The Dude Abides, Man

                                                                                                September, 2013

Dear Family and Friends:

I’m a lucky guy, in any number of ways.  One of those is that my kids give me gifts for no reason (and those are the best).  Two weeks ago Jer gave me a book that I’ll tell you about in a minute.  At about the same time Julian “Cannonball” Adderley CD’s started mysteriously arriving here.  Cannonball Adderley is a favorite sax player of mine.  My son Mike was the culprit (it didn't take long for me to figure that out). 

I’m also lucky to have close friends who are wonderful, dear, and incredibly talented.  Late last Thursday night, long after an outstanding Simchat Torah experience with Dan Nichols, followed by a magical 90 minutes where forty of so IU Hillel students crammed into a small program room, jammed, sang, and listened to Danny do, do that voodoo that he does so well (any of you remember Sinatra’s “Old Black Magic?”), we found ourselves sitting out on the porch, schmoozing (not unusual for us).  We talked about any number of things, recognizing that our lives have been G.U.C.I.-intertwined forever.  To the world it’s “Dan” Nichols, but to the Goldman Union Camp world he is, and I believe will always be, “Danny.” 

  

So there we sat out in the dark, trading some memories, discussing what we each thought might be the essential elements of song leading and much of the music we have shared over the years.  Danny reminded me that, long ago, I had given him a beloved Dukes of Dixieland CD and I commented that, as strange as it may sound, there is one note in that performance that always brings me to the brink of tears.  Silly, eh?  A Dixieland band, a great Dixieland band, led by the Assunto brothers, Frank on coronet and Fred on trombone that can elicit such a strong response on my part.  But it’s true. The album is “The Best of the Dukes of Dixieland,” and the number is “The Original Dixieland One-step.”  Late in that number Fred Assunto’s trombone soars above the band and always hits me right between the eyes.  A while ago I told you of a similar response I always have to a particular note on an Ella Fitzgerald CD.  It is a note that I anticipate and wait for…and hope for.  When it comes it is rapture. 

Last night at another Simchat Torah celebration, this time at the installation of a newly hired rabbi and cantor at a fledgling synagogue in Indianapolis, I spoke about the book I am reading, the one from Jeremy.  It’s about one of my favorite movies, “The Big Lebowski.”  In the book the star of that movie, Jeff Bridges, has conversations with a Jewish-Zen master friend about the philosophies presented in the movie.  Jeff talks about the central character, “The Dude,” and remarks that no matter what trials or tribulations confront the Dude, “The Dude abides.”  His Zen master friend  responds by telling him that Chassidic rabbis believed that there are always 36 righteous souls in the world, and because of them God allows the world, with all of its imperfections and injustices and evil, to abide, to continue.  Perhaps, he suggests, the Dude is one of the 36.  I used this idea to suggest that we treat each other as if he or she might be one of the 36, understanding that the world abides because of that person’s righteousness.

 

Then, this morning I put the Dukes of D. on and listened once again to that soaring trombone.  The thought came to me that perhaps my world abides because of that note and Ella’s, at least in the instance of hearing them.  You may have such a note or two as well.  Maybe it is in a Springsteen song, or Van Halen, or Mozart, or maybe in the “Amen” at the very end of the Shehechianu at the end of a Shabbat song session in a steamy, summer Chadar Ochel at camp.  Mine’s in the midst of a Dixieland number and a jazz ballad; strange as that may seem.

 

To celebrate the joy of our Jewish cycle, to dance with the Torah, to install two new clergy as leaders in a newly born synagogue, and to sit late at night on the porch talking to a dear friend about nothing and everything, music; well, it just doesn't get much better that that.  I’m kind of understanding how the Dude abides, how the world abides and how lucky I am to be a part of it all.  

And gifts from my sons…that goes at the top of the list.

Ron

Happy Birthday Linda Brenner

Dear Family and Friends:

Our dear friend Linda Ross Brenner just had a significant birthday.  Here's the tribute I videoed for her.  It's a bit crudely filmed, but I'm no Max Klaben in that department.  

Happy birthday Linda.

Ron 



https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B6UVZwq28xILZlhnWVAweVpMc00/edit?usp=drive_web>

A Family in Our Community Needs Your Help

AUGUST 21, 2013 1 COMMENT

Rabbi Rick Jacobs

Ethan Kadish is a 13-year-old boy in great need of the Reform Jewish community’s help.

On June 29, 2013, the afternoon peace of Shabbat at URJ Goldman Union Camp Institute(GUCI) in Zionsville, IN, was shattered by a lightning strike that left three campers unresponsive on the athletic field. Thanks to the skill, courage, and quick thinking of the GUCI staff, all three campers made it to the hospital and survived this unimaginable tragedy.

This heartrending incident tested the GUCI family, the URJ camp community, and the entire Reform Movement, but none more than the families of the injured campers. Their strength has been nothing short of inspirational. Two of those families’ children, thankfully, recovered and returned home; one even returned to camp. The third camper, Ethan Kadish, remains hospitalized in Cincinnati, OH.

To date, Ethan’s recovery has included a series of successes that began with his survival and includes milestones like opening his eyes, breathing independently, and responding to stimuli. Ethan is in the care of a fantastic medical team and undergoes several hours of intense physical therapy every day. His family looks forward to the day he will return home, but they recognize, too, that even once he’s home, his challenges will continue. Ethan will require regular therapy and constant medical care, which, once he leaves the hospital, likely will not be covered by insurance. Ethan and his family face a long, hard, and, yes, expensive road ahead.

The Kadish family’s remarkable strength comes largely from their faith – faith in the healing power of God, faith in the skill and wisdom of Ethan’s physicians, and faith in the support of the URJ and GUCI communities. We are pledged to maintain that support, ensuring that throughout the challenges ahead, their faith in our communities will not waver.

This week – the week before Ethan was to have celebrated his bar mitzvah – a fundraising campaign in his honor has been launched with HelpHOPELive, a nonprofit organization that assists the transplant community and those who have sustained catastrophic injury. The funds will help Ethan’s family meet immense financial challenges associated with uninsured therapies, home modifications, and other injury-related expenses. All contributions made in Ethan’s honor will be administered by HelpHOPELive, specifically and solely for his injury-related expenses.

Our tradition teaches that Kol Yisrael arevim zeh b’zeh (all Jews are responsible one for the other). Indeed, together with HelpHOPELive, the Reform Jewish family can honor Ethan and his family, sending a strong message that we stand together with all of them during this time of need.

To make a charitable contribution by credit card, please call 800.642.8399 or visit Ethan’s page at helphopelive.org.

To make a donation by check, make checks payable to: HelpHOPELive and include this notation in the memo section: In honor of Ethan Kadish. Mail to:

HelpHOPELive
2 Radnor Corporate Center
100 Matsonford Road, Suite 100
Radnor, PA 19087

Contributions are tax-deductible to the extent allowed by the law. This campaign is being administered by HelpHOPELive – a 501(c)(3) nonprofit providing fundraising assistance to transplant and catastrophic injury patients – which will hold all funds raised in honor of Ethan in its Great Lakes Catastrophic Injury Fund.

John, Woodie and Henry

Dear Family and Friends:

A while ago I wrote a piece about John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath."  I've recently been seeing retros about Henry Fonda which certainly bring to mind that great movie.  Here is a recap of that post.

Ron

                                                                                 

Sometimes being a late-night person pays off, at least in the “Watching Old Movies On TV,” department.  The other night I revisited the saga of Tom Joad and his family as they made their trek westward out of the 1930’s Oklahoma dust bowl to the California line.  Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath,” never hit home with me like it did that night.  Granted, It was late and I was tired, but I sat mesmerized watching Henry Fonda come home from prison only to find that his family had lost the farm to the dust and the bank.  It broke my heart to see those old farmers kneel down and scoop up handfuls of dirt and remember that their fathers and mothers were born and died on that land.  Tom Joad’s grandfather refuses to leave, holding on to a handful of dirt saying, “this dirt is mine…. It ain’t worth nothin’…but it’s mine.”

This is a tragic story of folks being forced off of their family’s land, and making their way to a new place, living on a hope and a prayer.  It’s the story that prompted so many of Woodie Guthrie’s songs.  He was an “Oakie,” and “Dust Bowl Refugee (one of his song titles),” when he wrote, “Do Re Mi,” and told us that “California is the Garden of Eden, a paradise to live in and see.  But, believe it or not, you won’t find it so hot, if you ain't got that Do Re Mi.”  And out of his dust bowl came, “Pastures of Plenty,” and “I’m Goin’ Down That Road Feeling Bad (and I ain’t gonna to be treated this-a way).” In, “I Ain’t Got No Home,” Guthrie wrote the saddest of verses saying, “My brothers and my sisters are stranded on this road. It’s a hot and dusty road that a million feet have trod.  The landlords threw us out and drove us from our door.  Now we ain't got no home in this world any more.”  Along with the better known, “So Long, It’s Been Good To Know You,” Guthrie put Steinbeck’s “Grapes of Wrath” to music with “The Ballad of Tom Joad.”  These are sad songs of poverty and suffering, but all with a glimmer of hope and great determination. 

One of our Torah portions came to mind as I sat in my family room glued to director John Ford’s incredibly powerful visual masterpiece.   How much like the Joads must Abraham have felt when he heard the words “Lech Lecha…” as he was ordered to leave the land of his birth?   How heroic to grit you teeth and pack your belongings and hit the road. I also couldn't help but think of the tragedy happening for all those modern-day, dusty refugees leaving their homes, like those in Afghanistan who made their trek to the Pakistani line. This is not a comment about our war in Afghanistan (that's a thought for a future blog post), but it certainly is heartbreaking to see anyone who, “Ain’t got no home in this world anymore.”

I encourage you to go out and rent “The Grapes of Wrath.”  See if it doesn’t help you understand the plight of the refugee and the heroism of the pioneer.  God knows our ancestors filled both of those roles throughout our history; refugees from Egypt, Spain, Russia, Poland, Yemen, Ethiopia, etc.  And heroic pioneers called Chalutzim, who left the lands of their birth with nothing but a dream, and came to Eretz Yisrael to build that dream in the form of kibbutzim.    They too scooped up handfuls of earth and said, “This land is mine!”  They understood the power of a personal relationship with land, the strength and satisfaction that comes from working the land, and because of that, the magnitude of the tragedy of being uprooted from your land. John Steinbeck and Woodie Guthrie understood and taught all of these lessons well. They just didn’t know how Jewish their message was.      

Ron

Secret Times and the American Pastime

                                                                                                July, 2013

Dear Family and Friends:

A couple of nights ago I watched the Major League baseball All-Star Game.  What’s so interesting about watching a ball game anyway?  Well for 36 summers I worked at Goldman Union Camp Institute and for 10 or so summers before that I worked at Olin- Sang-Ruby Union Institute.  Both are summer camps and when you work in a summer camp, days blend into one another, the time between one Shabbat and the next is just an instant, and who (at camp) even knows when the All-Star game is even happening?

 

This game brings together the best players in the American and National leagues.  They are the best baseball players in the world, (I dare say) and most American baseball fans are excited about it.  When I was a kid, I was too.  That was before all of those summers at camp with no TV or time to even think about the sport I loved so as a boy.

So, here I am, retired, at home in the summer and able to once again tune into the game.  You know, I really am not very interested in All-Star games.  Nowadays the game is important because the winning league gets home field advantage for the game of games, The World Series.  I’m a National League person.  But I know that even if the NL pulls off a victory, the World Series will not be played in a “Field”  (as in Wrigley) but most likely in a “Stadium” (as in Busch), or a “Park.”  This troubles me.   Nevertheless I watch, and the American League wins anyway.

So I’m up in my lair, watching the game and I flashback to a time long ago when All-Star games were so important to me.  The year is 1958.  Believe it or not, in those days I’m a Chicago White Sox fan (that would last until the mid 60’s…it probably was a rebellion.  My dad was avid Cubs fan).  So, it’s 1958 and some unbelievable players are in the game.  To start with the Sox’s second baseman, Nellie Fox; and shortstop Louis Aparicio (later to become Nellie’s son-in-law, but I digress) one of the greatest double –play combinations in all of baseball history (or at least the history of baseball in my lifetime).  Joining these heroes of mine was another all-time great, Mickey Mantle.  Mantle played center field for the much hated (because they were such a powerful and winning team) New York Yankees.  I hated the Yankees…but I had a picture of Mickey Mantle in my bedroom.  Some of the best ever played for the National League, Willie Mays, Stan Musial, Henry Aaron, Ernie Banks, and Warren Spahn to name a few.

So I’m watching the game here in 2013 flashing back to ’58 but not thinking about these historic names, or even thinking of the game itself at all.  Rather, I’m thinking of the setting in which I heard the game.  That’s right, heard the game on the radio, as did millions in those days.  But when one listened to such games announced by outstanding sports announcers who painted pictures with their words, you really did see the game, in your head, that is.    In 1958 I was twelve years old.  It was my first summer as a camper at Union Institute in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin.  I’d been a camper for four years already at other camps because our Reform Movement camps in those days did not take campers younger than twelve.  Funny, I didn't know that it would be the first of fifty-two summers I would be spending in our Reform Jewish summer camp programs.

 

I remember the night of that All-Star game.  We must have been listening to a rebroadcast of the game as baseball was pretty much an afternoon sport back then.  I was a camper in one of the small white cabins on the Big House lawn near the lake (we didn't know enough Hebrew then to call it the Bayit, as it is called today).  I can see it in my mind.  It’s late at night, dark in the cabin while ten or twelve of us twelve-year olds huddle around a bottom bunk at the back of the cabin, ears “glued” to a small transistor radio.  We had to listen quietly so we wouldn't attract the attention of the counselors on late night “OD.” I remember nothing of the game.  I remember everything of the excitement of sneaking around, like thieves in the night, outrageously listening to baseball when we were supposed to be fast asleep in our bunks.  How dastardly.  What rebels we were.  How delicious to have such an innocent adventure in the dark with cabin mates.

 

Such “secret” times still happen in cabins in camps around the world.  Times that kids will think back on when they are retired and something triggers a memory.  In 1958 it was my time, my cabin, my All-Star game.  I loved remembering it the other night.  I watched baseball but thought about kids at camp making memories.  Our granddaughter, Zoe is a camper at this moment.  I know she’s having those secret times.  Good for her.

Ron

Tough Questions

Dear Family and Friends:

Those of us in the extended Goldman Union Camp Institute family have been following, with fear in our hearts, the events that began last week at camp.  Lightning, out of the blue, struck three campers on the Migrash Sport (athletic field).  Our camp staff acted without hesitation saving lives with CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  Two of those campers have been released from the hospital; yet one remains in critical but stable condition.  The campers' families have established a fund at the camp in honor of those unbelievably brave staff members to ensure future staff training and equipment.  I'm sure that if you want to contribute, you can get more information from G.U.C.I.

At another Jewish camp in Northern California, a tree fell and killed one staff member.  Unbelievable.  Parents send their kids to camp to have a good time, make friends for life, and learn a little about themselves and our Jewish heritage....and tragedy happens. 

I guess one could say that this is an ultimate teachable moment.  I've had numerous conversations this week with friends who question, "How could God let something like this happen?" and, "How can one have faith in the midst of so much doubt?"  With the High Holy days approaching early this fall, I know that many of us will be wrestling with such questions.  When we read the Unetane Tokef on Yom Kippur..."Who shall live and who shall die.  Who by fire and who by water, etc?"  how will we be able to think of a God who drops a tree on an innocent camp staff member or strikes three little ultimate Frisbee players down with lightning?  I, myself won't have such a dilemma.  I'll tell you why.

In my life, I have been greatly affected by the book, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" by Rabbi Kushner.  He struggles with the above mentioned questions, and so many more, after experiencing the loss of a child.  Rabbi Kushner's ultimate answer may have been my greatest faith lesson.  Brilliant in its simplicity, Kusher teaches us that it is not God that makes disasters like these happen.  They happen, period.  God, or faith, helps us cope with life and life is full of terrible things.  In spite of it all, we can still believe in goodness, spirit, the strength we derive from our families, communities and our Peoplehood, and even some sort of grand scheme to existence.  Fiddler on the Roof's Tevye showed us that we can be angry with God, we can rail against the inequities of life, we can tear out our hair in despair; but we can also marvel at the fact that there is life, there is solace, there is beauty, and there can be faith.

Understand that anyone who has all the answers is to be greatly distrusted.  You can trust me.  I don't have many answers.  Like most of us, I've carried a full case of doubt around forever.  The longer I have lived the more I have come to realize that doubt may be a good thing.  Blind faith may be for some, but not me.  Doubt (as my football coach used to say) keeps the defense honest.  Doubt keeps me on my faith toes.  But just as I doubt (really) blind faith, I have much more faith than blind doubt.  Most of the questions in my heart I answer with simple "I don't knows."  But I can't help but look at the world around us and marvel at its sunsets, smile at babies, and see good in almost everyone I know.  Those miracles, and so many others, are part of life too. 

If these ramblings don't make any sense to you, well, that's why God created the Delete button. 

In any event, we sit in the comfort of our homes, drive in our air conditioned cars while those G.U.C.I. counselors, unit heads, camp director, camp faculty and board members did us proud by their actions and reactions.  The healing continues.  Their work is sacred, important, and they do it with love.  We owe them all a great debt of gratitude.  I'm going to add to this the letter I sent to our G.U.C.I. staff last week.

Keep the faith, if you know what I mean.  

Ron

Dear G.U.C.I. Staff and Avodah:

Words just about escape me after what you all have been through last Shabbat. I've read all of the accounts and heard first hand from Mark, Jeremy Klotz and Paul Reichenbach, and can only tell you how proud I am of you.  After all of my many years at camp I can honestly say that I have no idea what it was like to face the crisis you did last Saturday.  Nevertheless I do know what it is like to be a part of the team and part of the spirit of our camp.  You, as a staff, have shown us all your depth, your commitment, and your love. 

From a Jewish perspective, as we sing daily, you all have been given the opportunity to make our world a better place, and have done so.  I’m sure that the recovery process will continue and that you will love each other through it.  Fortunately there is healing in the work at camp, in all of the small moments with your kids and each other, in your humor and your music, and your T’fillot. 

For all of you, those with whom I've worked in the past and those newer to the camp community, I am immensely proud…even to be remotely connected to G.U.C.I.

There is a lot of summer left, a lot of kids to be touched by your magic, a lot of smiles, a lot of new Hebrew words to be learned. A lot of A minor and D minor chords to be played.  I know that you will play them well and teach them well and that you will be enriched in the process.

Thank you for being who you are…the best of us.

Ron Klotz

ANYWHERE I HANG MY HAT IS HOME

                                                                                                             June, 2013

Dear Family and Friends:

When I was working as Director of the Goldman Union Camp Institute I had to make many places home for short periods of time.  Of course, I mainly hung my hat at Chez Klotz in Indianapolis.  But, for twelve weeks every summer the hat rack was at camp in Zionsville.  That was home.  Then, during the winter months almost every weekend I hung my hat (and earmuffs) in every Jewish community from Cleveland, Ohio to Kansas City, Missouri.  Those were short-duration homes usually in a Courtyard Marriott.

This last winter our brother-in-law, Gilson, came to live with us for three months.  People asked us, “Wasn't that a long time to have a guest?”  The answer was always “N.O.” Gilson, who is married to my wife Juca’s sister, Helenita, is a remarkable person.  He was here from Brazil to study English at Indiana University for the semester.  He’s an old world, even European sort.  Speaks several languages.  Wears his hat at a jaunty angle.

 

Gilson and I have been closer than brothers-in-law for a long time.  We have traveled together in Brazil, sailed together on Lake Michigan, shared many a glass and cigar.  But living with him in our home taught me some interesting things about him.  He’s an appreciator (I may have just made up that word).  Gilson appreciates everything.  He appreciated the snows in February as well as the budding plants in May.  He appreciated going to jazz clubs and diners, as well as “good” restaurants and concert halls.  Gilson appreciated his first ride in my convertible with the top down, my hootenanny folk jams, and even the weeks when our kids and grandchildren, family from Brazil and other guests filled our house to over capacity .  Gilson is an appreciator of life.

One cold Sunday afternoon in March, I built a fire in the living room and we sat and read and listened to jazz there for several hours.  We hardly spoke.  It was golden.  As time went on I asked Gilson how he felt being here for an extended stay.  He told me that, of course he missed Helenita and his boys and family, but that (and he actually said something like this) “I've hung my hat here and its home.”

 

Juca and I greatly missed Gilson when he left in May.  I missed our talks.  I missed sitting out on the porch with him in our winter coats having a drink and a cigar.  I missed being with him when we didn't have much to say, and that was alright.

 

So, for three months my friend Gilson hung his hat in Bloomington.  He appreciated everything we did and we appreciated doing everything with him.  For three months I had the brother I never had.  

It’s very easy to appreciate something like that.

Ron