JEREMY KLOTZ CROSSING THE FINISH LINE AT THE 70.3 MILE IRON MAN CONTEST
( 1.3 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13 mile run) , BENTON HARBOR, MI.   AUGUST 19, 2012

ISRAEL IS FAMILY

Part Two

                                                                                                            August, 2012

Dear Friends and Family:

 Juca and I love to stay at a small hotel called the Eden in Talpiot on Jerusalem’s south side.  From there we can walk down to Baka, our old neighborhood, or further to the restaurants on Emek Refaim.  In the evenings it is beautiful to walk nearby on the Tayelet which overlooks the entire city, old and new, as well as Abu Tor and east into the desert. 

This year we seemed to be catching the 172 bus on Derech Hevron almost every day to travel downtown to Ben Yehudah Street.  One day we jumped on the bus as unusual, never expecting to experience a scene from “The Russians Are Coming.  The Russians Are Coming.”  Soon after we got on, the driver announced that because the Russian President Alexander Putin was visiting Jerusalem at that very moment, the government had closed all of the main streets going downtown.  He announced that he would get us as close as he could.  It was funny that no one seemed to think that this was too unusual; we got on the bus expecting to go someplace and it simply was going to take us someplace else.  The driver couldn’t tell us exactly where he would let us off.   Although Israelis often yell and complain about any little thing (like the woman who gave the driver hell for stopping a bit up the block from her usual spot), at this major change, it was no problem, and all seemed to accept that we were not going to end up downtown.  Oh those pesky Russians.  

 We finally stopped down near the Jaffa Gate of the old city, quite a distance from where we thought we would be getting off the bus.  But just before we stopped, Juca noticed an old man who was quite upset and confused by this change in route.  Juca asked him if he would like to get off the bus with us so that we could help him.  He was a 92 year old American who had made Aliyah because his son and grandchildren were now in Israel.  He spoke no Hebrew, was wearing a WWII. U.S. Navy Vets cap, and was trying to reach the Great Synagogue of Jerusalem (we were nowhere close). 

 We all got off of the bus, and were slowly making our way up the street when a cab driver approached.  Strange things happen in Jerusalem.  Once I saw an Arab kid wearing an   Olin-Sang-Ruby tee shirt.  (I couldn’t find out how he had gotten it as he spoke no Hebrew.)  So I shouldn’t have been surprised to see that the cabby was wearing a Chicago Cubs cap.  Did it matter to him that our beloved Cubbies were almost already out of the race and it was just the end of June?  I imagine not. He probably didn’t even know who Chicago’s North side heroes were.  Nevertheless, I immediately noticed the Cubs cap and commented to him in Hebrew that I liked the cap and that it was my team.  The cabby wanted fifty Shekels to take the old man to the synagogue.  Our companion refused him saying, through us, that it was too much money and that he couldn’t afford it.

So up the street in the hot sun we trudged; up Rehov Yaffo, toward downtown.  About two minutes later we heard that same cabby yelling at us.  He called out “Hey Chicago, Chicago” (he pronounced it She-caa-go, not the correct way, Chi-caw-go… but I digress).  Of course he got our attention.  When he caught up to us he said that he would just take the old man to the synagogue.  When I told him that he would have to take care of the gentleman, not just give him a ride, his reply was priceless.  With hands outstretched and palms up, giving me an isn’t-it-obvious look, he said, “C’mo Abba Sheli, C’mo Abba Sheli.”  " As if he were my own father, as if he were my own father.”

You see, Israel is family.  Things like this happen there. 

Ron

This is an email I just received from long-time friend Doug Passon.  Give a click to hear and see a great Danny Nichols treat (treat for me).  Anyone interested in supporting this great project can find out how by going to the 2nd link below. 

doug passon dpasson@dmajorfilms.com

                                                                                                                   Aug 3

Hi Ron - Shabbat Shalom.  When last we spoke you said you would be interested in seeing some footage of you and Dan playing.  I just put together "Peace Will Come"  and posted it on Vimeo:  https://vimeo.com/46847430

I put a plug in there for the launch of our Indiegogo fundraising campaign (http://www.indiegogo.com/roadtoeden)  We are trying to raise 30k in the next 60 days.  I would appreciate it, if you are so moved, to do what you can to publicize this to your network, maybe even post it on your blog?

In any case, the footage from st. louis is some of my favorite.  it was so pretty in that park and you guys sounded soooooo good!

be well,
dp

HERE'S AN INTERESTING ARTICLE .  I HAVE NO IDEA WHO THE AUTHOR IS.


When we got our dog, Kasha, we were living in Memphis - I intentionally gave her that name, so that when we were walking with her in the street, and a stranger would come up and comment about how cute she was, and then ask her name, I would reply: "Kasha".... Their response immediately told me something - The non-Jew would always say "What? What 's that name? What does it mean?", and anyone Jewish would respond with: "Oh! What a great name! My mouth is watering just thinking about it!" (or something similar..It was my way of immediately finding out, there in the heart of Memphis TN , if the person was Jewish or not!)
Anyway, read on - 'tis a great story!

It all started when my friend -- who wears a kippah -- was back in college and suffering through a tedious lecture. As the professor droned on, a previously-unknown young woman leaned over and whispered in his ear: 'This class is as boring as my Zayde 's seder. ' You see, the woman knew that she did not 'look ' Jewish, nor did she wear any identifying signs like a Star of David. So foregoing the awkward declaration, 'I 'm Jewish, ' the girl devised a more nuanced -- and frankly, cuter -- way of heralding her heritage.

This incident launched a hypothesis which would henceforth be known as the Bagel Theory.  The Bagel Theory stands for the principle that we Jews, regardless of how observant or affiliated we are, have a powerful need to connect with one another. To that end, we find ways to 'bagel ' each other -- basically, to 'out ' ourselves to fellow Jews.

There are two ways to bagel. The brave or simply unimaginative will tell you straight out that they are Jewish (a plain bagel). But the more creative will concoct subtler and even sublime ways to let you know that they, too, are in the know. (These bagels are often the best; like their doughy counterparts, cultural bagels are more flavorful when there is more to chew on.)

Bageled at Boggle
I suspect that Jews have been bageling even before real bagels were invented. And while my husband and I may not have invented bageling, we do seem to have a steady diet of bagel encounters.

An early bagel favorite occurred when my kippah-wearing husband and I were dating, and we spent a Saturday evening at a funky coffee house with friends. We engaged in a few boisterous rounds of Boggle, the game where you must quickly make words out of jumbled lettered cubes. Observing our fun, a couple of college students at a nearby table asked if they could play too. After we rattled the tray and furiously scribbled our words, it was time to read our lists aloud. One of the students, who sported a rasta hat and goatee, proudly listed the word 'yad. ' Unsuspecting, we inquired, 'What 's a yad? ' He said with a smirk, 'You know, that pointer you read theTorah with. ' Yes, we were bageled at Boggle.

On our honeymoon in Rome , we were standing at the top of the Spanish steps next to a middle-aged couple holding a map. The husband piped up in an obvious voice, 'I wonder where the synagogue is. ' My husband and I exchanged a knowing look at this classic Roman bagel and proceeded to strike up a conversation with this lovely couple from Chicago . After we took them to the synagogue, they asked to join us at the kosher pizza shop. As we savored the cheeseless arugula and shaved beef pizza -- to this day the best pizza I have ever had -- this non-religious couple marveled at traveling kosher and declared they would do so in the future. A satisfying bagel to be sure.

Holy Bagel
In the years since, our bagel encounters have become precious souvenirs, yiddishe knick-knacks from our family adventures in smaller Jewish communities. Like the time the little boy at the Coffee Bean in Pasadena, California , walked up to my husband, pulled out a mezuzah from around his neck, smiled and ran away. (A non-verbal bagel!) Or our day trip to the pier in San Clemente , California when an impish girl in cornrows and bikini scampered over to say 'Good Shabbos. '
We have been bageled waiting at airline ticket counters, in elevators, at the supermarket checkout. And I myself have been known to bagel when the situation calls for it, like the time I asked the chassid seated a few rows up on an airplane if I could borrow a siddur.

On a recent trip abroad, however, we did not get bageled even once. That was in Israel where, thankfully, there is just no need.

We bagel in a quest to feel whole.  Ultimately, why do we feel this need to bagel? Does it stem from our shared patriarchs, our pedigree of discrimination and isolation, a common love of latkes or just the human predisposition to be cliquey? I maintain it is something more. Our sages say that all Jews were originally one interconnected soul which stood in unison at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. Now scattered across the Earth, as we encounter each other 's Jewish souls, we recognize and reconnect with a piece of our divine selves. The bagel may have a hole, but we bagel in a quest to feel whole.

So the next time a sweaty stranger at the gym says to you, 'I haven 't been this thirsty since Yom Kippur, ' smile. You 've just been bageled -- adding another link in the Jewish circle of connection...

ISRAEL IS FAMILY

Part One

July, 2012

Dear family and Friends:

 It never ceases to amaze me that whenever we are in Israel family-like things happen.  I wrote an article in 1990 titled, “Israel is Family,” and here I am writing about the same idea twenty-two years later.  You can find that old article by looking back in the blog to that year.  Israel and I had a rough start together.  Back in 1969 I ventured to Machon Hayim Greenberg for a year of Ulpan.  Jerusalem was very small city back then and there were not many Americans there.  Growing up in a non-Jewish neighborhood in Chicago, and always feeling like the “Jew” in the crowd, it came as a shock for me to actually go to Israel and suddenly feel like the “American” in the crowd.  But it was a case of adjustment on my part, and once I made it, I began to feel at home in that dusty stone-build ancient city.  Learning Hebrew made all the difference. 

Juca and I lived in Jerusalem for two years.  I traveled back several times over the years and we were lucky enough to spend part of last and this summer back in Jerusalem.  When I step off of the plane at Ben Gurion airport I find the Hebrew signs and announcements welcoming rather than strange.  It is like coming home.  And, Israelis are family.  Not that we like everyone in our family or want to spend time with every family member.  No, there are family members we would rather avoid.  Same with Israelis.  But most are like cousins, and there is certainly a family connection.

Two family-like experiences happened on our last visit.  We decided to travel to Haifa to visit one of Juca’s lifelong, Brazilian, childhood friends.  Michelini (now Michal) was born in Egypt, immigrated to Porto Alegre, Brazil where she and Juca became close friends, and then made Aliyah to Israel.  We were going to spend an afternoon with her in her home in Haifa.  To go, we had to travel to the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem, a place with its own tempo and rush of people.  Let me tell you, that tempo ain’t no waltz.

I negotiated the tickets and found the gate where we waited for the particular bus that would take us on the 1½ hour ride to the particular station where we would meet Michelini.  A woman approached me at the gate.  She excused herself and asked if she could speak to me in English.  I am never mistaken for an Israeli and took that as a compliment.  She asked me if that was the right gate for the bus going to that particular station in Haifa and I assured her that she was in the right place and that she could sit and wait with us for the 30 minutes until the bus came.  When the bus arrived, I nodded to her to come on board and she followed is on.

When we were about to arrive in Haifa, I called Michelini on the cell phone, spoke to her for a few seconds in Hebrew and gave the phone to Juca.  Juca, of course spoke to her old friend in Portuguese.  When we got off of the bus, that same woman who had asked me about the bus in Jerusalem came up to Juca and spoke to her… in Portuguese.  That was a surprise.  What came next was even more surprising.  It turns out that the woman was born in Egypt, immigrated with her family to Porto Alegre Brazil, later made Aliyah, and was now living in Haifa.  Her story was Michelini’s story, exactly.  As we heard her tell her tale, Michelini approached us on the platform.  The family scene now played itself out as Michelini, Juca, and the woman connected all of the dots and exchanged phone numbers.  What a mix of languages, continents, and family histories.  It was as if long lost sisters had found each other. 

Hey man; like I said, Israel is family.

Ron

Mike Klotz performing with a Phish cover band in San Fransisco
July, 2012

Three generations of Klotz
Jeremy, Maya (5), Ron, and Zoe (8)
Cincinnati, 2012