acknowledgement of history.

A couple of the staff had pinned 3 by 5 cards to their shirts that said, "nigmar???" or loosely translated, "is it over?"  They were marking the news that Israel had begun to pull back from their forward positions in Gaza.   This too was less politics than the hope that the battle might be ending.

After lunch, a friend and I walked over to the Yarkon park on the banks of the Yarkon river.  A lush spot indeed considering it, like all of Tel Aviv,  is built on sand.  Sitting on a park bench, enjoying the world, the dreaded siren went off.  I watched parents and children scurry for cover.  Then, after some seemingly long passage of time, the sound of a fired Iron Dome rocket and a short time later the boom of rocket on rocket explosion.  This was an even mix of politics and military strength.

I walked home in the late afternoon.   Put on a swimsuit,  decidedly not Israeli in style, as in not a speedo, and rode Mediterranean waves into the dusk.  The water was delightful but even this was tinged with politics.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

A Land that Eats it's Inhabitants

I borrowed a bicycle from the hotel this morning and road north on a lovely bike bath toward Herzliya and beyond.  Then I ran into, or rather over, a collection of thorns, sharper and bigger than whatever.  Both tires went flat and I and the bicycle walked home.

When Moses sent in scouts to explore Israel, they reported that it was a place of giant vegetation.    But giant thorns with bases to aim the points up from the ground?   The spies said that the land is good but eats its Inhabitants.  And their tires.

The inhabitants.  The war has been quiet here in Tel Aviv since I arrived.   But the people are also quiet.  When I arrived the main highway into town had traffic but it should have jammed.   The beach had people but should have been crowded.  Brave face or not, the situation is taking its toll.  No taste for a party and a grim resolve that Hamas needs to be destroyed or at least set back. 

A consensus has been reached, it seems to me, that Hamas is not anyone's partner; that their only goal is Jewish death even at the cost of Palestinian suffering. And when someone wants that badly to kill you your choices are limited to a return of force. 

The latest news, later corrected,  that an Israeli soldier had been kidnapped, only grimmed the grim.  This is not a skermish, someone told me, but a war against someone whose hate is boundless.  People smile and do their work, but patience is thin and tempers are short. 

On the other hand,  I had dinner last night with a young congregant who is living here in Tel Aviv this year.  She is finding her place in this land.  This is our place, our land.  It will not consume us.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Midway, but fully engaged.

My traveling companion from Detroit to Frankfurt was my daughter who was on her way to Ethiopia for a year of research after college.  I felt like the dad of a young school girl walking her half way to school on the first day, pointing her in the right direction and watching her make her way into a new adventure.  She is a child of great sweetness.

Then I went to the special security gate designed for the Tel Aviv flight.  When they announced the order of boarding,  families with young children followed by first class and so on, everyone simply got up, regardless of special status, and pushed toward the gate.

Then we had an incident when a passenger went to the toilet, while we were moving down the runway for takeoff. 

It feels like home.  The Israel adventure begins.

[Just landed.  OK, I was a bit nervous.]

Friday, August 1, 2014

Still Here. Worries Arrive.

Friday,  August 1, 11:00 am

I am sitting at my messy desk.  In five hours I fly, via Frankfurt, to Tel Aviv.  And I am starting to get a bit nervous.  The news sounded better last night with a 72 hour cease fire declared.  It lasted four hours and ended in part with the dreaded kidnapping of an Israeli soldier.  I still want and intend to go, but would not be surprised if those with higher level decision power, the trip organizers and the airline managers, altered my plans.  Or maybe this is just my nerves speaking.

On the other hand, Amir, a dear friend and cycling buddy, is coming, with his family, to Ben Gurion to pick me up.  And later in the day I have dinner plans with a young congregant.  Half of me expects to find a veneer of normality over the obvious crisis and half of me expects to see the crisis, plain.

Like World War I, only on a smaller scale, the common understanding among Israelis was that the war would be short with normality quickly restored.  Having uncovered the web of tunnels and the vast array of missiles, Israel is in no position to stop.  Yet, death is the final truth of life and as the causalities mount the call to stop needs to be heeded.  A no win situation has become a nobody wins tragedy.

And I guess that is, in part, why I am going.  I want to experience the cruel sadness, not the bravado that distance lends.  How do we balance the needs of Zionist survival against the deaths of Zionists and the deaths of those whom Zionists kill.  I am a Zionist and I don't know.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

For anyone still listening

I've written a short narrative of my journey, based on the blog, but beyond its scope: The Jewish Pedaler. It's $3.99 on Kindle and in paper, through Amazon, it's $12.95. All profits go to the Institute for Southern Jewish Life.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

The Last Post

I'm home. Cycling still. And writing, presently in a cafe, trying to turn this blog into something larger. There were more than 10,000 visits to thejewishpedaler. Thank you. You're presence meant more than I could have imagined. Chen, chen. (beautiful, beautiful)

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Thursday, April 7, 2011


We saw this antique toy dog in a shop close to our hotel. We own its twin brother in Ann Arbor, received through Jo Ellin's grandmother. It actually makes a really cool bark when you pull its chain. It is one two pets with whom we share our home, the other being a very life-like, wind up, tweeting, caged song bird also inherited from grandma.

I'm not into pets. I admit the weakness. But I've noticed a difference between Americans and the French about dogs. Both have lots and enjoy them, but in America there is pressure for everyone else to enjoy them as well. One is supposed to admire and pet and be nozzled by other people's pets, even the pets of strangers. Which dog does not enjoy and deserve a scratch behind the ear? "Down fiddo." says the owner. "Sorry, he's just friendly."

In a week, I've crossed paths with maybe 100 dogs, only half on leash. Not one has chosen to be my friend. Strange, a animal behavior I assumed to be driven by the animal seems to be human culturally informed. Live and learn.
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Tuesday, April 5, 2011

A Most Amazing Bridge

Crossing the Seine from the left bank I stopped to take this video. When I finished I saw a broad man's wedding ring on the ground. A woman picked it up and asked me if I knew if it was gold. She handed it to me and I noticed the kind of stamps on the inside that indicate that indeed it was made of gold. She happily put it on and headed away only to return to say that it dod not fit her and I should have it. She then asked for bit of money for lunch. "My God," I thought, "that ring is worth a lot." I gave her back the ring and told to sell it for the weight in gold. And she walked away again. When I came to the other side of the bridge something else caught my eye on the ground. It was another identical gold ring and another woman picking it up. How amazing. In Paris the streets are not paved with gold but littered with it.
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Monday, April 4, 2011

Not Raised By Wolves

Rome has its story as does New York, Jerusalem and everywhere else. Paris has two islands in the middle of the river. Once they must have looked like islands do in the middle of a river. Then they were lived in, defended and urbanized. Then as the city grew they got so paved over that only the flowing waters of the Seine prove that these two islands, St. Louis Island and City Island, were two lumps of dirt and trees and such in the middle of a river. The picture is of Notre Dame on Ile de la Cite.
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Time In

Paris is a city, like New York or Jerusalem or Tel Aviv, a place with its own identity. Paris is not better or worse, just different. A collection of human habitation complex enough to assume a personality, habits and difficulties.

That giant clock pictured is in a former transportation station (therfore the clock) that now houses perhaps the greatest collection of impressionist art outside of the Barnes in Philadelphia. Today is Sunday and museums are free. A forty minute wait with people politely lined up on their own and a packed museum. Heaven with a few "pardons" mixed in.

And then steak and fries. And some chocolate.
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Thursday, March 31, 2011

Apr├Ęs le deluge, Nous

When I was in Florida helping my mom I returned to a pattern of my youth. We spent a daily hour watching The Price is Right. Bob Barker is of course gone but I remember Bill Cullen who preceded him in black and white. I was a fan.

Today I feel that I won both the initial showcase and the big deal of the day. I'm on my way home from the post storm (Katrina) Gulf Coast, by plane, having shipped ahead my bicycle. Today I will see my beloved.

And then, winning the final showcase, we are going on vacation, for my wife's Spring break, as they say, toooooo Paris France!!! Today I feel like a winner.
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Wednesday, March 30, 2011


I'm not the kind of person who visits jazz clubs. I'm musically under-educated. Encouraged, but not dragged, we went to a small club with terrific music, really terrific. Enjoy.
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Tuesday, March 29, 2011


I've come to New Orleans for the reform rabbis convention. I attend this annual event regularly once a decade. It's a scary thought to be in the company of so many rabbis. Amazingly the convention this year was directly on my cycling path both in place and time. A good and overdue chance to see friends.

And the food's been amazing. Last night I went to a place owned by the Brennan family, the local food bigwigs, but this particular place a cab ride distant from downtown and the French Quarter. (And btw the French Quarter is seedy and back.)

What food. Sauced, of course. Let's just say that my appetizer was BBQ lamb spare ribs. Did I say amazing?

The same storm hit here as in Gulfport, yet here seems much more back to normal. But perhaps this reflects my becoming a conventioneer instead of a cyclist. There are damaged buildings, but the atmosphere of sadness is not present.

Still when I wandered into the Quarter "cycling style" to find a laundromat, I made the acquaintance of the owner of the "launDRYmat." She did not want her picture taken, but soon she was sharing her life's story and pictures of the storm, including one labeled, a 40 foot wall of water. The food is amazing and the memories are stunning.
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Saturday, March 26, 2011

Fried, Sauced and Ready to Eat

Tonight I heard some of the stories of the storm. The Church groups that came down to help, sometimes with and mostly without agenda, and how the Jewish community grew in understanding. The friends who needed to jump out their second story window and swim to a "salvation tree" where with other creatures they awaited rescue. The friend who after watching his gas stove slide around the kitchen, swam under water to find the gas shut-off like in some James Bond movie. No wonder the storm is still a present tense reality.

We also talked fishing for flounder with a spear and fishing for trout in cold weather with a jig line. And we sat outside on a damp warm March night, on the Bayou Denice, a bayou that flooded during the storm pushing water from the rear like a fifth columnist.

But tonight all was peaceful. And beautiful. And inviting. And the waitress called me hon.
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Cruising in the South

With a good deal of unscheduled time on my hands I was fortunate to be lent a bike while mine was still in its box. A cruiser, single speed, with the seat down low.

I filled up the white wall tires and headed out into a stiff head wind that guaranteed a tail wind on the way home. Cycling is the best way to see so much. I was in the rich part of town, the less than rich and the less than that. Bridges with views and strip malls. And an amazing BBQ place where my helmet initiated conversation among the staff and patrons. A very sweet 15 miles. Oh, and I almost forgot, the lovely azaleas.
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Friday, March 25, 2011

Captain's Log Supplemental

I always wanted to say that Captain Kirk line. And it even sort of fits. This blog would not be complete without a entry on southern gas stations that serve food. Of course, I ate my share of gas station mini doughnuts, but there is more. Like Hunt Brothers pizza, prepared off site, but cooked in mini pizza ovens in gas stations (so far) from Florida to Mississippi. And its not bad when your really hungry and there is cold Diet Coke to buy with it. And more than once I came across gas stations with non-chain resturants inside. Breakfast/lunch places. BBQ places. Crawfish and shrimp places, like the one just down the road from the synagogue where I'm sleeping. Up north I'd never think of mixing fuels. But often the best cooking comes from the plainest of places and nothing is more humble than a filling station.
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Beach Front, Gulfport, MS

Everything here is measured before or after the storm, that being Katrina with a 25 foot storm surge, in 2005, as time is measured in the West. That being five of me stacked up.

Downtown Gulfport and downtown Biloxi are rehabs, new construction, and vacant lots. Though much is rebuilt the emptiness is still profound. From Bay St. Louis to Gulfport to Biloxi houses, essentially all the houses, on the beach front block are simply gone. The next block half and the next block 1/3.

I stopped someone to ask directions to a coffee house. He said that I was looking for a "before the storm" establishment. His house, he told me in our conversation, was on the beach, was being a transitive verb.
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Thursday, March 24, 2011

Hard to See, but Worth the Effort

The picture is of the single remaining grave marker in a very old, once abandoned and later refound Jewish cemetery in Biloxi, MS. The inhabitant was born in Paris, France and probably came through New Orleans to Biloxi in order to escape disease, only to die of illness here. The Jewish community inherited and maintains this beit olam, or eternal abode.

Can look closely at the picture? It shows the graphic engraved on the marker. There is a hand holding a water pitcher. The man was a Levite. In the Bible, Levites, among other jobs, washed the hands of the sons of Aaron. In traditional synagogues the custom is maintained today.

Then on the way to lunch we passes President Jefferson Davis's house.
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The International Road to Gulfport

And the Starbucks was just up the "street."
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Urban Primitive

Inside me there is a love of the city at dawn, when the mist rolls in from the heavens and through the scarves wrapped around faces. The city's dawn is when God and humans stake out their positions for the day.

I pulled off the freeway, headed for the airport, but stopping to buy gas. Still dark, I pre-paid for my fuel at the rarest of places, a non-corporate gas station. The man sold the gas while the woman sold Honduran breakfast and lunch items to airport workers of Central American origin, and fellow travelers such as myself. Air travel may not be the luxury of the past, but it is still about "haves" going somewhere with the help of others.

My phone's Google Maps recommended a 3 mile route to the airport by some side streets. 4th street to 34th to fuel blvd. to terminal blvd. with lots of forced turns. At one point a plane flew really overhead. I could smell it. And then up a short and steep ramp and I was there, terminal A on my left. A shortcut of wonder.

Sadly the way of the world is elsewhere. Since I came in so perfectly, I needed to round the entire four terminal complex to get back to the rental car return. Yet the pleasure of returning my land yacht, another glorious human artifact, in the early morning was enough compensation.
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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A Sale Day in South Florida

So I'm cooling my heels and arches and toes and pedals in south Florida. Yet today I felt the rush of the road as I "sold" my summer teen cycling trip, Tour La'agam, to two young men and their families.  One on the phone who lives in NYC and one in person visiting their grandparents. Not quite cycling, but good to talk about it. (And anyway I'm a bit of a sales person.  Selling is a trip on its own.)
So for the rest of us, Tour La'Agam: A thousand miles in 3 weeks, a traveling community, study, prayer, environmentalism, garage sales, cooking, camping and fun. Oh yeah, smoked fish and ice cream.

Check it out:

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Sunday, March 20, 2011

The Micro Vacation

I met a friend, Marc, for dinner tonight. He, like me, had come to Florida (from Ann Arbor) to see an ill relative. We shared a bit of respite. We went to a perfect Italian resturant. Not a chain, a McItalian of Adult Casual Dining, nor a tres chic place with tiny portions of too many ingredients. But not a "B" level place either. Rather real people really cooking. I had Osso Buco, braised lamb shanks with risotto, sort of Italian pot roast.  Rich. Perfect.  And a beer, not wine.  Very manly.

We talked about our trips to South Florida, we laughed about life, we shared a this and a that.  Almost three hours passed in a comfortable breeze.  Who says women have a lock on intimate friendships.

"Lots" of Joy

Today I returned to the place of my first service, my mom's retirement community. Last time, in an emotional service, we dedicated a Torah scroll in my dad's memory (see the February 12th posting). Today was the ribald celebration of Purim.

Purim is the costume and noise maker celebration of an averted genocide of all Jews from India to Ethiopia. Foolish partying to celebrate the then reprisal murder of our enemies. Cool.

As strange as a silly party to mark an averted genocide is the larger Biblical story that includes the pimping of a nice Jewish girl by her politically shrewd uncle and the near gang rape of the queen and ends with the hanging of all ten sons of the villain.

On the other hand, 60 or so of us laughed and booed. There is something quite powerful rabbi-ing for folks in their eighties and nineties and one or two past 100. Laughter comes easily and yet they have seen so much. The story contains sex, murder, deception, revenge, power, evil and stupidity. Unlike the kids who are the usual target for the story, these real adults know the darkest period of Jewish history, some up-front and personally. And their enjoyment contained wisdom. A gift for me.

And then as pictured, Ray (and I) ate Hamantashen.
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Saturday, March 19, 2011

Repeated History

Years ago, many years ago, I learned (and probably miss-remember) the story of Pericles convincing the citizens of Athens to abandon the countryside and gather in the defended city during their war with Sparta. Pericles established a new thought, that the community that was Athens was independent of its physical lands.

So this morning at breakfast a new resident was being schooled about the two advantages of living where my mom lives. The security found in both supplied support, like emergency pull cords and the responsibility the residents carry for each other. Most of the residents, including the newbie had moved out of private real estate to enter this community. Then I remembered the "cruise ship (noro)virus" that sweep through the facility last year landing both my parents in the hospital.

An interesting problem. The fullest expression of our humanity is released when we gather together. That, in turn, stresses the bodies we inhabit. And despite our increased level of control over our physical environment, the plague of Athens keeps returning.
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Friday, March 18, 2011

B'shart "the meant to be"

B'shart is Jewish for what is ordained. As a card carrying member of the free will society and an advocate of everyone else's personal responsibility, I usually privately shudder when told something is b'shart, driven by controlling forces beyond human understanding.

This trip could make me a believer. The last few days may make me an advocate. When I needed friend to put me up for the night, the Cantor in Melbourne took me in. I'm allergic to cats. She had five or six. Not once did I sneeze. I needed to race ahead of a serious storm, two days of twenty mph winds at my tail. I had a week with nothing to do. My mom really needed me just that week and I could be there.

And now for the most egotistical of all, this week, this time with my mom, this time with no need to cycle, and I catch the cold of the season. Ok, I might not of become sick on the road, it might have been a cold I picked up on the plane, but the impact of this cold on the road would have ranged between devastating for the trip to just really, really annoying.

Instead I am in the company of the woman who has nursed me to health numerous times. Now before we get lost in my inconsiderate behavior, I have been taking care of my mom and not the other way around. Still it is comforting to be in her company and know she cares.

And it is balancing to the role reversing care I am giving her.

And it is loving. And I do believe in love.

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Thursday, March 17, 2011

Mom Comes Home

This morning I picked up my mom from the hospital, seemingly, fully recovered. And so we went out for "the breakfast," my favorite meal. Since this is south Florida, land where the South is north, I skipped the grits.

More importantly, this episode of "Hospital World" ended well. My mom is tired but fully recovered. I am glad to have been so available to be with her. Another blessing of this trip.
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Monday, March 14, 2011

Big Calves, Clean Toes

My mom is doing better. I hope to bring her home by week's end.

And as long as I am here in south Florida, well when in Rome, I'm enjoying a pedicure. I can see it may be hard to fill off hours here. I going to need some running gear.
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Sunday, March 13, 2011

Water Plowed up from the Rear of our Powerful Boat

My Friend Amir Says . . .
Three things a person can watch all day:
A burning fire,
Running water,
Another person working.
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Lisa and Steve

I stayed with Lisa and Steve longer than with any other host. Being a private person I had my doubts. But before I even arrived Lisa was in gracious contact. First night tuna steak done rare. Life is good. And so was the coffee. In the photo they are sitting on Nathan's boat (another gracious soul) when we went out for a little fishing just before I left.

And they were also so helpful when my mom was taken to the hospital (my mom will be fine) and I needed to rearrange my plans. Good support and guidance.

Wierdly, I had nothing to do next Shabbat. The Pensacola Jewish community was unresponsive as were the two Christian communities with which I had an "in." I had decided to go home for a week after shipping my bike to the next stop, Gulfport, MS. Instead of going home, I am going back to south Florida (by plane) to be with my mom. I'm not a "God has a plan" sort of person, but if I was, here would be proof. Nothing to do in Pensacola, but plenty in Boca.
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Look Mom No Bicycle

A video of the Gulf.
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Watch my Dot

A day on the Gulf.
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The Other Side

Tonight I enjoyed dinner with a woman who spoke passionately about the ongoing suffering infected on the south in the aftermath of the Civil War.

Years ago I was taught that the secret of the Civil War was that the south with its ongoing political clout and large numbers of military facilities actually won the conflict.

This woman painted a different picture. One item: Her family can not sell land that they have owned for generations due to reconstruction era rules that would essentially still confiscate any proceeds. And it's only been 150 years.
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Saturday, March 12, 2011

Host with Squid

Tomorrow with my hosts in Panama City we will be going out into the Gulf of Mexico. We're going fishing. And here is the bait. Can you see the eyes? And the squid ink on Steve's face?
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Friday, March 11, 2011

Thursday, March 10, 2011

The Glorious Beach

Taken with wet toes.
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Sorry, the Missing Photo

The photo for the previous post.
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Well, This is the Gulf Coast

After Katrina, one might not see the humor in a building landing upside-down on another. Then again this is Spring Break. I stopped in a McDonald's parking lot to take a phone call and a woman ran out of the place exasperated and yelling, "I can't stand Spring Break!!!!!"

I arrived way early in Panama City (it did rain all night) and headed to the beach just to check it out. Lovely, but what beach isn't? After writing this posting, I will call my hosts to check in, but this morning was a bit of out of my program. The yelling woman had a point. College students by the thousands foraging for food, drink and company. I actually overheard a conversation about being a "wing man." I never did the break thing myself and am both wierded out and completely jealous.

And the beach was really nice.

P.S. I left where I was sitting when I realized I was in the way of feeding Breakers. I was the only person present over thirty. The person taking my seat asked me with grace how I was feeling. Was old an acceptable answer?

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Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Not So Calm

I took this photo just before, just 30 seconds before, the skies opened up. The line between the clouds was "horizontal" instead of "vertical."

The great tail winds I enjoyed were pushing against the storm line. So now swirling winds, rain and talk of tornadoes. Glad to be safe (and dry).
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The End of the Ocean

This picture comes from the top of a medium sized causeway looking north. The picture looking the other way would have been just ocean, the Gulf of Mexico. Those, I believe, are shrimp boats and a processing plant. Shrimp is the cash crop here and along much of the Gulf Coast.

Later in the morning I crossed a much longer and higher causeway with a fierce cross wind. Today and yesterday were a determined and successful effort to avoid the serious rain and storms that will arrive in Panama City, my destination. Lots of biking but with a thrill. Yesterday I rode, late in the day, better than 17.5 mph for a bit more than an hour and felt great. What a wind. This morning an even stronger wind pushed me even faster past 18 mph for nearly two hours. I was racing the storms and flying like the wind.
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Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Just a Second Pretty Picture from the State Park.

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A Day Well Spent

Last night after dinner and anti-vermin clean-up, another cyclist rode into my campsite.  German, a engineering student, with a cool bike and way over-loaded.  His saddle-bags, the same as mine but a day glow orange he got at a bargain price, loaded to the point of not closing and then piled high with sleeping goods and a handle bar bag (also orange).  Of course, being 20 something, he could handle it. Jonas ask how to pay, it being past closing, and I invited him just to join me.  Needless to say his tent was triple sized compared to mine.  But I was really sorry that he could not share in the feast.

Many good vibes today, including great Gulf vistas and the cool town of Apalachicola, but the highlight was the decision to pass up my camping reservation and push on another 20 miles to Port St. Joe, FL. With the wind it took just over an hour.  I'm glad I shrunk my load.

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Monday, March 7, 2011

After Dinner I Built a Fire. So Human.

btw, dinner was spectacular.
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Still Life with Grouper

The State Park is a paradise. k. d. lang is channeling Palsy Klein. RV's of various sizes arrive. Dinner prep begins. My neighbors are friendly. Life again is . . .

But I'm cold. The tradeoff for the north winds that drove me south is the cold air. Earlier today I accepted the tradeoff. I was biking, creating heat. Now I want it both ways. Good wind early in the day, warmth later.

Being selfish is the right of all that lives. Verbalizing it is human. Wishing for better is what we do. But accepting the truth of the universe is our fate.
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The Restaurants are Closed

With the wind at my back the miles flew by. I arrived in Sopchoppy (ah to have cycle to Panacea) with thoughts of finding a restaurant close by my campsite at Ochlockonee River State Park. I found the Backwoods Bistro a place with a great menu. Life looked promising.

Standing out front I heard noise within but all "looked" quiet. I called on the phone. A man, the chef, answered and when he saw me, he opened the door. Closed on Mondays. I requested aide in finding another establishment. We looked at maps, made calls, discussed possibilities and almost gave up. Then he said, "Look, I'll give you a grouiper fillet", to which he added blackening spice and a lemon. This is the kindness that accompanies cycling.

I added a small bag of briquets, beer, potatoes, salad (and yes said the glutton) a small steak and ten pounds of ice. A much heavier bike but a feast requires commitment.
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Saturday, March 5, 2011

A Different Experience

Last night I attended Conservative services in Tallahassee and gave the talk.

Working with this week's Torah reading of Pekudei (Exodus 38:21-40:38), I spoke about how the mishkan, or desert "Temple," was needed to store the holy items made for God's service. This comes from a midrash, or understanding, that the commentator Rashi brings to the Torah. When Betzalel the builder was told to get to work on the holy objects he points out to Moses that he first needs the mishkan, the desert "Temple," for their storage. First build the container, then the objects to be stored inside. I added that synagogues, schools and cemeteries are the "houses" we use today to store what is most precious. (In Hebrew all three are called "houses of ...").

I was a bit nervous. These were new folks, "Conservative Jews." I did not know how they might respond to a Reform Rabbi. Not an issue. Good, kind and thoughtful Jew with strong Jewish identities and skills, just like everywhere I've been. I gave the sermon/drash, they led the service with skill and quality intention.

However, the Mourner's Kaddish, the memorial prayer, exposed me to something unexpected. My dad died the end of August. I have been saying kaddish since. In Reform synagogues everyone stands in solidarity with the mourner. In Conservative, only the mourners rise in the embrace of the supportive community. I felt different and acknowledged.

Which is better? Both are better and better yet the opportunity for both.
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Friday, March 4, 2011

Goodness Again

When I pulled into Tallahassee early in the day I decided that it was a good time to do some basic maintenance on my drive train. I Google Mapped bicycle shops close-by my hotel. One, Higher Ground, was mere blocks away.

Nice people, nice work and no charge. That's Roger on the right. I'm sorry I don't know the other two by name, but I do know their genuine kindness. Roger said I should consider it part of my effort and I do.

There is a certain grace to the kindness of strangers.
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America, the Beautiful

I only had a short distance to go today, and while the hills rolled they seemed more down than up. And a tail wind. After an hour and twenty minutes I took a break for second breakfast at the first urbanized area south of Thomasville.

I asked a man and woman if they could recommend a "place for breakfast." I was directed down the road a piece to a Chick-a-fil. "Well," I said, "how about a place that cooks what they serve." OK, I'm a snob (who loves an egg mcmuffin on occasion). The man began to wax on the virtues of Chick-a-fil but the woman directed me to a place not fifty yards away, just down the hill. Great view, but as pretentious as a place can be. Lots of items with Hollandaise sauce. I guess I got what I deserved.
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Thursday, March 3, 2011

Where Am I?

Day before yesterday at breakfast the waitress made me a fresh pot of coffee because at 9:30 I was the first person that day who wanted coffee. Today I'm sitting in a coffee house drinking Ethiopian and munching on real New York Crumb Cake, an old favorite.

Am I home? Or just in Thomasville, Georgia. Where I'm sleeping looks like America: fast food and drug stores. Where I'm sitting looks like America's past meets self indulgence: bookstores, boutiques and baked goods, with wine and coffee as chasers. I had lunch at Seminol Winds, a Christian infused cafeteria of down home cooking. I ate, or stuffed myself, in the company of some club of seniors wearing badges and vests.

I stopped a young man in the coffee shop, with whom I talked for fifteen minutes or so, because he was wearing the shirt of a restaurant I wanted to try, called Fish and Grits. He turned out to be the owner of this upscale place and filled me in on the history of Thomasville. It was the most southern place in Georgia before Florida was developed. Big plantations with lots of money. Hence the beginnings of the cool town center. I was upfront explaining who I was and what I was doing. Caleb wanted to know if the ancient Hebrews were black and if the sons of Noah defined the three human racial divisions. (btw Caleb is white) I shared that modern racial issues and weirdness are modern, not Biblical nor Rabbinic. Surely, I was in Georgia.
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A Brief Encounter

I stopped to take a picture of the cultivated "field" of magnolia trees in the distance. The young man in the foreground approached me or do I thought. Actually he was just passing through to the other side of the road where the woods served as restroom. He did generously stop to give my photo some scale. "Gracias," I said, as I rode off. From the woods came the reply, "de nada."
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Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Notice the Pillow (and the red cheeks)

I was gifted (by Chris, whom you will meet soon) and am way beyond grateful for my Hampton Inn room for tonight. Less far to travel and less cold to wake up to.

As I said earlier, I got up and went this morning. A long ride that I wanted to take easily. But I had a tail wind much of the way and made good time.

I arrived in Adel (the middle part of PhilADELphia) around 1:00 pm feeling finished. A man in a van called out to me and asked to talk. As he pulled over I noticed that the van belonged to a church. Chris got out and said, "I'm the pedaling pastor." "Well," I replied, "I'm the pedaling rabbi." So began a new friendship. Tomorrow we may ride together to Thomasville.

Check out his blog at
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What the Eyes See May Deceive

Yesterday Spring arrived. Redbud lightly coating branches, willows showing leaves, the pear trees in the picture, even a magnolia.

Last night we dropped to a couple degrees above freezing.

Waking early, painful since my sleeping bag is delightfully warm, I headed up the hill to the main road by 7:00. Had to hurry as cheesy grits awaited in Willacoochee. Full breakfast: $3.50 including coffee. Nashville by 11:15 and a slow ride to Adel, a town I consistently pronounce differently each time I speak.
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Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Full Day Half Over

Last night it stormed, but the nearest lightning was three miles away. And I was dry in my tent.

This morning I road ten miles to breakfast which seemed ordinary till the waitress returned with the South Georgia version of the Jacksonville paper ( with my picture on the cover. Celebrity before the grits arrived.

Later in the day I took a paved but back roads shortcut of fifteen miles. I saw eleven cars and four dogs, in two groups of two. Chasing me. Now, I've been told that a bike can out run a dog and, more importantly, out stamina a dog. And I did. Twice. But it was close, especially the second time. A third time, thank God I avoided the test. All in favor of more traveled roads, raise your leg.

The end of the short cut was the town of Nichols, GA. This was my first experience of obvious systemic poverty. Lunch, a grilled cheese with fries and a tea was under five dollars. The grocery store where I went looking for, but not finding a banana, had fruit that would not be sold from an Ann Arbor discount bin. And the whole place just looked sad.
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Monday, February 28, 2011

Another Perfect View

I'm settled into a Georgia State Park campsite. The sky is blue from end to end, though the report is for rain. I'm ready, if one can be, but doubtful. It is just too pretty.

My new neighbors, who just moved in, offered me a glass of wine, so the quick and easy friendships of the road begins again. And as I write (but stopped) the camp host came by to be friendly. She and her husband camp host in the winter and RV travel the rest of the year. And now some small aggressive birds have come to visit.

Today I sadly left Greater Brunswick where I quickly and powerfully made friends with a variety of great people. My time there seems fresh in my memory and so long ago as I have resumed my journey. Tomorrow 50 plus miles to Douglas, GA.
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Sunday, February 27, 2011

What Mountain?

This is a cropped view from my porch. Do you see the mountains in the distance raising above the lake? That lake is the Atlantic Ocean and the mountains may just be this afternoon's fog getting ready to roll in.
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Saturday, February 26, 2011


This morning the St. Simons Island was fog bound. I spent much of the day inland in Brunswick without the fog but when I returned the fog, albeit lessened, was still hanging around.

I walked out to the beach where the fog was most dense. As I approached the shore the gulls walked away to give me birth. None flew, just walked. Standing in the pleasant but cool and wet air, staring out into the cloud felt almost ancient. I saw and heard the waves but not much more; the world beyond removed from human reach, maybe from the gulls' reach too.
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Brunswick, the Synagogue

Last night was all it could have been. Using "Gates of Prayer" I lead services for about 80 or so Jews and non Jewish guests. Really good energy and I only tripped a couple of times. Really good energy that flowed into today's Shabbat morning Torah study. Judaism means a great deal to the members, not more than it means to my congregation, but with an intensity born out of the knowledge that they are small in numbers and that they represent a long tradition in Brunswick. The building pictured above is way old and way beautiful. Painted "stained" glass windows set in beautiful wood. Many windows. Thick pillars of wood hold up the ceiling, which is a complex design of diagonally wood. A high Bima with central amud/lecturn.

Lucky me.
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Friday, February 25, 2011

Outside the Door.

In this grassy churchyard on St. Simmons Island a young dynamic Episcopal priest, John Wesley, with strong help from his hymn writing brother, created the Methodist Church or so I was told. Across the road are the remains of Fort Frederica from which the British built up the Colony of Georgia and held back the Spanish from their fortified stronghold of St. Augustine, just some miles down the coast. I was gifted with a brief gracious tour of the island. And I left out the amazing remnant of the oak forest and the lighthouse with a view of that bridge.

Last night I enjoyed dinner with a couple. He's from right here and she's from Louisiana. Their daughters live in Atlanta and south Florida. There is a world down here that does not revolve around New York the way my galaxy does. Not better nor worse, just different. A different American Jewish Community.
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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Night Cap of Torah

Holle and Richard took me for dinner tonight. About halfway through the meal we began to discuss Torah. We talked. We practically closed the place down. Isaac, Rashi, Moses, Peninah, Rebecca flowed in and out. Oh yes and God too.
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The View from the End of a Perfect Day

I did not ride today. Well no more than a couple, three miles to have an afternoon cup of coffee. Last night at dinner the issues was raised of playing golf. If I did then I could skip that nasty (but beautiful) bridge with a clean conscious and ride the ten miles in a car with Mr. Bicycle in the rear. I would also enable my host Jay to play in his weekly game rather than transport me and my guilt over the bridge in the SUV.

What a hoot. After a fruit, coffee and muffin breakfast, we went on a blustery day to play an unbelievably pretty links course, that is a course by the sea. This one built in the early 1900's for a collection of rich folk with names like Morgan and Rockefeller. And I, who have not played in at least five years, held my own. Then the drive over that bridge, a lovely burger lunch till I arrived at my Ann Arbor congregant's place from where I took this picture.

But back to my host and my second informal meeting with Brunswick Jews with whom we ate dinner. Like going out with old friends. And my host Jay, a new friend. Gentle, wise and thoughtful.

And there is still the evening ahead.
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Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Tomorrow's Top of the World

The biggest bridge in Georgia.
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The Pony Express Oak in Front of Sue and Hal's Home

"Do you like steak?" Asked the at ease voice on the phone. My first "congregant" meal in Brunswick (actually Waverly). My first coffee with several members for dessert. My first night in Georgia and I was comfortable.

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