Taking Things Seriously

Every year on the Sunday before Thanksgiving The Goddard Riverside Community Center holds a book fair. They get brand new and relatively new books donated and sell them at half price. If you came during the last hour of the sale they still have a lot of good things left and sell books with price tags of up to forty dollars (or more) for between one dollar and three.

Here's a highlight of one of the books I purchased this year (it's my second year in, last year the big finds were Debra Winger's Memoir: Undiscovered, Nancy Peacock's A Broom of One's Own, and multiple gift copies at a buck a piece of Haikus For Jews.) This year the fare was broader if not better, in other words I bought more. The receipt was kind of funny for a giant bag full of books reading roughly, $1, $3, $2, $2, $2, $2, etc. for these beautiful, wonderful books.

One example: Taking Things Seriously. I recommend clicking on the link, even if you generally skip the clicks. I love the title and the book (One definition of a good title is that it has at least one more than one meaning) resonated for me. I've listened, perhaps against my better judgement, to my personal organizer who argued that it's the memory not the object that counts. He said with confidence that if someone gives you something they want you to hold on to the gesture and don't care if you hold on to the object. Though, I know of at least one case where a giver did not feel this way. I gave away some books and threw away some movie stubs and other things. But I still subscribe to the idea that the objects are worth a lot, including worth holding onto. This is why I was happy to find my cherished pencil from kitah vav.

I recommend Taking Things Seriously. It was worth every cent of its two dollar price tag. At that price even Abbie Hoffman would agree to buy this book.

5 Questions

There's a thing going around

in which one blogger poses

five questions to another blogger.

Different questions each time -

whatever they want.

These were posed to me by

The Blogger Formerly Known As Mirty.

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1. What do you consider your best habit and your worst habit (that you're willing to share with us)?

Creativity and spontaneity are traits that I’m in the habit of using and that I’m proud of. Sometimes when someone chides me for lacking in certain traits that they have I’m tempted to say to them – come up with a metaphor, a rhyme, an idea – on the spot!

Disorganization with papers is a habit that I’ve worked on changing. (I once heard Dr. Mel Levine say that somehow when a piece of paper crosses over his hand it magically disappears. He also claims that when he meets his wife for dinner she’s always an hour late but it doesn’t matter because he’s waiting on the wrong corner.) In recent years I’ve read a book for right side of the brainers about clutter and I’ve worked with a personal organizer. I’ve gotten better with some spacial issues. But keeping track of written information, papers, is hard for me. And the way I presently do it is one of my worst habits.

2. Relate a time that someone (teacher, friend, colleague) praised or admonished you and you learned something important from that.

When I was in ninth grade I was in the third shiur down. The shiur above me was filled with kids I wanted to impress. When my Rebbe asked me to deliver a note to the Rebbe across the hall I was excited. So with paper in hand I tried to walk as coolly as I could into that classroom. I didn’t know what a cool walk was and my attempt came out as a shuffly waddle. When I made it to the teacher’s desk he took the note from my hand and before he looked at it he imitated my walk. The class roared. I turned purple. I learned how hurtful a human being can be.

When I was in seventh grade my music teacher was a joyful frum man who used to sing Gedaliah Goombar with us. He once suggested that Sounds of Silence’s lyrics were borrowed from Hallel. One day he facilitated a discussion about the point of music – asking “why do we sing?” I don’t remember what I said but I remember his reaction. He said that my answer was the Chasidic approach. I took that as a compliment and walked around all during recess singing “I’m a Chasid! I’m a Chasid!” I didn’t know what that meant really, had never seen a Chasid. But I liked that he gave attention to my words.

3. Did you have an allowance when you were a kid? Do you remember how much it was and how you spent it (or didn't spend it)?

There was an allowance; it was different at different ages. I recall buying Wacky Packages and Baseball Cards and Mad and Peanuts books and sometimes a joke book. Also, snacks – Wise Barbeque Potato Chips was a favorite. I recall one Mother’s Day going to Oakland Card and Gifts and buying a trophy for my mom. My brother and I chipped in but were a few cents short. They held it as we walked the 15 blocks home and then came back to get it. At around 12 buying albums and tapes started. I’d sit on the living room floor and listen with headphones to Laurel & Hardy, Pryor, Carlin, Klein…

4. Are you personally close to anyone who survived the Holocaust or their children? How has the relationship affected your Jewish identity and beliefs? (** This is really more a question for me, but I thought you or others might have similar experiences.**)

Well, my grandparents and father and aunt came from Germany in 1938. Having to flee a country where your family has lived for many generations is traumatic and any Jew that left because of Hitler is a Holocaust survivor (according to the organization Selfhelp). My paternal grandfather passed away years before I was born and my grandmother when I was in first grade. My father – HSLABW – has told me a bit about the need to leave Germany and the trip. There’s a cousin that went through Shanghai, but I never heard him speak about it. There may be other relatives that I’m not aware of. No close relative that I know of spoke about it or survived the camps as far as I know. I had a Rebbe in HS who used to tell stories about his concentration camp experience and that left a lasting impression.

5. Do you ever eat dessert first? ("Life is short...")

Instead, but not first.

On Mind Clutter

"I believe that the worst clutter problem 
is not in the garage, basement, or rental unit. 

The greatest battle with clutter of all is in the mind- 

what we carry in our head and heart." 

- From Not For Packrats Only 

By Dan Aslett 

(This book has been taking up space in my home since the nineties).

This brings to mind my dear personal organizer.  I mention him in these posts.

Here are the posts where I mention clutter.

Comments Welcome

What do these books have in common? Laughter on the 23rd Floor, Freakonomics, The Red Tent, and Rachel was his wife, I Love You Now Change? My answer? (The teacher in me wants you to know that I'm interested to hear your answer too, which I'm sure is very good.) They are all books that I borrowed years ago and have yet to return. (That reminds me that I have three pouches of creamed spinach in my freezer which neighbors put in before Pesach. I keep thinking to return them. In moments of weakness I've thought of eating them. That reminds me of the story in the Gemorah about the Rav who held onto something someone left with him and he kept caring for it as it multiplied and he transferred it into other things and became a fortune. Years later the man, who had forgotten about the whole thing passed through, and was presented with all that had accrued.) I picked these books randomly from the borrowed collection, which makes passionate writing a challenging. And yet.

Laughter on the 23rd Floor - At the end of social work school a classmate in her fifties who I never had much to do with invited me to an end of school party. She thanked her husband publicly for his support. There were two women students leaning over a Formica counter-top, were scouring The Times for jobs. They reminded me of those two critical old men from The Muppet Show, frowns chiseled into their skin. They asked, in a judgmental tone, if I was looking for a job, having just graduated. "No," I shocked them. A few weeks later, Fate offered me the job which I still hold (poo poo poo). I picked a book off the shelf and looked at it. The hostess offered to lend it to me, adding - "It will ensure we stay in touch." When I called about returning it she didn't seem to know who I was. Today, I remember her essence, but I don't remember her name. Key line (pg 113), "I would have followed Max to the ends of the earth. But the earth went off the air on June first. And we all went our separate ways: some up, some down, some struggled, some had more babies, and one, like Brian, died much too young."

Freakonomics - This is one of several books (Others include Tales Out Of Shul and Blink) lent to me before my neighbors went to Israel for two years. They're back and don't have shelf room. I check in every now and then and they say to hang on to it. I do hope that they have room for the cream spinach. It would be a shame for that to go to waste. (When I was a kid that packaged cream spinach was one of my favorite foods. I used to mix spinach and mashed potatoes - my dad's [HSLABW] idea. Delish.) Sample (pg 20) "Economics is, at root, the study of incentives: how people get what they want, or need, especially when other people want or need the same thing."

The Red Tent - About 8 years ago a ninth grader, out of the blue, said that she thought I would like this book, so she lent it to me. I couldn't get into it.The next year the girl had switched out. I would have to work hard to track her down and am willing to bet that she doesn't remember having lent me the book. (I've freaked people out in the past by returning things they didn't miss. I recall giving a shocked and mocking neighborhood father an Ellery Queen book that I borrowed when from his son when he was in 7th grade and he was I was in 8th. I once borrowed a book Haim Ginot's Teacher and Child from a woman who liked a friend of mine that I crashed with for a summer. About 12 years later she started working in my school. I felt funny giving it back, but she was right there. So one day, when she stepped out, I left the book in her office.) Notable quote (pg 1), "It's a wonder that any mother ever called a daughter Dinah again. But some did."

and Rachel was his wife - I've tried but can't find any deep meaning in the use of small letters in the title - it might just be an example of trying too hard. I think it would be sensible if books were sold with plastic on the covers the way you get them in libraries. The way it works now you choose if you want to protect the cover or the book. The person ahead of me on the Barnes and Noble line to get her book signed by Nicole Krause had the cover removed? "You like to preserve the cover, so you take it off?" Nicole asked her and she replied yes. Then Nicole said, "I do the same thing." Anyway, I must have borrowed this book about fifteen years ago from a woman I was dating seriously. I wanted to protect the cover so I took it off. Years later while sorting through papers with my personal organizer I came across the cover and it had a crease on the middle part that lays on the spine of the book. I looked online and it seems the book is out of print. This one seems do-able to return, and I hope to, one day. Sample passage (pg. 6): "But I knew Rachel, and you can believe me when I say that Rachel was everything a true daughter of Israel should be, and everything a woman could be. Yet she prided herself on only one thing: she was Akiva's wife."

I Love You, Let's Work It Out - I was dating someone seriously and one of her close friends lent this book to another one of her close friends, who lent it to me. It's filled with underlines, most of which I agree are spotlighting strong sentences. The owner of the book, last I heard, is still single. It's been almost twenty years. Maybe one day the opportunity will present itself to return this book, which I have a hunch has been forgotten. For the NY Times obituary regarding the author's young and sudden death see here. Here's an example of an underlined passage from this borrowed book (pg. 27-28): "Sometimes we deceive ourselves into believing we have what we need just so we can avoid being alone. We may claim we are committed to the other person, but deep down we know we are not getting what we want. When our commitment is tested, we find ourselves holding back, and often can't understand why. Knowing what you now know, would you still choose the person with whom you are involved? If so, why? If not, why"

This post brings to mind a piece I'm fond of that was based on six randomly picked benchers.

Perhaps In Time

Everything that follows this paragraph was written on Monday. It's now shortly after Shabbos. I am in the comfort of friend's home. Just had a lovely Shabbos. Learned. Heard Rabbi Abraham Twerski speak. Spent time with old friends, and and and (in a good way). I had envisioned the post below as being longer. I wanted to write about my childhood friend Tammy's (during shiva for my mother) asking if I was in touch with Scott. I wanted to write about quoting him (on the day I got the news of his death) in a true moshol about tafasta merubah lo tafastah. Perhaps, in time.

A friend told me that it was good that I wrote about zoning out for Kaddish because it's one of those things that happens to everyone but people don't admit it. I was going to post the question of what to do when you come home feeling tired and wiped. Then I had a long talk with a long time friend and answered my own question. In the wake of Scott's death there are emails shooting around about a high school reunion. There's a date and everything.

There's so much about aveilut I don't get. I think I'm skipping my school dinner even though I would like to be there for the honorees. A dear friend is getting married soon and I don't know if I will go. A colleague feels strongly that our faculty should hang together more. I've long thought we should have a get together not during school hours. But for the next year I don't know. I just sighed. This reunion would be nice. The main organizer has been respectful and kind in his correspondence with me: "Sorry about your loss… Of course we would love to have you @ the reunion. If there is a way we can help you out, minyan, dvar Torah, etc...please advise."

I just got a beautiful email from Scott's sister. Scott. Two weeks ago for Parshat Bo I gave out a Dvar Torah sheet of this essay (please take a look and read the give and take in the comments), containing these words:

Words of Torah are described as placed upon our hearts. The Kotzker Rebbe explained that words aren't always taken inside a person's heart. Once stated, words rest atop the heart and when the heart opens they will be there to go in. This is why children were taken to the Beit HaMikdash for the Torah reading of Hakhel. This also explains why a day school education is so important even if it seems ineffective.
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This approach may help with my childhood friend Scott's haunting lament that Yeshiva taught him Gemora and Chumash and Tefila but not love of Torah. Perhaps the answer is that the best anyone can do for anyone else is put words in ears or on hearts. The absorption of the truth and goodness of Torah is a private process and a personal responsibility.