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A Riff on Ecclesiastes: Are three potato mashers two too many?

11/27/2016

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Thus saith our Heroine in her personal version of Ecclesiastes: 

To every season there is a new white cotton shirt or black cashmere turtleneck sweater. A time to get, and a time to lose because I no longer fit into what I bought last season; a time to keep the XLarge duds, and a time to cast away the too-small stuff to a shelter for battered women. 
​

Better is a handful with quietness, than both hands full with doodads I can live without. Give a portion to seven, and also to eight; for it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun, shining on the tchotchke-free tabletop.  

Enter Feng Shui, an ancient Chinese philosophy that appeals greatly to our Heroine. Feng Shui, that posits the auspicious placement of rooms and the uncluttered arrangement of furniture creates harmony between man and nature, thereby bringing increased happiness to our lives. 

She buys, our Heroine does, Feng Shui’s concept of chi, the vital energy that flows through the universe. She believes, as do the Feng Shui masters, that blocked chi creates stress and illness, while a smooth flow of chi increases good health, improved relationships and longevity. Wow, says she. A balanced life, and all we need do is relocate
a desk or jettison our junk? I’m in.


Our Heroine recognizes that on the face of it, Feng Shui is antithetical to Jewish tradition which does not cotton to divination and magic. Still, could one apply a few Feng Shui principles to the quintessential Jewish space -- the Tabernacle in the Wilderness -- and also to the Jewish home, our personal sanctuaries? One could. And so, our Heroine does. To wit: 

The Book of Exodus tells us that God handed Moses specific blueprints for the construction of the Tabernacle. The plans called for the Tabernacle to be positioned with the long sides facing north and south, one short side facing west and the other short wall -- the entrance -- facing east. Each time the Israelites pulled up stakes,
the Tabernacle was dismantled and then re-laid in a classic Feng Shui orientation, directly east and west, which guaranteed the Tabernacle would absorb beneficial energy from the rising sun. And with each move of the Tabernacle, the twelve tribes
set up camp around the structure, their flags swirling in the desert wind, blessing the area with a constant flow of positive
chi. A word, our Heroine suggests, that looks very much like chai.  

Also conforming to Feng Shui ideals is the symmetrical shape of the Tabernacle --
its courtyard open to the sky, the ease of movement within the environment, the smooth pathway from one space to another. And let us not ignore the minimalist furnishings. An altar. A table. A lamp. A bowl. The Ark of the Covenant. Period. Of course, every Jewish home is meant to be a 
mikdash m'at -- a miniature sanctuary and Temple -- so even if you think Feng Shui is hokum, you must admit that replacing clutter with order can help create a home that offers peace and comfort.

Now, our Heroine recognizes that Judaism does not advocate an ascetic, bare bones existence. She is aware that we should enjoy what God has given us, including our homes and our possessions. At the same time, both Judaism and Feng Shui teach us to be mindful and appreciate the people and possessions that bless our days. Moderation is the key. Back in the 11th century, the Spanish poet-philosopher, Solomon Ibn Gabirol, wrote, "He who seeks more than he needs, hinders himself from enjoying what he has. Seek what you need and give up what you need not.” 

And so our Heroine repeats to herself the words of a Jewish proverb:
Where there is too much, something is missing. 

This she will keep in mind, as Hanukkah approaches. 

                                                                                                  copyright 2016 Ozzie Nogg

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A Villanelle for Parasha Vayera, before and beyond . . . 

11/20/2016

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The Lord commands His subjects to obey.            
For Cain the ground became as dry as bone.        
Still shines the moon each night, the sun each day.
    

(One brother hates the Other, this cliche            
is old as dirt to me, a wrinkled crone.)              
​The Lord commands His subjects to obey.            


Watch Sodom and Gomorrah go astray            
and burn to ash for sins they won’t atone.            
Still shines the moon each night, the sun each day.    

See Hagar, Ishmael both cast away.                    
See Abraham bind Isaac to the stone.            
The Lord commands His subjects to obey.         

Where are the angels that can keep at bay             
the knife that threatens? Call them on the phone!         
Still shines the moon each night, the sun each day.        
          
The land is split in two. Now let us say     
there’s only One and mercy is His throne.         
The Lord commands His subjects to obey.            
Still shines the moon each night, the sun each day. 



                                                                                                           copyright 2016 Ozzie Nogg




















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A letter to Ivanka Trump . . .

11/12/2016

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Dear Ivanka --

From what I’m told, you and your husband, Jared, strictly observe Shabbat each week. I’ve read that from sunset on Friday to havdalah on Saturday, you turn off the phones and computers, do no work, hang out with one another, take walks and play with your children -  Arabella, Joseph, and baby Theodore. You clearly understand God’s commandment to guard and remember the Shabbat. 

I’m sure you also understand that when lives are at risk - like if one of your kids was sick and needed to get to a hospital - the laws of Shabbat must be disregarded because saving a life - actually, the lives of all humans - takes precedence over rules and regs. For that matter, the laws of Shabbat may also be violated in anticipation of a potential life-threatening situation, provided that it’s highly reasonable to assume there is an immediate concern.

So here’s the thing, Ivanka. In the days since your dad was elected president, lots of people have felt really sick. And many others are concerned and more-than-reasonably certain that their lives are in a potentially life-threatening situation. So I hope you and Jared violated the Shabbat this week. I hope you didn’t chill blissfully in your apartment but were, instead, at Trump Tower with your father, begging him to  denounce the anti-black, anti-Muslim, anti-LGBTQ hate speech, the swastikas spray painted on shop windows and school lockers. Your father listens to you, Ivanka. He respects your opinion, Ivanka. Of course, today even you may be at a loss for words, so show him these by Jessica Shortfall from the Huffington Post: 

     
     You can demand  - publicly, not just on your Facebook feed or just to friends  - that the president-elect make a public statement disavowing and condemning every single act of violence, intimidation, bigotry, misogyny, and hatred that is
being done in his name and in the name of his movement. He should just say it. “This is disgusting, it’s un-American, and I will not allow it to be done in my name or in celebration of my Presidency.” 


Your dad says you’re the smartest, Ivanka. His favorite. Pundits describe you as calm, focused, articulate - the very opposite of your father. Those in the know say you’ll be the real power behind the throne. If anyone can get through to Donald J. Trump it’s you. Ivanka, be our voice.

I read that when Shabbat was over last week - just a few days before the election - you and Jared visited the Old Montefiore Cemetery in Queens, New York, the grave-site of the Lubavitch Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, who died in 1994. To this spot come hundreds of thousands of pilgrims from around the world every year - pilgrims who pray, recite Psalms and bring handwritten requests for blessings from the Rebbe.
​I have no idea what you asked for in your blessing, Ivanka, but I can guess. 

So. The first post-election Shabbat is now over. Let these words from the Rebbe guide you, your father, his advisors and all of us into the new week.     

     Intolerance lies at the core of evil. Not the intolerance that results from any threat or danger. But intolerance of another being who dares to exist. Intolerance without cause. It is so deep within us, because every human being secretly desires the entire universe to himself. Our only way out is to learn compassion without cause. To care for each other simple because that 'other' exists.

As I was finishing this letter, you tweeted, “Thank you, America, for the trust that you placed in my father. He will never let you down.” 

Oh, how I want that to be true, Ivanka. Please remind your dad that if he does let us down, he will also let down your children - Arabella, Joseph and Theodore. If you want them to be proud of their Zeyde, be our voice.

May the God who separates between the holy and the profane, between the light and dark, bring you a sweet week, Ivanka.

All the best.

Ozzie


                                                       
                                                                                           copyright 2016 Ozzie Nogg 
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Sleep well, sweetie . . .

11/6/2016

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Shrinks across the country say the upcoming electionhas many of us in a funk.
Perhaps that accounts for the tone of this bedtime story.



                                           *

She wanted me to tell her a story. 


A story with no fighting or screaming 
and where all the people lived happily ever after.
 

Well, I said, in most of the stories I know 
there’s always some fighting or screaming. 
And in most stories 
​
the good guy 
     the hero 
is looking for something 
like maybe a princess or buried treasure 
but on his way to find it the good guy meets a bad guy 
     the villain 
and the villain doesn’t want the hero to find 
what he’s looking for 
so the bad guy sets a trap for the good guy 
like maybe a deep hole covered with leaves 
and the good guy doesn’t see it 
and tumbles in 
or the villain sneaks up on the hero and grabs him and drags him away to a dungeon 
or they have a sword fight 
stuff like that
and the thing is 
sometimes the good guy wins 
and sometimes the bad guy wins 
so the stories don’t always have happy endings. 

Well, she said, then can’t you just make something up? 

Sure, I said.

Once upon a time 

there was a momma bird and a poppa bird 
and they made a nest in a tree. 

​They made it from feathers and leaves and twigs 

and crunched up gum wrappers they found on the ground
and pretty soon there were four blue eggs in the nest 

and one day the eggs cracked open 
and there were a four baby birds in the nest 
with their little beaks open
crying. 

So the poppa bird went looking for food for the baby birds
while the momma bird stayed home in the nest 

watching the babies 
to make sure nothing happened to them. 

And when the poppa bird came home with some worms 

he fed them to the baby birds 
but they were always hungry for more 
so the momma went looking for food 
and the poppa bird stayed home in the nest 
watching the baby birds to make sure they were safe 
and when the momma bird got back to the nest 
she fed worms to the babies 
and the babies grew bigger from eating so many worms 
and the momma bird and poppa bird taught their babies to 
fly 
and pretty soon the four baby birds 
     who were sort of grown up by now 
flew far away to a beautiful garden with beautiful trees 
blooming with beautiful oranges
and each bird found another bird to love 
and they built nests in the orange trees 
and had beautiful baby birds of their own 
and lived happily ever after 
the end. 

And she said, Thank you momma, and fell fast asleep. 

And I sat by her bedside thinking about 
baby birds 
that
fall out of the nest in the tree




                                                  copyright 2016 Ozzie Nogg
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