The crazy thing is, I never wanted to be a "Jewish blogger,” or a political one for that matter. I have never been a single issue kind of girl, and I fear a "niche" as much as other, smarter, more marketing- savvy people often seek it.
Here's the thing. I've been thinking about poor Helen Thomas, who I believe was probably just saying what everyone thinks and has therefore been made a scapegoat. Not that I really care, because we ought to share the scapegoat status once in a while. It's the least we can do to dispel the stereotype that we are stingy, us irritating Jews.
I have seen 4 am April snow in Vermont, a great white eraser of global woe, and my children soaking, freezing and thrilled by the time 6 am arrives, at which time they request craisins and a carrot for the snowman’s face. I’ve seen my teenager clean an icy windshield in his pajamas using tourist brochures, the machismo already firmly enough entrenched to make the prospect of gloves, socks, or a coat utterly ridiculous for this task. I’ve seen how maple syrup gets pure in a hot basin in a cold room, and how pure American art used to be in the days of Rockwell, and also how to make a million pints of relatively expensive premium ice cream in 3 or 4 days, while sounding like a bunch of hippies who live out of a van. I’ve tasted B&J’s 'Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz Buzz', which was taken off the market (a “graveyard flavor”), but can still be gotten at the Waterbury plant (making it a “zombie flavor”), and which, if I am ever famous, I would like renamed after me.
I have an unshakeable feeling this Yom HaShoah – Holocaust Remembrance Day. And that is that the day we mark the Jewish status as victims is only still significant in that we no longer are.
It's been about a week since the Jewish festival of Purim, but I am still thinking about my broad shouldered and hairy (male) neighbors who, although upstanding citizens in general, year after year insist on observing the custom of dressing up in costume (fancy dress for you Brits, who are in any case the worst offenders here) by putting on lipstick, a bra, a dress, and a wig…to rather hideous effect.
....Here's an oldie I dug out from my files; Winter always makes me crave poetry...and poetry always makes me crave...craving.
Travel literature, when boiled down to its essence, is almost always about some combination of the 3E's: Escape, Expunge, Expand. The protagonist travels because s/he is running from something (or someone), perhaps indefinitely; is looking to exorcise a personal demon; or is seeking to change and grow. …Or, even if not seeking the latter, will ultimately do so as a result of the dislocated, time-stopping sensation of being out of one's comfort zone. Once you are so far away, so profoundly lonely, there is no where else to go but in. Lisa Fineberg Cook is a nice Jewish girl who has traveled. Though originally from Montreal, Los Angeles has been home for most of her life, which means that, like most urban / coastal, middle class, liberal Jews, Cook grew up with her needs met fairly quickly, and rarely feeling like an outsider. Hence she refers to herself as a J.A.P. in her very enjoyable ride of a memoir, Japan Took the J.A.P. Out of Me.
If you are on anyone's mass e-mail list, by now you’ve probably heard of Harold B. Estes. For those of you who delete anything not work-related before reading, Estes is a very sharp-witted, conservative WWII vet in his mid-90's who wrote a strong letter of criticism to President Obama, virally distributed by e-mail in November.
His opening shot: "…I am amazed, angry, and determined not to see my country die before I do, but you seem hell bent not to grant me that wish. I can't figure out what country you are the president of. You fly around the world telling our friends and enemies despicable lies…"
I've been something of a deadbeat blogger lately. I just don’t have the time…but that's never a good excuse: Time isn't something you have, it's something you make. Yadda Yadda. In honor of Hanukah – and the gift of my Dear Husband taking everyone out and leaving me to brood / work / clean – here are 8 posts I jotted down during the past few weeks, but never finished writing...
Months ago, I e-mailed a friend (let's call him Earl) about who-remembers-what. Earl is also a writer, and in addition, works in photography, film, and music. He is waiting for his Big Break, which actually looks to be fast arriving. Earl is secular, Jewish, American, just a shade older than I am, and currently lives in a large arts-producing city with his significant other, a talented and funny writer / model / actress we'll call Joy. I haven’t seen him in about 8 years but we correspond digitally. Apparently, he's been chewing over part of the contents of that e-mail for a long time. Here's what I got from Earl last week (posted here with his permission): "…I have one question about a statement you wrote: 'Anyway – suburbia is no picnic either sometimes, ditto organized religion, and I am not a tremendous fan of either one.' Why do you stay in Orthodox Judaism then? Do you not yearn to be free? To not be bound by laws and restrictions..."
The Social Well
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