"Close Your Eyes and I'll Kiss You..."

Dear Friends and Family:

In 1964 I was a senior in High school when I sat on the floor at my cousin Judy's house and watched the Ed Sullivan Show.  I also became an instant Fab Four fan.  Below is an article written by my friend and colleague Rabbi Jon Adland.  I couldn't say it better and I'm happy to share it with you.  

Pirke Avot 1:2— Shimon the Righteous was one of the last survivors of the Great Assembly.  He used to say: On three things the world is sustained: on the Torah, on the (Temple) service, and on deeds of loving kindness.

February 7, 20147 Adar 1 5774Shabbat T’tzaveh Exodus 27:20-30:10

Dear Friends,

  “Ladies and gentlemen—The Beatles!”  On Sunday evening February 9, 1964, Ed Sullivan uttered those immortal words and my life changed.  I had actually heard “I Want to Hold Your Hand” a month or so earlier before that historic night.  I was riding in the back of my then best friend Bobby Bredhoff’s mother’s white Oldsmobile.  We got into the car, Bobby in the front seat and me in the back, and Bobby turned on the radio.  Within seconds he said, “You've got to hear this,” as the DJ announced the new hit song that was taking America by storm.  The guitar chords started to play and I was hooked on rock n roll and The Beatles.

 Unlike Pete Seeger, who I wrote about last week, The Beatles didn't push me to march or protest against the ills of the world.  Their music wasn't always easy to dance to like the Motown sound that we heard soon after.  But their sound was fresh and crisp.  The words were easy to sing.   They—John, Paul, George, and Ringo (whose names were always, and I mean always, said in that order)—were new, different, exciting, and ours.

I was just nine when I heard them in that Oldsmobile and around sixteen by the time they broke up as a group, but what a joyous ride those seven years were.  Like so many others, I anticipated the release of every new album and the ones I bought I played over and over again on my terrible record player.  Rubber Soul was released when I was 11 ½, Sgt. Pepper when I was 13, and Magical Mystery Tour when I was 13 ½.  Something was changing in the music and something was changing in me.  Their music was becoming more sophisticated and the words were touching on new themes and new ideas.  As The Beatles grew musically, I was growing right along with them.  This was rock n roll in its heyday and I loved every minute of it.  These four lads from Liverpool’s music wasn't loud (though I think our parents thought it was—but they hadn't seen anything yet, nor, evidently, had we.)  Their music was creative and complex.  It was just something else, something that doesn't happen much today.

 Only two of The Beatles are still with us today.  John Lennon was murdered and George Harrison died of cancer.  Paul McCartney is married to a Jewish woman and has accompanied her to Yom Kippur services (so we are told.)  He continues to make music and tour.  Ringo, Richard Starke, is, well, he continues to be Ringo.  He is married to Barbara Bach and is quite involved in the entertainment business.  The members of The Beatles have been in the public eye for 50 years.  For those of us who have grown up with them, they are a part of us.  Their music is our music and most of us can sort of sing along when we hear the music played by an orchestra, in an elevator, or on the radio.  It only takes a few notes of “All My Loving”, or “She Loves You”, or “Yesterday” or “Hey Jude” to get us going.  And how many of you when you turned 64 didn't think about The Beatles?

 So as you walk down memory lane thinking about the first time you heard “Well she was just seventeen” or “Last night I said these words to my gal” it is hard to believe that fifty years have passed since Ed Sullivan introduced us to The Beatles and the screams in the audience began.  Our baby boomer journeys have taken us to many places on our Long and Winding Road as we've mourned and celebrated and danced and graduated and loved.  It may have been a Magical Mystery Tour or A Hard Day’s Night as we crossed our own Abbey Road.  At times we may have asked for Help, but “in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.”  So let me just say that when I hear the words, “Oh yeah, I’ll tell you something, I think you’ll understand, When I’ll say that something, I wanna hold your hand”, it still makes me feel like a teenager and that yesterday doesn't seem so far away.  It is easy to smile.  It was a great time to be alive.

 When you light your Shabbat candles this evening, light one for the memories that bring a smile to your face or a toe to tap or a song to sing.  Light the other candle for John and George and all those who've shared with us some of their creative genius to make our lives filled with a bit more joy, but are no longer here today.          

 Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Jon Adland

Dear Friends:

We are having a hootenanny on Feb. 9th from 4 to 5:30 at Hillel 730 East 3rd street, Bloomington, IN.  YOU ARE INVITED.  Hootenannies are informal folk song singing gatherings.  You don't need to have any experience with folk music or music at all.  We will have all of the words to all of the songs and we sing together in a group.

But, if you play an instrument (we have had banjos, guitars, violins, mandolins, drums, bass, etc at various hoots) please bring it along.  It should be great fun.  

Also, bring friends; the more the better.  We will meet upstairs at Hillel in one of the big rooms at 4 on Feb. 9th.  This is all American folk music, no religion, no preaching, one size fits all.  We will certainly honor Pete Seeger at this get-together.

SO COME.  Hope to see you then.

Ron Klotz

Nothing But Net(s)

Dear Family and Friends:

I hate February. Thank goodness it is a short one.  It’s not because of the cold, and the days are certainly gaining momentum compared to January.  But once the Super bowl is over there is nothing, really nothing... but basketball.  I must be the only non-basketball loving Hoosier in the state of Indiana.   Basketball makes me nervous.  The score changes every ten or so seconds (you really only have to watch the final two minutes of a game anyway).  Give me a good football game any day.  They call it a game of inches, but it usually takes several minutes for a team to march down the field to score.  And give me baseball, the ultimate game of strategy where, if you can stay awake in between pitches and spitting, you really see some great stuff.  Basketball is so fast you hardly have time to eat three or four hotdogs and drink a few cups of beer and you’re out of there.  It’s uncivilized.

I've found that it is impossible to escape from basketball here.  I don't go to games or even watch them on TV, but I do go occasionally to the local YMCA to walk on the track.   At the Y, the track surrounds two basketball courts so I am constantly watching those games as I walk. 

One morning I watched what must have been a vacation camp for young kids.  They were dividing up into teams with several high school age leaders.  I'm a camp person so I see things through programmatic and group dynamic eyes. That morning on one of my loops around the court I saw a small boy, maybe ten years old, leave the group crying.  He went and sat by the wall alone.  I wondered if anyone noticed that he was gone from the group.  Next loop I see one of the high school boys sitting next to him.  From the little I was able to overhear I gathered that the leader was telling the boy that he was not going to make him play, but that he was going to take care of him.  I loved that message.  I wanted to give that high-schooler a hug.  One or two loops later the ten year old is playing basketball and it is quite obvious that he has no idea how to play the game.  Last loop around the track and the Hollywood ending to the story; I see the boy take a shot and, my goodness, the ball goes through the basket.  I don't care much for the game, but that kid's smile, well, I‘d say it was worth a March of madness.  It stays with me.

Last week I find myself looping the courts once again.  This time I see a group of Asian boys playing b-ball.  It was easy to notice that one of the kids was quite a bit smaller than all the others.  He must have been a younger brother that tagged along.  But the older boys included him in the game and even occasionally passed him the ball.  That boy also was all smiles.  I watched him play on each loop of my loops around the court.  He didn't make any baskets but was happy nonetheless.  I thought, “He’s at quite a disadvantage because he's so much younger and shorter than the others.”  Later I noticed that the boy had no right hand.  He played with his left hand and the stub of his right arm.  I hardly noticed it.  The other boys paid no mind.  The kids just played. 

Maybe basketball isn't so bad after all.

Ron

What are You Doing the Rest of Your Life

Dear Friends and Family 

I’ve been thinking lately of a song I’ve always loved.  It’s called, “What are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?”  Sinatra, Streisand, Sting (what’s with all the S’s?), Bill Evans, and best of all Sarah Vaughan all recorded it and recorded it well.  You can find it on You Tube.  This is a beautiful love song.  Its chorus goes:

What are you doing the rest of your life?

The North, South, East and West of your life.

The song came back into my head, not because of its great love theme, rather because of the enormity of the concept, “the rest of your life.” In the past year or so I’ve had several conversations with Indiana University students who have come to me to declare that they have no idea what they are doing with their lives.  They personalized those lyrics to read “what am I doing the rest of MY life?’  Some talked of leaving school (“it’s all bullshit, you know”) and making Aliyah.  Others were simply lost and/or frightened by the thought of making their way in the world.  That’s usually about it for the students’ part of the conversation.  Then there is silence.  Then they look at me as if I have answers.  How to respond?

Well, I’ve thought a lot about where I was at when I was twenty-one and how much I had no idea of what I wanted or where I was headed.  And I’ve thought about my wife Juca in this regard.  How would Juca, living in Brazil, working for Ha Shomer Ha Tsa’ir (a socialist, Zionist youth movement) have responded if, at that age, someone told her she would be married to a guy from Chicago and living in Bloomington, Indiana?  I can almost hear her Brazilian accented laugh from here.

 

What I learn from these thoughts is that these students are asking themselves the wrong question.

So I respond by saying that it is unfair to ask one’s self a question that cannot be answered and then become depressed when no answer can be found.  Perhaps no one can answer the question, “what am I doing the rest of my life?” because life happens, things change, life takes you along, you just use your paddle to try and stay in the middle of the stream.  It is overwhelming to think in terms of life.  Not so overwhelming to think in terms of, “what do I want to do now?  What do I want to pursue in the next part of my life, two years of my life, five years?”  Those are the questions.  I encouraged those students to try and figure out how this semester can be the best possible, next summer, the rest of his or her time here at IU.  “First the socks and then the shoes” was a cartoon that hung in my office at camp for many years.  

  

It is interesting rubbing elbows with Jewish college students.  I’d almost forgotten how difficult it is to grow up and start out in the world.  Also interesting that as wonderful as it is here at Indiana University in 2014 (this is a great campus, great town, great spirit, great community) compared to how terrible it was for me at the University of Illinois in 1965, students still ask themselves the same questions.  So it’s not the time or place, it’s the coming of age, the growing up.  Whereas I used to think that Vietnam, Nixon, the threat of the military draft was the cause of all the stress, now I know that the stress is within us and comes with the age. 

It’s hard to tell a kid to lighten up; to not take it all so seriously; that it will work out (I can hear those words coming out of my own father’s mouth).  But I’m hopeful that I can help a college student discover what might be the appropriate question to be asking; a question that might actually present an answer.

 

Nevertheless, growing up is not easy.  The questions are tough and often the answers difficult to come by.

Ron

Frank Capra? Forgetaboutit…

Dear Family and Friends:

Christmas is a special time for everyone, even us non-Christian, Jewish types.  I like most things about Christmas except for the Capra, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” Jimmy Stewart, bells ringing for Clarence the angel stuff.  This Christmas was the best of all.

Juca and I joined about twenty other members of our synagogue, Beth Shalom in serving a Christmas dinner at the Shalom Center.  The Shalom Center is a non-denominational, non-religious (started by the Methodist church here in Bloomington.  They liked the meaning of the word Shalom, so they used it) daytime homeless shelter.  Juca and I have worked off and on in their kitchen for the past two years.  Our synagogue, as it has for many years, took over the entire food operation of the Center for the Christmas meal.   In addition to those who came to work, others prepared food at home and dropped it off.  You should have seen the turkeys, trays of stuffing, green bean casseroles, mashed potatoes, bowls of gravy, even a couple hams.  The two hundred or so people who showed up for the dinner had a great one.  Best of all, those who came to work really worked.  Our fellow congregants sliced and served and cleaned and interacted with all of the guests. 

As you might have guessed I was on the cleanup crew.  I ran the Hobart dishwasher most of the day while Rabbi Brian scrubbed pots at the next sink.  I guess you could call that Jewish holy water.  We cleaned up a storm.

But the real best of the best happened throughout the meal in the lobby of the Center.  That’s where the Newmans, husband and wife, accordion and piano player, set up their instruments.  The Newmans are in their 80’s.  They are a wonderful couple who play music all over town, usually standards and Broadway tunes.  This day it was all Christmas music (they did manage to slip a “Sunrise, Sunset” into one of their sets).  Joining the Newmans were a violinist and one of the opera professors from IU’s Jacobs School of Music.  You should have heard the music.  Traditional Christmas carols to Jingle Bells, it was beautiful.  I wandered out there at one point to see what was what.  There they were playing beautifully and the lobby, filled with folks who had finished dinner singing with them.  It really reminded me of a Frank Capra film.  Like Curly would have said, “My goose bumps got goose bumps.” What I think of as the spirit of Christmas certainly hovered over the Shalom Center last Wednesday. 

And now we are into a new year, 2014.  That’s 7 + 7 + (7-1) = 20, and 7 + 7=14.  Good thing I don’t live in Las Vegas.  Here’s hoping it’s a year filled with health and happiness for all.  No war, no poverty, no more need for a Shalom Center. “Halavai,” it should only be so. 

Ron

Joseph and His Bros

Problematic Parents, Battling Siblings: How Did We Jews Ever Get to be Who We Are

 (Rabbi Ron Klotz)

“And they took him [Joseph] and cast him into the pit, and the pit was empty; there was no water in it.” (Genesis 37:24) 

I am an only child who always wanted to have a brother. But since Simchat Torah we’ve been reading about our ancestors’ escapades. Now I’m not so sure. It’s hard to imagine how we became a People given their dastardly deeds. It all started with Eve, the rebellious teenager eating the forbidden fruit. Then her son Cain kills Abel, Abraham expels his first-born, Ishmael, and Ishmael’s mom Hagar, just before taking Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice. Thank goodness he saw the light and that poor ram got caught by its horns in the thicket. 

Isaac doesn’t do much himself, but look at what happens with his sons and grandchildren. Jacob steals and lies his way into the birthright and blessing, and his sons throw their brother into a pit. 

 Being an only child might be better than being the eleventh son, as Joseph is. Jacob loves Joseph the most because he is the son of his old age (and because he’s the son of Jacob’s beloved Rachel). Joseph is a spoiled and conceited young man; spoiled by colorful gifts from his father and conceited enough to let his brothers know that one day, they and their father will bow before him, as described in Joseph’s dreams. We know that all of this comes to be, years later, in Egypt. But can you imagine how the family must have felt then? Throwing a brother like Joseph into a pit might not have been such a bad idea, especially when trying to maintain Shalom Bayit (peace in the home). 

Recently, my Hebrew class discussed the Joseph-pit experience. I read the students the passage, “and they took him, and cast him into the pit, and the pit was empty; there was no water in it.” “The pit was empty”—so why tell us that there was no water in it? And was this lack of water good or bad? The biblical commentator Rashi makes sure we appreciate the incident’s ultimate horror by explaining “there was no water in it” indicates what was in the pit, serpents and scorpions.  So the pit was not really empty, rather it was filled with horrors.   

How can we ask God to forgive us based on the merits of our ancestors (Zechut Avot) given all their wrongdoings, as described in Genesis? Perhaps we should think in terms of outcome.  Knowing how it all ends may help.  If it weren’t for Sarah helping Abraham choose Isaac over Ishmael, Isaac passing along the birthright and blessing to Jacob, and Jacob’s sons selling Joseph into slavery, there would have been no one to save the Jewish people from the seven-year famine that brought Jacob’s family to Egypt. We Jews would not have gone from slavery to People-hood, Moses would not have been born, and we wouldn’t be looking for the Afikomen next spring.

  

We Jews are here for a reason; a reason important enough to have ensured that we continue.  Despite those pesky acts of our ancestors, we shouldn’t lose sight of their great faith in and personal relationships with God. Their deeds and misdeeds make for a great story, and prepare us for what comes next -- commandments. Perhaps Genesis was written this way to get our attention, so that we would be ready to become a People and receive the ethical and moral commandments in Exodus and elsewhere in the Torah. Living ethical and moral lives, and passing on those essential and fundamental human values, constitute the light; we Jews are the illuminators. 

Still, Cain, Jacob, and Joseph’s ten brothers aren’t very good role models for siblings. But they are noteworthy.  We all know that brothers and sisters can love each other and be best friends, but that won't make the 11:00 PM news. 

But, you know what? I still wish I had a brother.

 Ron

A Walk in the Park

A walk in the park the other day reminded me of a similar walk I took a few years ago.  Here's what I wrote about it.

I took a little walk today.  "So?" you might say.  Believe me, this was a
memorable walk.  When I get home in the afternoon, I sometimes  workout
on our treadmill.  But today I wasn't feeling so great; kind of tired, knocked out, maybe getting a cold.  So I decided to skip the routine and just go for a stroll around the neighborhood.

It's October and the trees are decked out in all of their splendor; the best
show nature has to offer.  And if my old neighborhood has anything, it's big,
old trees that can dazzle the eye during these couple of weeks of color.  So I
took a little walk.

So I'm strolling down the sidewalk trying to take in the orange and reds, the
dull browns, and fading greens.  I'm tired but feel that this is important
since I know that in a week or two all will be bare.  It's as if I need to
capture this technicolor spectacle so I can rewind to it when the cold winds
whip through the empty branches, when I need a reminder of the softness of
nature.  In other words, I'm trying to take in as much as I can with my eyes.
It was just that kind of moment when my stroll transported me to other times
and other places.  I had been so concentrated on my seeing it all, that I
wasn't ready to be kidnapped by the smells of autumn.

I walked under a canopy of yellow when the first smell hit me.  It was sort of
dusty and pine-driven.  In two or three short steps I was taken away, all the
way to Jerusalem.  I was walking down Jabotinsky, coming home from HUC to our
apartment on Rachov Harlap, sitting on the Mirpeset with Juca, carrying flowers
for Shabbat.  It must have been that pine smell that reached out to me with a
25 year-old arm  and pulled me back all that way.  I followed my nose into a
personal twilight zone, transported to a time when all was beginning.  I hardly
even noticed the smells of Jerusalem back then, and certainly didn't realize at
that time that someday I would be remembering them with a warmth and a smile
and a, "Yeah, I remember that time - it was good."  When I got home I told Juca
that I had smelled it and that it had made me remember.  She understood exactly
and even described that very smell to me.  She knew.  That was my first smell
of the evening.

A little farther along my stroll a second olfactory sensation materialized.
This second sniff-trip, wasn't nearly as esoteric as the first.  This was more
dry and dusty than piney.  It took me farther in years but not in miles.  I
must be strange, but in an instant I was back in high school struggling on a
dusty football field.  For me, football was more than sounds and movements.
For four years the taste and smell of it filled me.  I lived for it and used it
to prove myself to myself.  Today my nose reminded me of that young time.  It
was a time of accomplishment and camaraderie, of controlled trials and tests of
the spirit and body.  In a flash I was back there, my father watching from the
sidelines, my mom, worried in the stands.  Playing football was one of the
hardest things I've ever done.  I was proud to have done it pretty well and am
often reminded of the challenge of those days.  Again, I had no idea that the
smell of the season would stay with me all of these years to carry me back
there today.

If I had to put more than just a nostalgic spin on today's trips, I would have
to say that these diverse memories symbolize my own makeup.  To combine in
one's nostalgia both locker rooms and the streets of Jerusalem, blends an
American childhood with an expanding Jewish identity.  I can hear the Twilight
Zone theme song ringing softly in my ears.  

It's funny, I just started out to take a little walk around the neighborhood, but ended up journeying to the far corners of my life.  When I returned home, I unpacked a few smiles I'd picked up along the way.

I hope you are enjoying the colors in your neck of the woods,

Ron