Reflections on Contradictions

Just back from a 10-day visit to Israel, some quick reflections...

I must be getting old.

Six times I’ve been to Masada. Six times I climbed the snake path to the summit where Herod built his palace and fortress retreat more than 2,000 years ago.

On the seventh time, I rested. I took the cable car to the top and back. Once on the plateau where 900 Jewish rebels martyred themselves rather than submit to Roman rule in 73 CE, I opted to sit in the shade after an hour while Gilda and our friend Gemma trekked on toward the southern flank of the desert promontory overlooking the Dead Sea.

On my first visit 45 summers ago, I slept overnight in a barely inhabitable hostel at the base of the mountain, rising pre-sunrise to climb the rocky trail before the desert heat would make the exercise incalculably difficult. Today, a modern visitor center—complete with a McDonald’s!!!!—greets all who come. I resisted the lure of a kosher quarter pounder and fries, instead choosing from the cafeteria fare three of Israel’s signature foods: hummus, falafel and schnitzel.


Ice Capades: Israelis have wised up, at least as far as ice is concerned.

In years’ past, I would be given a cube or two of ice with my soda. Now, they willingly filled a cup to the brim with ice.


Cinematique: Israelis love going to the movies, but they’re in no rush to get to their seats.

Seats are sold on an assigned basis so you know in advance where you’ll be. Moreover, commercials and previews last about 20 minutes before a feature film starts, so a 10 pm post time gives you plenty of leeway to settle in before 10:20.

If you’re watching a comedy, like Bridesmaids (in English with Hebrew subtitles), be prepared for two-stage laughter. The first stage starts when those reading the text get to the punch line before the words are actually spoken.


A Matter of Taste: Gilda loves salads, but Israeli salads were so enormous they almost got the better of her. They burst with flavor and freshness.

Though our nation can point with pride to the efficiency of our food distribution network, Israeli produce more than matches our output. Indeed, comparing the taste of Israeli cherry tomatoes to those sold in U.S. supermarkets leaves an American feeling decidedly inferior.


Who Knows: There must be an explanation, but I don’t know it.

At the Western Wall plaza, a holy site to all Jews because of its proximity to the Temple Mount, religious authorities, and some self-appointed vigilantes, do not permit men and women to stand together and pray. They don’t allow women to walk around with exposed shoulders.

Yet, along the tunnel tour that hugs the Western Wall along its northern path, at the point closest to where the Second Temple stood, the sexes freely co-mingle in prayer, with no one monitoring female attire.

Religion—go figure!

A Flair for the Dramatic

No one could ever accuse Derek Jeter, captain of the NY Yankees, of having an undeveloped sense of drama. Everything he does seems to be tinged with an acute sense of timing, the latest example of which was his dramatic entry into the elite club of 3,000 hit baseball players.

First, Jeter heightened the drama by sustaining an injury just six hits shy of the milestone. Next, he returned in time to set the stage for a Yankee Stadium-setting of the record. Third, the record hit was a home run, an anomaly among Jeter’s general hits nowadays. Fourth, Jeter did not stop at 3,000 on Saturday. He had a day for the ages, going 5 for 5 and knocking in the winning run with a single.

Anyone would remember a 5 for 5 day—Jeter had two of them before. But to add another on the day he stroked his 3,000th hit was an extraordinary bit of theater. It reinforces the flair for the dramatic that Jeter has cultivated throughout his 16-season career.

It ranks with his Jeffrey Maier-assisted home run in the 1996 playoff opener against the Baltimore Orioles; his backhand flip to Jorge Posada to nail Jeremy Giambi at the plate in the 2001 playoffs against the Oakland Athletics; his head-first dive into the third base stands after making a running catch against the Boston Red Sox in 2004, a feat he performed three years earlier against the A’s in the 2001 playoffs; his “Mr. November” home run at 12:03 am November 1 to win a World Series game against the Arizona Diamondbacks in 2001; his quick-release-spin relay throw to home to get Timo Perez in game one of the 2000 World Series against the NY Mets; his leadoff homer in game four of that same series.

In short, Jeter has had a highlight reel career now capped with an incredible performance Saturday. And I missed it because Yankee baseball is not broadcast in Israel. At least not in the hotel I stayed in. Oh well, I guess I will just have to wait for YES to rebroadcast it as one of their encore games.

News Flash—I just checked the YES Network schedule; the game will be rebroadcast in 10 minutes, so I’m signing off for my view of history already made.

Lift-Off, Deferred

A small story a couple of weeks ago indicated the European Union was considering closing part of its operations in Strasbourg, France.

Not too important a story to most people, but it rang a bell with me. Some 15 years ago Gilda accompanied me to Strasbourg for a speech I delivered to a European sporting goods association. Located in northwest France, Strasbourg is the main city of the Alsace-Lorraine region contested with Germany for decades. Its favorite food is sauerkraut, served with boiled meat. Andre Solter, the famed chef of Lutece, the famous New York French restaurant, hailed from there.

In Strasbourg, waitresses inputted your order and ran your credit card through portable terminals they carried with them to your table. Technology available 15 years ago in France has yet to be adopted in the United States.

But I digress. Today's blog, while inspired by Strasbourg, is another of my self-deprecating stories.

While in Strasbourg, Gilda and I attended Sabbath services at a local synagogue. It was an Orthodox service, so we had to sit apart.

Now, it is customary in most Jewish temples to recognize guests by giving them an honor during the Torah reading portion of the service. The gabbai (head usher, or sextant) came over and apologized, relating that all the honors had been dispensed except that of hagbah, the lifting of the two-poled Torah, a scroll roughly four feet tall and weighing anywhere from 30 to 60 pounds, for about 10 seconds. In some quarters, the spread of the hagbah lift—how many columns of text can be seen by the congregation—is a measure of virility. Anything more than three columns is a good showing.

As a rule, I don't do hagbahs. I don't feel strong enough to sustain even a one column lift. I fear I would drop the Torah, which, for those not familiar with Jewish practice, would demand anyone who witnessed the unfortunate incident fast for 40 days, the length of time it took Moses to receive the Torah from God on Mount Sinai.

No way was I going to subject Strasbourg's Jewish community to the possibility of a foodless 40 days. I respectfully declined the honor of hagbah.

Several minutes later a teenage boy performed the widest hagbah I have ever witnessed—at least 15 columns! The Torah he lifted, the Torah I had deferred an opportunity to lift, was barely 18 inches tall and weighed perhaps 10 pounds.

Sink or Swim

I have a new name for my friend Ken. It’s Don, as in Don Quixote.

Ken, er Don, has a romantic notion he can teach me to swim. Fool that he is—a combination of the knight errant with an uncanny resemblance to his loyal squire, Sancho Panza—Don has issued a challenge, that this summer of my 62nd year he will teach me in his pool to overcome my tendency to sink rather than swim.

It is a gentlemanly and kind offer. Worthy of a quest that in times of yore would have received royal support. I hope I am worthy of his trust and effort. I will do my part, as long as he keeps the water temperature above 90 degrees. Usually his pool is a few degrees shy of my comfort level. Perhaps he’ll indulge me by turning up the heat.

It’s impossible to explain the basis of my fear of water. Some of my earliest childhood photos show me cringing in the water while being held by relatives or friends. I clearly was not enjoying myself. I was not a happy camper in those photos.

I failed to learn how to swim despite 14 years of summer camp. My brother can swim; my sister passed the Red Cross instructor course. I made sure Dan and Ellie learned. Dan even became a lifeguard. Gilda can swim.

I couldn’t ride a two-wheeler until Gilda forced me to learn when I was 40 so we could go on family bicycle trips.

If I learn to swim, I don’t anticipate taking up water skiing, scuba diving or some other exotic activity. But I might shed my fear of water and antipathy to pool parties.

While I’m learning to swim this summer, Finley also is taking his first swimming lessons (http://www.findingfinley.blogspot.com/ Read the July 8 "Little Fish in a Big Pond, er, Pool" entry, though I'm biased and think you'll enjoy all of the stories about Finley.)

What are the odds my 20-month-old grandson will learn before I do?

No New Taxes

It's playing out on national, state and local levels, the latest being Minnesota where trying to pass a budget without raising taxes has led to a partial shutdown of services. What does no new taxes, coupled with the mantra of a balanced budget, really mean?

A lower quality of life for all but the richest of our society.

It means cuts in mass transportation subsidies. Cuts in medical benefits and research. Cuts in education. Cuts in park and recreation facilities. Cuts in veterans benefits. Cuts in food safety. Cuts in drug inspections. Cuts in clean air and water control. Cuts in labor safety laws. Cuts in anti-discrimination enforcement. Cuts in law enforcement. Cuts in fire protection services. Cuts in financial regulatory services. Cuts in prison systems.

It means overcrowding on subways and buses. It means higher fees for medical services. More crowded emergency rooms. More students per teacher in the classroom. Fewer opportunities to visit our national heritage monuments, and when you do get the chance, you'll be cheek to jowl with your fellow citizens during the restricted hours of operation. Fewer programs to reward military veterans for their service to the country. More danger and uncertainty each time you swallow a pill or a morsel of food. Each time you drink water or breathe air. More danger that you'll work in an unsafe environment, that your supervisor will be able to discriminate against you. More danger from criminals walking the street because an overcrowded prison system cannot take any more inmates, more danger from fire not being contained fast enough to save lives or structures, from schemers plotting to steal your investment money.

It's a very seductive message, no new taxes and a balanced budget. Hardly anyone likes to pay taxes, though my father used to say he'd welcome the prospect of having to pay $100,000 in taxes because it would mean he'd have had a very successful year.

There's a deeper meaning to the siren call of no new taxes and a balanced budget. By resisting higher taxes on the wealthy, by resisting cutting tax loopholes and subsidies for selective industries, Republicans are saying it's okay if those on Main Street have to pay more for essential services, just don't tax me and my friends on the Gold Coast and Wall Street, we who live in gated communities with private security forces, we who send our children to private schools, we who can afford the best doctors and medical care money can buy.

The most fascinating question in politics today is how mainstream Americans have accepted a political party and ideology counter to their best economic interests. The working and middle classes have latched onto a party committed to their perpetual serfdom. Equally at fault are Democratic leaders who have not embraced the changing values of the electorate for a leaner and more responsive government.

No new taxes. To win back voters, Democrats must forcefully explain the implications of no new taxes and a balanced budget. They must graphically show what a Republican/Tea Party budget would mean to daily life in America. Perhaps a series of 15 second commercials depicting just what would be lost is in order. Fifteen seconds to describe cuts to veterans services. Fifteen seconds to describe cuts to food and drug inspections. Fifteen seconds to describe cuts to Medicare and Social Security programs. Fifteen seconds to describe cuts to mass transit, including air traffic safety. Fifteen seconds to describe cuts to air and water quality. Fifteen seconds to describe cuts to police and fire departments, to the Wall Street and bank regulators, to the prison system.

It's time to go on the offensive.

Learning Essentials

Have you heard the folksy New York Life commercial, the one where the insurance agent extols his family values and ends with him talking with his daughter about her school day?

"Sabrina," he says, "I heard you learned subtraction today."

"Yup. Until I was full."

I identified with that end line. I can remember learning math to the sweet taste of chocolate chips. I was pretty good at it while the candy lasted. Well, maybe through 11th grade.

Our son, Dan, had a similar educational experience during fourth grade, getting rewarded for good work with M&Ms, a confection Gilda and I did not stock in our pantry. Indeed, we had no treats around the house, partly because Dan was allergic to milk products as an infant and we encouraged him and Ellie to eat fruit and vegetables, not candy.

We discovered Dan's incentivized learning regimen after his annual visit to the dentist revealed five cavities in a heretofore pristine mouth. Under questioning, Dan readily confessed his teacher gave him candy for correct answers. Ah, the perils of an intelligent mind. Once we had the teacher stop the candy trail, and substitute carrot sticks, he didn't get another cavity. Ever. Fortunately, it did not stymie his education, proving, at least to us, chocolate is not essential to learning.

Home Rule Blues

Happy 4th of July.

Since it's the day our nation celebrates its freedom, I thought I'd talk a little politics for a change (stop smirking).

It's mostly a truism that Republicans and conservative-leaning citizens believe the best government is the smallest, one that is as local as possible. In other words, federal statutes should not take precedence over state laws, state laws should not supercede municipal ordinances, for after all, who knows better than the people closest to the ground what is right and appropriate for them. The corrollary is Democrats prefer big government—the greater the scheme, the more universal the import, the happier liberals and progressives are, for the common folk cannot be trusted to know, much less do, the right thing.

For example, Democrats believe in universal health care. Republicans want to limit at the local level federally sanctioned abortions.

At least that's how I've always seen government explained. The GOP wants less big government and more local home rule, Democrats want more, period. But now, it seems, Republicans are caught up in a seemingly hypocritical position. They are working against home rule when it comes to home fries and other fattening foods. GOP-controlled state houses and governorships are passing laws restricting a municipality's freedom to regulate food within its borders to control obesity and other health-related concerns (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/01/business/01obese.html?ref=health).

It's a classic sop to business interests that moan the burden of regulations, some of which may differ from one community to the next, thus driving up the cost of adherence. It's a logical argument to make, but it really flies in the face of the grassroots-knows-best mantra the GOP normally espouses.

I guess it's another example of Republican thinking that business knows better than local citizens or their representatives. Business, it seems, can fatten its wallet by fattening up the rest of America.

OK, enough speeches from my soap box. Get out and enjoy the day. Hot dogs for everyone.