Art is 80

What is it that Churchill said about the Soviet Union: it’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma? The same could be said about J. Robert Oppenheimer, perhaps even more aptly.

And yes, we did it. We did all those things that I earlier said had to be done if you wanted to go see a movie. We did all of those things yesterday and saw the 3:45 screening at the Avalon, just up the street.

Sure, there are some advantages seeing a film in a theater instead of on your TV (you are getting out, you are supporting your neighborhood theater, the screen is big, etc.) But there are also advantages to seeing the film at home and, regarding Oppenheimer, those advantages may outweigh the value of watching the film in a theater. Here’s why:

1. When you are home, you can control the temperature in the room; the Avalon was freezing yesterday.
2. When you are home, you can control the volume; after a start where the volume was too low, it was amped up and at first almost knocked you out of the room.
3. You can turn on subtitles at home; once you become used to subtitles, and assuming your vision allows you to read them quickly, you realize the advantages; there was a little of mumbling in “Oppenheimer” and only with subtitles do you know what was said (irrespective of volume).
4. Miss something? Didn’t hear it, or just want to see it again because you didn’t quite get what was going on? Easy at home; impossible at the theater, no matter how loudly you yell at the projectionist (if this is still what he is called).
5. Want to go to the bathroom? This is a 3 hour show – at home, you put your set on pause and do your thing. I only saw 3 people leave and return mid-show yesterday, but the men’s room was packed after three hours of film.

Here are my thoughts on the film itself (I really have not read any reviews, only seen the promos and heard snippets from friends, so there is nothing copy-cat here):

1. I enjoyed a film and if asked to summarize the film in one letter, I would say “B”. For me, that’s a pretty good grade. Maybe for anyone these days.
2. Three hours is too long for a film, no matter what it is. Sure, this film covers a lot of time and a lot of complexity, but still. That does not mean that the film drags (I don’t think it does), but it just takes along time until you get to the credits.
3. I have read a fair amount about Oppenheimer and the story of the development of the atomic bomb, and even with this, there were parts of the film I had a hard (not impossible, but hard) time following. If you come into this without any background in the subject at all, I am not sure what you would think.
4. For reasons unclear to me, while about 2/3 of this film was shot in color, about 1/3 was shot in black and white. Frankly, I would rather the entire film be shot in black and white. It would have given it more gravitas (more like a newsreel of the time, and less like Lawrence of Arabia on the big screen), and the story of the development of the bomb is a black and white story (perhaps putting the mushroom cloud and aftermath in color).
5. I thought the acting was pretty much universally good – I had no idea that there were so many film stars in the cast – people like Matt Damon or Kenneth Branagh, Morton Downey, Jr., and Gary Oldman. And they all played older people – at first I thought that a trick, then I realized that none of them are 30 any more. I thought Gary Oldman, in times past, made a better Churchill (“Dunkirk”) than a Truman, and I thought the Einstein portrayal was a bit hackneyed, but other than those two…..
6. I loved the music. And I am sure that many who see the film will hate the music. It is highly percussive, and often increasingly loud and then even louder. It’s not only drums. The music arranger had the brass playing like they were drums, and even twice the stomping of feet (a version of “sitting Riverdance”, I guess – good exercise if you are 80).
7. Most of the cast members were playing famous, real-life physicists. They looked pretty close to the originals from what I know, but it was often hard to remember who was who. And, although they played, for the most part, secondary roles in the film, each had a life full enough that it could be the subject of its own biopic.
8. There was one other characterization that I question (I maybe wrong to question it, but I do), and that is the personality of Lewis Strauss as it became clear that the Senate was not going to approve him as Secretary of Commerce. I understand he was very egocentric and had a domineering personality – but did he really act like a 6 year old child while waiting for the Senate’s verdict? And who, by the way, was that guy on his staff, who secretly hated him and whose role was mainly like a Greek chorus, asking him questions as if from off stage?

And that gets me to another point. The entire process of the development of the atomic bomb by the United States government in such a short period of time, and under such complete secrecy, was a form of miracle. Recruiting thousands of people to work on a project whose purpose was totally kept from them (“compartmentalizing” was in fact rigidly enforced), spending millions and millions of dollars that were hidden in the budgets of numerous agencies, so that even Congress (much less the press and public) did not know what was being developed. And, sure, Oppenheimer and Los Alamos was a crucial part of this exercise, but there were other parts equally important (and only hinted at in the film) – the atomic research and nuclear reactor development going under Stagg Field a the University of Chicago, the uranium enrichment program at the new hidden town of Oak Ridge, Tennessee, and the plutonium enrichment activities at Hanford, Washington. All four of these sites were crucial and working in concert. All of this needs to be understood to appreciate the full story.

And then there is J. Robert Oppenheimer himself. Tall, thin and handsome, the son of a self-made German Jewish millionaire, raised in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, brilliant in a quirky way but certainly not a school standout, socially uneasy and often mentally disturbed, today he might be said to be “on the spectrum”. Impractical and clumsy (“he couldn’t run a hamburger stand” – a description to which he agreed), but a theoretical physicist’s theoretical physicist, he was a surprise choice to run the atomic bomb program, chosen by General Leslie Groves in spite of his background of associating with known Communists during his years as a Professor of Physics at the University of California, Berkeley.

Because of this background (which I don’t have time to outline here), he was always under suspicion running a secret program, so important to national security and wartime victory. Remember that, during World War II, the Soviet Union was our ally, fighting on our side, and there was an ongoing question of whether or not the United States should be sharing our research with our allies; after all we were sharing everything with the British, why not the Russians?

Even during the Los Alamos days, the U.S. security services were keeping an eye on Oppenheimer, never finding anything to confront him over. But the suspicions remained. And when German-born British physicist Claus Fuchs had been assigned to work in Los Alamos (an assignment that Oppenheimer had nothing to do with) and turned out to be a Russian spy, things became murkier – at first Oppenheimer denied any Soviet spies were at Los Alamos, then said that he had heard through friends he would not identify that there might be a spy but he didn’t know who he was. (And of course Fuchs’ activities enabled the Russians to quickly develop their own bomb)

All of this raised suspicions, of course. Especially in the mind of Lewis Strauss, who was the head of the Atomic Energy Commission after the war, and who led a campaign (secret, as well) to deny Oppenheimer, who by now was an American hero, the renewal of his security clearance and making it clear that Oppenheimer would no longer be able to help his country’s nuclear programs.
In addition to all of this, there were all of those questions raised in the minds of many of the scientists who had helped develop the atomic bomb as to how it should be used and if it should be used and how its use and storage should be controlled and so forth. And whether an even more powerful bomb, the hydrogen bomb, should proceed with development.

At the end, Oppenheimer – the man in charge of the development of the bomb which he hoped would be used, if at all, on Germany but was instead used on Japan, when maybe it wasn’t even necessary – was accused (falsely) of collaborating with the USSR, a former ally and now adversary – and (helping to support that accusation) was arguing for stopping the American development of super weapons and putting existing weapons under some form of international control.

A riddle. A mystery. An enigma. Indeed.

Last night I promised someone that I would write this morning about “memory”. The someone I promised was concerned that their name would be spread around my millions of readers as someone with memory concerns. He should not have been concerned because after all, it’s been 12 hours or so since I spoke with him, and I don’t remember with whom I was speaking. And even if I did remember who he was by picturing his face, I probably would not remember his name. So……no worry, friend (are you a friend? I don’t remember).

It was an interesting conversation because he has decided to enroll in a memory assistance class, given by a psychologist. I don’t know how many sessions there will be, and I am sure that if he gets to the first session, he will get to the second (and, if he doesn’t, going to the first was a waste of time). But how will remember the date, the time, or the place of that first session? He said he would write a note, he would add it to his list(s). Reminded me of the Liberty Biberty insurance add, where the daughter gives her mother a hint as to how to save money on insurance, and the mother says she will make a note of it on her phone. She then takes a post-it, writes something on it, and adds it to the other post-its which she has stuck on her phone.

Many of us notice memory issues as we age. And of course they can become serious, as we know. But often they don’t, they are just irritating. Small things, you know. Did I already have dinner? Maybe. Did I already have desert? I don’t think so, better have another.

Yeah, I read that book already. What’s it about? I have no clue. Who wrote it? I don’t know. Are you sure you read it? Well, maybe I didn’t. Same with films, plays, everything else.

But how much difference does that make? We went to a baseball game yesterday. The Nats lost big. It was frustrating, and – had the Nats instead won – it would have been exhilarating. But two weeks from now, I may not remember if the Nats won or lost. After all, we have been to a few games earlier this year. I don’t remember the results, who pitched for the Nats, who we played, etc.

If you see a film and like it, does it make a difference that you might have seen it before and not remembered? If you forget, in a few weeks, that you even saw the film, again – so what?

The old joke: He asked the elderly man how it is that he still calls his wife of 50 years “honey” and “love”. The man responded “I forgot her name a long time ago, and I am just too embarrassed to ask her what it is.”

Yes, things can get serious – you forget your children’s names (or grandchildren’s), or you can’t get home if you are more than two blocks away. Or you don’t remember if you took your daily pills (and don’t have a reminder system).

But until and unless you get to this stage – my hope would be that you could just go with the flow. Sure, like my friend, you can get treatment to help you with your memory (giving you hints on how not to forget the things that you need to remember for your own health and safety, I assume), and that’s probably a good thing. But to take these new medicines that stave off serious memory loss for a few months but at the same time threaten severe side effects? Why bother?

Watching TV last night, I saw a pharmaceutical ad (for some drug or other – I have no idea what it was) that told you that this medicine can take your rotten life and turn it into a perfect life, but that you need to be concerned about possible serious adverse side effects, like sudden death and things like that. Really?

It is all part of the aging process. So relax and let it go as long as you can.

This is the first post I have written on this subject, right? Or do I just not remember.

You know the old story about the six year old who came home from Sunday School? His father asked him what he learned. He said he learned about the Jews leaving Egypt. He told his father about Moses and how they got to the Red Sea and how God sent airplanes and helicopters to take them to the other side.

His father looked at him with astonishment. “That’s what they told you?”, he asked?

The boy looked at his father sheepishly and replied: “Not really. But if I told you what they really said, you’d never believe me.”

For thousands of years, people have truly believed that God opened up the waters so that the Jews could cross into Sinai and then closed the waters up again to drown the Pharaoh’s troops. You may be one of them.

About a thousand years after that historic event, another equally historic happening occurred. Jesus of Nazareth, a clearly uppity and charismatic young Jewish fellow, was crucified by the Romans after some January 6 types of events. Since that time, many have believed that he was in fact God’s son and that three days after his funeral he was raised from the dead. You may be one of them.

Closer to our time, there have been many people who believe that there is a group of elite Jewish leaders, the Elders of Zion, who hold regular meetings to decide the next steps to achieving control of the world. There are others who believe that, before Passover, Jews kidnap and murder Christian children, because the blood of Christian children is a necessary ingredient in the baking of matzahs. You are probably not one who believes these stories.

If you are not part of any of these groups of believers, you may think: How can people be so gullible to take these “stories” so literally?

Four or five years ago, someone said that the United States is run by elite members of a hidden Deep State and that many of these people, led by Hillary Clinton, are in fact pedophiles who kidnap and murder young children. The author of this tale is the mysterious Q, who also believes that Donald Trump alone can fix it. Apparently there are MANY who believe Q without qualms.

It may be that believing the Moses and Jesus stories is more acceptable in general society. But in terms of people being convinced of the truth of things that are clearly “irrational”, how much of a difference is there?

Today, belief in the two biblical stories is relatively harmless. By that, I mean that a non-believer is probably not adverselyaffected by the beliefs of a believer. In past years, of course, people holding these beliefs could be unrelenting towards those who didn’t. On the other hand, irrational beliefs about Jewish practices can have devastating consequences and feed increasing antisemitism, and belief in the Q theory threatens our very form of government.

You never know when the next Q/God/Elders/Jesus story will appear. With social media’s continually increasing spread, Artificial Intelligence, the ability to manipulate photographs, the decline of educational standards, and broad scale political greed, it probably won’t be too long.

Do we really think anything can be done about this? We don’t even want to abolish belief in the Moses and Jesus stories. We only want to eliminate those irrational beliefs with which we disagree, or which threaten us.

What is it that they say about the human condition?

I have given many tours of Washington over the years to visitors to the city. I point out buildings, give some historical information, maybe an anecdote here or there. And sometimes, believe it or not, someone whom I am touring around actually wakes up, and asks me a question. The most usual question is “What is that building, there?”

Now, normally I know the answer, but sometimes I don’t or (increasingly, probably) I have forgotten it. Long ago, though, I learned that – when I didn’t know what a building was – that I should simply answer “That’s the Commerce Department”. That answer would go right into one ear (sometimes) and right out the other. It wouldn’t register. I could call three or four buildings the Commerce Department on the same day and my companions would only respond with something like “Oh” each time and we would simply move on.

I am told that I should feel the same way about my blog posts. For the most part, I shouldn’t worry about repeating myself, I am advised. “No one will remember that you said something before”, I have been told. I am sure this is good advice, as even I don’t remember what I have and what I have not said before. This doesn’t make me feel bad, by the way. It’s a relief.

So last night, I finally finished all 716 small print pages of Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain”, and I say “whew!” And, although I know I have mentioned the book recently, it’s worth mentioning again. (Digression: I remember a Vietnam War hearing when Secretary of State Dean Rusk was speaking and he said something in response to a question. And then said: That bears repeating. That bears repeating. That bears repeating. At the time, I thought that was very funny. Now, I don’t think that was funny at all. But here I am, 50+ years later remembering what Rusk said, and remembering how funny I thought it was. How can that be explained? End of digression.)

“The Magic Mountain” is not an easy book, and it’s really not an enjoyable book, but it’s a very good book and a book worth reading, and then putting in a blog post.

On the one hand, the book’s plot is very simple; nothing really happens.

Hans Castorp, an orphan taken in by relatives, graduates from the university, is now a fully certified engineer, has a job awaiting, and looks forward to a prosperous future in Hamburg, Germany in 1907. He has worked hard to reach this point and his uncle suggests that he looks like he needs a vacation, suggesting that he visit his cousin (on his mother’s side) Joachim, who is suffering from tuberculosis and is being cured at a sanitarium in the Swiss Alps, in Davos. He makes arrangements for a three week stay, to take time to relax and breathe in the clear mountain air. But fate has different plans. Halfway or so into his visit, he develops a fever and he, too, is diagnosed with tuberculosis. His three week stay, which begins virtually at the beginning of the book, turns out to be a seven year residence at the sanitarium ending just a few pages short of the end of the book.

Now the sanitarium is not a prison, and everyone at the sanitarium does not appear to be treated for tuberculosis, although the majority of the patients are. Even the patients can check out of the sanitarium any time they want and return to the “flatland” below, and many of them do so, often coming back months or years later when their condition worsens. And while staying at the sanitarium, patients can go down to the town of Davos (“the Dorf” – village in German) to shop or eat or visit friends, and can go on hikes and excursions in the nearby mountains. Living conditions at the sanitarium are comfortable and dining, done in a large common room, where there are seven large tables (seven tables, seven years – there are a lot of sevens in the book), is a pleasure. First class cooks, three meals a day, and large multi-course meals at that. This establishment is not for those who lack the ability to pay their way in the world, and it is not solely for Germans, although they make up the majority, it appears. But there is a large Eastern/Central European component – Russians and Poles for example (two of the tables are for Russians – one for the “good Russians”, one for the “bad Russians”), and there are Italians and a Spaniard and others.

Hans Castorp is a good observer, and much or most of the book is devoted to his observations – he observes his cousin’s health and his own at a level of intricate details, he observes the activities and idiosyncrasies of the two physicians in charge and their different treatment methodologies, he observes his surroundings, both the sanitarium itself and the Dorf, and – perhaps most of all – he observes and comments on his fellow patients.

And each of these patients, or at least those mentioned, are unique. The married Russian couple (part of the “bad Russian” table), whose loud lovemaking is both disturbing to everyone else on their floor and in very bad taste. The Italian intellect and free thinker Ludovico Settembrini, who has the ability to pontificate on every imaginable subject and (after he leaves the sanitarium and moves to the Dorf) his roommate, Leo Naphta, who was born and educated Jewish, but is now most observant of Catholics and who believes the Church can answer every question and that free thinking, rationality and liberalism are the cause of all human problems and only strong leadership and lack of too much freedom can save civilization. And of course, exotic Clavdia, a mysterious Russian (or is she French) woman (who may or may not be married) and who exhibits bad habits wherever she goes, but has that certain something that makes all men fall in love with her and obsess about her. And Clavdia’s elderly and life-loving Dutch “boyfriend/protector”, Peeperkorn, who joins her on her latest stay at the sanitarium.

Yes, death surrounds the patients – one of the first to die is cousin Joachim, who had left the sanitarium feeling well and joining the military unit to which he was attached, but who quickly returned much more ill. And Peeperkorn, jovial to the end. And others, including many who are quite young and innocent. With all this death, however, optimism and good times reign for most of the time, death being a subject that is taboo at the dinner table and elsewhere.

For seven years, Hans does not leave the mountain. But during the last of those years, things are changing. The thin air seems thinner, people don’t get along as easily as they used to, arguments which were “platonic” become more serious, things seem to be unraveling. This complete change of social attitude on the mountain in Davos obviously reflects what is going on in the “flatland” in Europe in 1914. War seems inevitable, although previously it had seemed unthinkable. And Hans, apparently physically better, leaves the sanitarium, with the blessing of the medical staff, and joins the German army.

What happens next? Hans is deep in combat. Shells are falling all around him. Fellow soldiers are dying right next to where he is sheltering. He is surprised, perhaps, that he is still alive, and doesn’t know for how long he will be.

And the book ends.

Thomas Mann started writing this book in 1912, when there was little thought of war. When the war broke out two years later, he put it aside. When the war ended, after another three or four years, he picked it up, apparently rewrote it considerably and obviously changed the ending. Not many good things can be said about World War I. One of the few is that it undoubtedly made “The Magic Mountain” a better book.

Many of you have already seen “Oppenheimer” and wonder why we haven’t. After all, the subject matter is more than interesting, and the film has been so well reviewed, and it’s playing at our neighborhood theater. Here is why we haven’t seen it.

In order to see “Oppenheimer”, you need to decide to see it, decide when you want to see it, find a time when both of you want to see it, make sure there is nothing else on your calendar, get tickets in advance either in person or on line, decide where you want to sit in the theater and make sure those seats are available, put it on your calendar, keep your eye on the clock so that you will leave your house on time, make sure you have your shoes on, leave the house, lock the door behind you, walk to the car, unlock the car (both doors), get in the car, put on your seat belts, start the car, back out of the driveway and onto the street, drive to the theater, find a parking space, park in the parking space, walk from the parking space to the theater, pick up your tickets or show your tickets to the usher, find your seats, sit in your seats, and turn off your phone. After the film is over, you must reverse course and do many (or most) of these things until you find yourselves at home and can remove your shoes.

If, on the other hand, you do not see “Oppenheimer”, you do not have to do any of those things.

Now you know why we haven’t seen “Oppenheimer” yet.

This gets me to a point for those of you who have reached the age of 80. Do you find that, although most things that you do are no more difficult than they were when you were 30 and take no more time, the prospect of doing any of these things makes you hesitate because it all seems so complicated, even though it isn’t?

Take purchasing an extra ticket for a baseball game. We have tickets, as part of our mini-series, for the Nats-Phillies game on Saturday. A 4 p.m. game. But we asked 8 year old granddaughter Joan if she wanted to come with us and, of course, the answer was “yes”. My task was to buy one more ticket (which meant possibly changing our seats for others, as well). Now all this is done on-line and the entire process took me about 2 minutes. But the thought of doing it made me put it off for days and days. After all, you have to go the Ballpark app, and then you have to get into your account which may mean that you need to use your password that you would have to find on your list of passwords (which is not about the size of War and Peace), and then you’d have to find out how to buy a ticket and then how to choose a seat (or possibly three seats, figuring out how to switch seats, something I have never done for the same game), and then you have to pay for it and make sure that they actually sent you a ticket to the seat that you bought. None of this, in fact, is difficult – the Ballpark App works very well, and it was very quick and easy. But the thought of doing it…..

Right now, I have about an hour and a half (actually a little less than that) before I have to leave to meet a friend for lunch. I have a list of 7 things I want to accomplish. I need to contact our pest control service and give them my new credit card so that they can come out and attack the ants that have decided to attack the kitchen. I have to send some Jewish Funeral Practices Committee data to our new Treasurer, so that she can send out some payments. I have to register for Rabbi Ellenson’s program at the Haberman Institute. I have to make a hotel reservation for Labor Day night as we head up to Saratoga Springs NY to meet with my high school friends. I have to compose and send out a couple of emails to various people to encourage them to come to the Ellenson program. I have to send out a couple of thank you notes to recent Haberman contributors. I have to get in touch with out financial advisors and request some charitable distributions from my IRA.

I made up this list last night. Things to accomplish between 10 a.m. today (when I was leaving a Zoom session) and 11:30, when I left the house for lunch. Composing the list was easy enough. Each of these activities is about as simple as possible. But the prospect of doing any of them is overwhelming. Hey…..I haven’t read the newspapers yet. Hey….I should make myself another cup of coffee. Hey….I wonder what CNN is reporting now.

I don’t think this was my attitude when I was, say, 79. But at 80……boy, isn’t it the bees knees to procrastinate. (I did read something about the benefits of procrastination: first, you don’t have to do anything today. Second, you won’t be bored tomorrow – you will for sure have something to do.)

By the way, as an aside: food. We had supper last night with two friends at Sababa, a (theoretically) Israeli restaurant in Cleveland Park. I had only eaten there once before, and I had decided the food was, if not ordinary, not spectacular. But last night, when we ordered vegetarian only dishes to share, the food was spectacular. We had sweet corn falafel, fried cauliflower, roasted halumi, charred eggplant, turmeric tahini, muhammara, garlic labneh, sweet and sour carrots, and baba ganoush with brussel sprouts. I think that’s it. If you get a chance, stop in there for supper. I know, going out to supper involves a lot of steps, but I have simplified some of them for you by already giving you your menu selections.

OK, gotta go. Stuff to do.

First…..that second cup.

As many of you know, I am the Vice President of the Haberman Institute for Jewish Studies, which is this year celebrating its 40th anniversary. It’s an independent educational created by the late Rabbi Joshua Haberman (under the name Foundation for Jewish Studies) in 1983 shortly after his retirement as senior rabbi of Washington Hebrew Congregation, the largest reform congregation in Washington, DC.

Rabbi Haberman, who passed away in 2017 at the age of 98, was – as the Jewish Telegraphic Agency said in his obituary – a “champion of adult Jewish education”. He was a native of Vienna, Austria, and a rabbinical student at the Vienna Jewish Theological Seminary when the Germans moved in and incorporated Austria into Nazi Germany. He was able to leave Vienna after receiving a scholarship offer from Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, from which he graduated and was ordained and at which he later earned his PhD in Modern Jewish Philosophy.

Upon his retirement from WHC, a congregant (who to this day remains anonymous) gave him $1,000,000 (about $3 million in today’s money) to do with what he wanted, as long as it was connected to Judaism. Rabbi Haberman, believing that the synagogues of America in the 1980s were not doing all they should, decided to create the Institute to support and encourage adult Jewish education.
Over the past forty years, the Institute has done this in many ways, sponsoring classes, lectures, retreats, and trips among other things. With the coming of the COVID pandemic in 2020, we had to cancel all of our live programming (typically done in partnership with local congregations or Jewish organizations) and put ourselves on-line. By doing that, we discovered to our surprise, that our normal attendance of about 100 at a lecture was now closer to 300 or more, and that half of our audiences were coming from places other than the greater Washington DC area.

Under the leadership of our executive director Matt Silverman, we are now in the final stages of planning our fall (and winter and spring) programming. Just to give you an idea of what lies ahead, here are some of the programs on our only somewhat tentative schedule.

1. A two lecture (and dinner) program with Former Hebrew Union College Chancellor Rabbi David Ellenson on matters of moral complexity during the Holocaust and the work of Rabbi Leo Baeck (in person only – at Washington Hebrew on September 10)
2. The Jewish aspects of the music of George Gershwin with Saul Lilienstein (on line on Sept 27)
3. Jewish perspectives on the planet and the environment (in person and on line on Oct 11)
4. The Jews of Vienna by U. of Md. Prof. Marsha Rozenblit, who is also a member of our Board of Academic Advisors (on line on Oct 18)
5. Photographic Denunciation of Jews in pre-war Nazi Germany by Julie Keresztes (on line Oct 25)
6. Jews during the Civil War in Washington DC (Adrienne DeArmas both in person and on line on Nov 9)
7. A to-be-determined textual study program on Jewish ethics (Rabbi Mira Wasserman on Nov 15 on line)
8. The Rozenwald Schools (a film and panel program on line on Dec 4)
9. A program on how the media operates in the political environment of today’s Israel (Prof. Amit Schejter of Ben Gurion University of the Negev – Dec on line.

This is probably not our full lecture program for the remainder of 2023 and somethings may change a bit, but you can see how much we do and hopefully, you will want to participate (virtually all of these programs are free) in some of them. We are already, by the way, looking to 2024, where we will present stories on the history of the Jews of Cincinnati, on the relationship between science and religion, on Jewish bioethics, on the early Iron Age in Israel and a special series of three programs being given by young scholars recommended by our Academic Advisors.

In addition to the lectures, we are sponsoring multi-session classes this fall on Jonah, the Book of Jubilees, Early translations of the Hebrew bible, Who is the real David?, and the Documentary Hypothesis (i.e., the search for the original biblical authors).

Want to find out more? Look at our spiffy website (www.habermaninstitute.org). You will not only get more complete program listings (some of these not listed yet) and registration information, but access to videos and podcasts of over 100 previous programs, as well as – believe it or not – ways to contribute money to keep us going.

Thanks for paying attention to this post. Now pay attention to the organization.

It is time again for the annual Montgomery County Fair at the fairgrounds in Gaithersburg. Edie, Joan and I spent a little over three hours there yesterday. Putting the heat aside……

I recommend it highly.

Now, I am not a normal or typical fair goer. I don’t know if I have ever been at a state fair. Perhaps they are even more grandiose. But this is no parking lot fair. This is the real thing. 64 acres of county fair.

That does not mean that there aren’t things that you really don’t want to have any part of. For example, there are two evening Monster Truck Tours and one evening Demolition Derby left. I won’t encourage you to go to these, and I won’t even encourage you to go to the show where dogs jump off diving boards into water. All this sounds pretty bad – but this is what happens at fairs, right? But there are other evening shows, as well, magic shows and music performances that might be worth attending.

But we did nothing like that. What we did was more wholesome (I think). Because, after all, the Montgomery County Fair is primarily an agricultural fair, and there are almost as many animals there as there are people. Now we never got to the pony rides (very cute ponies, by the way), but we did see farm animals at their best. Old McDonald’s Barn, our first stop, is real treat, filled with rarer farm animals – alpacas, llamas, donkeys, and everything else including two cows and their two young calves, born this week. The animals look like they are comfortable in their clean surroundings – and each is clearly described by breed, age and name.

In addition to Old McDonald’s barn, there are barn after barn of handsome farm animals. How many dairy cattle barns (each with maybe 20 to 30 stalls) are there? Maybe 6? And there is at least one meat cattle barn, as well as barns with goats, pigs and sheep. Again, each animal is described and named. There was one barn called a “washing barn” (I think), where farmers can take their cattle and clean them off with hoses. We saw two cows being given their baths. As to the sheep, although the temperature was above 90, each of the sheep (again, 20 to 30 of them) was wearing what appeared to be a heavy blanket. I asked and was told that it was to keep their wool clean. But……gee, I am sure it wasn’t too comfortable. By the way, there were sheep shearing demonstrations, and shows of various sorts (none of which we stopped to see but all of which had fairly large audiences) involving cattle, pigs and goats. There were some beekeeping exhibits. And, boy are there a lot of breeds of rabbits! I am sure there was a lot that we missed.

There were also various activities for children of all ages through mid-teens. Now why did 8 year old Joan insist on climbing into and trying to operate every John Deere tractor and other farm implements? Not sure, but it seemed to be the thing to do. Climb up, sit down, buckle the seat belt, turn the steering wheel, and try to move the gear shift.

There were a number of “educational” exhibits for children, and some of them were in fact educational. The Rockville Science Center had an exhibit with four or five volunteers on hand. One of them played tic tac toe with Joan, using fish and barns instead of x’s and o’s, and using them to talk about various ecological matters. Joan seemed to be on top of that subject, but struggled a bit in talking to another man (whose English was a challenge) as he tried to explain how you could light the filament in a bulb by turning a crank where there was no external power source.

Joan then participated in a contest on a mini-stage, where three teams of two tried to answer questions about agricultural practices. Operated like a TV game show, the very corny (and pretty clever) emcee asked the questions, and the participants pushed a button, the first one getting a chance to give the answer. Joan missed being chosen for the game with the youngest contestants (those near or at her age), but was chosen with another girl about the same age to compete against two teams of teenagers. Joan did herself well by pushing the first button and answering “irrigation” to the first question about watering your fields. That was her high point, though, as the teenagers got into the swing of things. And to the question of whether 4-H meetings were during school, instead of school or after school, Joan did give a very blank stare.

Carnival rides? Yes, there are many. We considered the Ferris wheel, but decided against it, in part because it was far away from us and we were really getting hot and tired. There were a lot of bumper car type rides, and a merry-go-round, and a few rides whose names I don’t know, but don’t think they are made for anyone over, say, 40. Rides that lift you up and drop you down, rides that spin you around and turn you upside down. You know them I am sure.

And carnival games. Many, many. Throw darts at balloons, throw balls at balloons, throw rings over bottles, shoot things, catch magnetized fish, show your strength by hitting a target and ringing a bell. These are the “throw your money away” activities – they cost $5 or $10 (depending), and they are geared to losers, not winners, especially if you are young. There was one “every child gets a prize” game that we saw, and Joan walked away with a large-sized stuffed hamster.

There are a lot of sponsored booths. Join the Montgomery County or Prince George’s County police departments, or the Army or Navy, or get a new roof, or a new bathroom (we do have a shower that needs upgrading), and so forth. The booths run the gamut from government agencies, not profit organizations and commercial enterprises. Something for all – and many of them had give aways. Adventist Hospital gave away small flasks of sun lotion, for example.

What did I forget? Oh, yes, food. Boy is there a lot of food. Now, if you keep kosher, your options are limited. I didn’t see a kosher stand – sort of surprising, in fact. But there is something for (almost) everyone. All the carnival food you could imagine, plus booths from various types of ethnic restaurants that actually looked like they could have been pretty good. We wound up in a building where they were serving Dickerson Market fried chicken and Hunt Bros. Pizza. We had never heard of Hunt Bros. Pizza and were surprised to find our cheese pizza was absolutely first class. Because Joan said we needed a vegetable with our pizza, I asked if we could get a side of coleslaw (served with the chicken), which they gave us gratis. Joan decided that the coleslaw should be placed on the pizza, as a topping. When she did that, I gave her “a look”, but then I tried it myself and it was pretty good, I must admit. Other than that, what looked best? I’d say the candy apples – large variety, brings me back to my childhood. Of course, Joan opted for the cotton candy. (I asked her if she knew how cotton candy was made, and she told me how she would do it; she’s probably pretty close to right)

Now the fair is not free. Tickets are $12 on line, or $15 at the gate. No senior discount, BUT TODAY IS SENIOR DAY AND ANYONE OVER 62 IS FREE!! (Of course, we went yesterday, not today). Kids under $12 are free at all times. Parking is an additional $15 (and, by the way, they have parking for those with disabilities that is right at the entrance gate).

Go to http://www.mcagfair.com for info. And, by the way, the fair is open until 11 weekday nights and until midnight weekends. Entertainment every night. The last night for this year’s fair is Saturday. I think you’d have a good time.

Let me start with a digression. I read this morning in Jewish Insider that President Biden is thinking of appointing Jack Lew as the next U.S. Ambassador to Israel. I first met Jack Lew years ago before he became the first Orthodox Jew to be Secretary of the Treasury, Director of OMB and Chief of Staff to President Obama. I think he would be a great choice.

Now to my mini-history. I am setting this down, because – especially for those who do not follow Israel closely – I thought it would be helpful to get a birds’ eye view of the country’s past to help put it in context as Israel tries to sort itself out in the face of a plethora (another first use of a word in this blog) of problems.

1. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the Jews of Europe feel less comfortable with increasing pogroms, economic difficulties and instances of antisemitism even in the “civilized” countries of western Europe. Some Jewish intellectuals fantasize about a return to historic Israel.
2. Historic Israel is now part of the Turkish/Ottoman empire which will be dismantled after its defeat in World War I. In 1917, the British government had expressed (without a Parliamentary vote) through what became known as the Balfour Declaration support for a Jewish homeland in Palestine.
3. After the end of World War I, the newly formed League of Nations gave the British a mandate to govern what had been historic Israel/Palestine for a temporary period until it was ready for self government.
4. During the Mandate period, which lasted until after World War II, there was constant conflict over the meaning of the Balfour Declaration and Britain, depending on Arab friendship for Middle East oil and passage through the Suez Canal, tried to play both sides of the issue – often cutting off Jewish immigration into the area in spite of the terrible position Europe’s Jews find themselves in as a result of Nazi expansion.
5. Faced with increasing frustration, and the refusal of the Arabs to agree to any form of partition of the area between Jews and Arabs, the British ended their mandate in 1948 and Israel declared its independence. This was immediately followed by a joint Arab attack by Iraq, Jordan, Egypt, Syria and Lebanon.
6. Following an armistice but not a treaty, temporary boundaries were set for the State of Israel, but after a subsequent war in 1967, these boundaries were expanded to include all of Jerusalem, the Golan Heights bordering Syria, and that part of the area now known as the West Bank (of the Jordan River). These areas (other than East Jerusalem) were not then annexed to Israel but placed under a form of military occupation, which (under various arrangements) continues today.
7. Very important to all of this is to understand the nature of the Israelis themselves:
8. First, during the years prior to the creation of the State in 1948, the Jews in Palestine were largely European intellectuals whose politics were socialist (“good socialist”, not “bad socialist”). This led to the creation, among other things of the kibbutz as a socialist village, and the creation of the Histradut, the labor organization that controlled not only employment, but health care and welfare benefits.
9. Second, following the establishment of the State and continuing after the expansion of the State in 1967, anti-Jewish actions increased in the various Arab states, with some of them expelling their Jewish residents or strongly encouraging their departure. About 800,000 Jews from places like Iraq, Egypt, Syria, Tunisia and Morocco relocated to Israel, virtually doubling the population of the State of Israel. These “Arab Jews” were not European socialist intellectuals, and they changed the politics of Israel, adding a large block of voters with no experience with Europe, European democracies, or socialist thinking. The one thing that these Jews from other middle eastern countries had in common was a distrust of, and often a hate of, the Arabs.
10. In 1977, with the election of Menachem Begin as prime minister, Israel had its first right wing, non-socialist government, and Israel began the transformation from a country that was primarily socialist to one that was basically capitalistic.
11. This trend was increased when over a million Jews from the former Soviet Union immigrated to Israel after the Soviet borders were open to emigration. This large influx of Soviet Jews further intensified the right wing nature of the country, as the one thing the Soviet Jews knew is that they didn’t want to have anything to do with socialism, which they identified with Communism.
12. Throughout this brief period where there were so many demographic changes occurring, there was a second type of change in the population. The original European socialists were, as you would expect of socialists, non-religious, and they expected that Israel, which Jewish, would never be a religious state.
13. But after 1967, this changed, because the land occupied by Israel (the West Bank) was the heart of biblical Judea and Israel (Scriptures knew nothing of Tel Aviv or Haifa), and some religious elements in Israel believed that this land was the true Zion to which the Jews must return. While most in the Israeli government at the time thought that the military occupation would be very short term, these religious Zionists were determined to make sure that Israel would hold on to this land in perpetuity (another new word for the blog).
14. This led to an increase in the number of vocal religious Zionists coming to Israel (many of whom were from the United States) and the pressure for Israeli settlement in East Jerusalem and the West Bank. There are now over 600,000 Jews living in this area and the return of all occupied land to Arab control (of any kind) is no longer possible. The discussions that continue are about how much land, if any, could be given up by Israel (all of this obviously complicated by the million or so Arabs living in the area).
15. The culmination of all of this is the latest government where Prime Minister Netanyahu, now Israel’s longest serving prime minister, for whatever reason (perhaps to keep himself out of jail, as he is under indictment for a number of financial crimes), has cobbled together a 4 seat Knesset majority which includes representatives of very right wing parties, who are determined (whether they say so or not) to hold onto all of the occupied territory, to eliminate any concept of equality for Arab and Jewish citizens of Israel proper, and – in effect and perhaps in reality – to convince all Arabs living in Israel or the occupied territories to move out, setting the stage for a Greater Israel that would be Arab-free. This is to be done by increased military and civilian security for actions, as well as by cutting off funding to Arab communities. In addition, the current coalition includes several very religious parties, whose influence has increased with rising birth rates, and who want their children to study Torah and not any secular subjects, to avoid serving in the military and to live in a country whose laws are based on Jewish religious laws, not on the precepts of a secular democracy. The changes in Israeli domestic policy, including the structure of the courts, and in the distribution of governmental funding, are the result of pressure from these groups.
16. While all of this goes on, the other Israel: the intellectual, scientific, business oriented, highly academic Israel continues to thrive, but with ominous clouds overhead. The battle for the control of Israel’s domestic legal structure, the continuing threat of war from its Arab neighbors and non-Arab Iran, and the attempts for Israel to forge ties with some more progressive Arab countries (like the UAE and Morocco) continue as time goes on.
17. It is this extraordinary position, so unthinkable in 1948 and even in 2020, that has caused the turmoil you see in Israel today.

That’s my mini-history. It’s obviously not a complete history. And one perhaps could argue a bit with one or another point. But I think it will help give you context if you are not one of those who follows what happens in Israel day to day.

I can tell it isn’t going to be easy. When you are on a vacation, it’s easy to think of things to report in your daily blog. When you are back home again, things become more difficult, murkier. And for the rest of the month, we are going to be back home, with little on our schedule.

But I need to get into a groove, and to report on things that might be interesting to a growing group of readers. How to do that? That is the question.

Often there are thoughts about events in the news that could serve as the basis for a post. But I really haven’t paid much attention to the news for the past several weeks. And I certainly don’t have anything profound to say.

I have been thinking about my social interactions, and whether or not they are still affected, directly or more distantly, by the COVID pandemic. I am part of several groups that have been meeting on Zoom, and I have been the coordinator of three or four of them. But, to tell you the truth, I am tired of what are often repetitive conversations about the same subjects, every two weeks or every month.

I do have some friends I occasionally have lunch with. I like that, and would like to do it more. And, as a couple, I think we used to go out with others more in the evenings – to dinner, to friends’ houses, or they to ours. This has not picked up after the pandemic waned; it has slowed down.

But maybe all of these reactions are simply because we are older, and because our friends are older and, sad to say, several of our friends who we saw on a fairly regular basis five or so years ago are not here any longer at all. Perhaps all of this is inevitable. Just like it might be unsurprising that, while we see friends less often, we see our immediate family more often, and obviously that is a positive.

I am going to leave this at that. We don’t call people, and people don’t call us as often as before. I guess that’s just the way it is. And maybe that’s for the better. And maybe nothing I am saying here is even accurate. Who knows?

OK, let’s move on a bit. Do you know that if the Nats beat the A’s today, and the Mets lose to the Braves, the Nats will no longer be in last place the National League East? They will be a half game ahead of the Mets. Who would have thought that even possible? Just like the Nats and the Cardinals now have identical records. That is another impossibility. But those of you know follow baseball probably already know that, and those who don’t are saying “who cares?”. OK, I get it.

One more topic. I continue to read my old Penguin paperbacks. I took two on our trip to Portugal. The first was D. H. Lawrence’s “Aaron’s Rod”. I have read quite a bit of Lawrence and enjoyed virtually everything I have read. “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” and “Kangaroo” are the two most recent, and I have read a couple of his travel books (travel one hundred years ago was much different than travel is today you know). And I have several Penguin editions of Lawrence Books (including “Women in Love”, which I know that I read at one time, but remember absolutely nothing about) which I guess I will be reading over the next year or so.

But I must say that “Aaron’s Rod”, published in 1922, left me totally cold. Aaron worked in a coal mine, living in an English village with his wife and three young children. In his spare time, he played on his flute (strange as that may seem). One day, after helping decorate the Christmas tree, he went to the pub he frequented, spoke with the strange characters he always spoke with, decided that the was leading a life not meant for him, and – carrying his flute with him – simply didn’t go home, and started walking. He wound up in London, he played the flute in various ensembles, he met people, he sent money back to his wife and children, he hit hard times, he lost his flute, and life lost all its promise.

I understand that Lawrence was trying to tell us something, and I could come up with a number of things he was saying but, truth be told, none of them was very interesting or important in my humble opinion. So, there…..

Now I am reading Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain”, published in Germany around the same time. “The Magic Mountain” tells the story of promising young Engineer Hans Castorp of Hamburg, Germany, who goes to visit his cousin Joachim in a TB sanitarium in Davos, Switzerland, for a few weeks. Just to say “hi” and to have a rest. But Hans himself becomes diagnosed with TB and now, halfway through the book, Hans has been in Davos for over a year.

Of course, the problem with “The Magic Mountain” is that it is over 700 small print pages long, and filled with detail and tedium and many philosophic conversations, mainly about the nature of life, death and time. This is all brilliant, if not always comprehensible or stimulating, because reading “The Magic Mountain” is like being on the magic mountain yourself. You are too in Davos and you don’t know how long you will be there or what will become of you and you, in your own way speculate about life, death and time, and see you see your friends get sick and die, or get well and leave, or just hang on.

I read “The Magic Mountain” once before – when I was in basic training in the Army in 1968, 55 years ago. Basic training was also a kind of magic mountain, where similar thoughts apply. I debated whether I wanted to re-read it, but knew that I had to.

So here am I, hanging out in Davos (without Bill Clinton and his buddies) wondering how long I will be here, whether I will ever get to climb down the mountain and whether, if I do get down to the “flat land”, I will wish I were back up in Davos, whether the routine of my life was out of my control and all I had to do was look around me, and think about things that I wanted to think about.

That’s it for today. Come back tomorrow.

Although yesterday was my wrap up of the trip to Portugal, today I want to add a few statistical thoughts that surprise me. For one, the divorce rate in Portugal is the highest in Europe, with over 60% of marriages ending in divorce. This is a fairly widely reported number and I am not sure I have an explanation. One possibility that I have seen discussed is that the marriage rate is lower in Portugal and since the divorce rate is measured not by looking at individual marriages but by comparing marriage and divorce numbers, when the marriage rate is low, the divorce rate becomes correspondingly high. I don’t know if this is a good answer or not, but at least it does make some sense. By the way, the marriage and divorce rates in neighboring Spain are not that different, and both countries are more extreme than the rest of Europe. To me, in that both of these countries are highly Catholic, the statistics are a surprise. Perhaps someone reading this knows more than I do.

Not surprising, considering marriage and divorce statistics, is another number. The average Portuguese woman has 1.43 children. This is well below the replacement rate of 2.1 (this is the replacement rate for advanced countries, where children normally outlive their earliest years by a large margin), and is a reason why, without immigration, the population of the country (now only 10 million, almost a third of whom live in metropolitan Lisbon) would fall to about 8 million over the next 50 years.

This is one of the lowest fertility rates in Europe today, and has in recent years been falling. A corollary to this statistic is another. The age of the average Portuguese mother at the birth of her first child is approximately 30.4 years. You can imagine how different it must have been back in the day. By the way, the low fertility rate means that, last year, there were 11 deaths in Portugal for every 8 births, and that the average age in Portugal is over 40.

(As a matter of comparison, the average age of a mother at first birth in the United States is 27.3, and the fertility rate – still below replacement rate – is 1.64 children.)

I have read that the average age at death of a Portuguese man is about 78 years and of a Portuguese woman about 86, averaging out (I think I read) to about 81. In the U.S., these figures are 76 for a male, and 81 for a female. As you probably know, U.S. life expectancy has been dropping; I do not know about Portugal. Generally, in the E.U., it is 77 for a male, and 83 for a female, so Portugal comes out a bit ahead here. But the difference of 8 years between males and females in Portugal are striking.

Then, there is abortion. Apparently abortion has been legal in Portugal since 2007. Before that, and to an extent after, good statistics are hard to come by. But it does appear that Portugal has one of the lowest rates of abortion in the E.U., and that it is true that the number of legal abortions has increased since 2007, it has actually been declining a bit in recent years.

I have seen nothing to tell me why Portugal’s abortion rate remains fairly low. But I did see a description of the law in Portugal. As I recall, abortion on demand is available for 10 weeks, and that after that (and according to a complex formula) it continues to be available for the heatlh of the mother, in cases of rape and incest, and where there are serious fetal abnormalities. Again, a highly Catholic country (although religion here, like elsewhere, has trouble holding on to the masses), and I see no evidence of the vitriol we have seen on the subject.

Earlier this week, I spoke about race in Portugal. Because the inhabitants of all Portuguese colonies were considered citizens of Portugal up until 1975, there are many people from these colonies (Angola, Mozambique, Macao, Goa, Sao Tome, and the Cape Verde Islands) had moved to Portugal proper before 1975 and they, and their descendants continue to live there. The official statistics on the number, say of Black Portuguese, are suspect because they are kept differently and with less rigor than we keep such statistics, and are seemingly quite understated – you see many people of colonial ethnicity throughout the country and especially in Lisbon.

I don’t know about racism in Portugal, but if you get your information through Wikipedia, you would think it less a problem than in many or most other countries. On the other hand, Wikipedia speaks of ongoing prejudice of the Portuguese to immigrants from Brazil, accusing them of contributing to prostitution and various forms of crime, but that this prejudice is not racially based, but based on nationality. There have been a fair number of Brazilians who have immigrated to Portugal. (Another aside – when I was in Portugal in 1972, it still maintained its colonial empire, and it had treated its colonies as integral parts of the country. I remember driving into Portugal from Spain and seeing a welcome billboard which stated that Portugal was the world’s only multi-continental, multi-racial country. Maybe this mentality has helped tamped down racism?)

Finally, I looked at worlddata.info, and have come up with th. e following additional statistics about Portugal.

1. Approximately 1100 miles of coast line
2. The 18th biggest country in Europe and 111th biggest in the world.
3. Land area is about 88% of the land area of Kentucky.
4. The tallest mountain in Portugal is in the Azores (the Azores and Madeira are considered parts of the Portugal proper)
5. The population density compared to the U.S. is 4:1
6. The average age in Portugal is 44.6 years old; in the U.S. 38.5
7. The cost of living in Portugal is only about 2/3 that of the United States, but the average income in Portugal is about 1/3 of that in the U.S.
8. Inflation rates, tax rates, size of government debt – all comparable to the U.S.
9. Energy consumption and CO2 emissions are worlds higher per person in the US.
10. Portugal has more hospital beds and more physicians per person than the U.S. does. It has fewer cases of H.I.V. and diabetes, but more tuberculosis (the tuberculosis cure rates are the same in both countries)

Now, my usual disclaimer (whether I say it or not). I have pulled all these statistics out of thin air (i.e., the internet). I am assuming that they are pretty accurate…..but what do I know?

I thought I should record my last thoughts about the Portugal trip for posterity. Remember, this was a family trip, which included an 8 year old for the entire trip and a 15 year old, an 11 year old and a 2 year old for most of it. So it wasn’t the trip that we would take if it was just the two of us. If it were just us, we would have seen more “sights”, to be sure, and my impression of things might be different. They also might be different if the temperature for the last 5 days in Lisbon didn’t hover around 100 degrees Fahrenheit, or if the Pope and an estimated 1.5 million Catholic teenagers from all around the world weren’t in town. Don’t get me wrong – all of those things added to the trip, provided additional interest, and so forth. But, they also might have affected my thinking about the country. But here goes:

1. When I came to Portugal for the first time in 1972, I was an experienced European traveler, but I had not been to Portugal or Spain before. Spain, then still Franco Spain, mesmerized me – the sophisticated cities, the primitive villages, but most of all the ruggedness of the country, the pervasiveness of its history – I felt that I had left Europe and landed someplace else. When I crossed the line into Portugal (in the far South, heading for the Algarve), I especially felt the contrast with Spain. The jaggedness sharpness of Spain turned into the calmness of Portugal. I was back in Europe, I thought – with one exception. Although Lisbon and the Algarve were the Europe of 1972, rural Portugal was the Europe of 1922 – farmers carrying their crops on major roads on carts led by horses or oxen, women walking along the sides of roads carrying all sorts of things (including babies on their backs), often carrying things carried on the top of their heads, older women all dressed in black, head to toe, showing they were in perpetual mourning for their late husbands. This was the context in which I had pictured Portugal before I returned in 2023.
2. Of course, I was not surprised that I didn’t see any ox drawn carts, that no one seemed to carry anything on their heads, and that I only saw two older (much older, they appeared) women dressed in mourning black. Now I saw a country with modern farming, fast roads, and modern amenities.
3. I admit not to knowing a lot about the full arc of Portuguese history. I don’t have a big picture and, perhaps not surprisingly, I am not looking for it. I don’t see an obvious connection between Portugal today and Portuguese history (there are many historical buildings, especially churches, but they mean little to me). This is actually a surprise in many respects because, although the arc escapes me, I am somewhat familiar with aspects of Portuguese history, all (most?) of which is pretty admirable. Let’s look at what I know (or think I know).
4. In the 14th century, when Pope Clement V, ordered the destruction of the Order of the Templar Knights across Europe and when, in most countries, Templars were arrested, tried and often killed, and their extensive holdings taken over by other religious orders designated by the papacy, in Portugal the King simply said that the Templars were now to be known as the Order of Christ and nothing was to change. No arrests, no trials. Business as usual.
5. In the 15th century, Portuguese navigators rounded Africa, traveled to India and in the early 16th century went to South America, setting the stage of much that followed; many of the navigators (including Christopher Columbus, who wound up financed by Spain, not Portugal, to his surprise and perhaps disappointment) were members of, or closely related to the Order of Christ (this includes Prince Henry the Navigator).
6. In 1492, when Spain issued its final expulsion order to the remaining Jews, the Portuguese king welcomed Jews to Portugal; although the hospitality did not last long (the Inquisition made the tolerance impossible), the Jews were not “expelled” from Portugal, although they were free to leave, but rather were baptized en masse and proclaimed to be Christians. Many stayed and many continued to practice their religion in secret, to spread out to Portuguese colonies throughout the world, to expand and lead the Jewish community in Protestant Netherlands and so forth. The language of many Jews around the world in the 15th through the 17th centuries was Portuguese and in many places, describing someone as Portuguese was a way of saying that they were Jewish. (As an aside, when Edie and I visited the oldest Jewish cemetery on Jamaica some years ago, we saw that the 17th century tombstones were etched in Portuguese and Hebrew)
7. Portugal remained neutral in World War II, as did Spain, but Portugal did more than Spain did in allowing Jewish organizations to set up offices in Lisbon to handle emigration from Europe, and provided transit visas to Jews fleeing Hitler and waiting for further immigration opportunities; the only trick was getting to Portugal because, once you were there, you were able to live freely.
8. But that’s all background. What about today? Today, when you are in Portugal, although everyone does speak Portuguese, do you really “know” you know you are in Portugal? What do I mean? Do you know who is the current prime minister of the country? Or what type of political party he/she represents? Or what type of government the country has? My guess is that the answer is “no”. And that would be the answer, I would go on to guess, of 99% of the tourists in the country. There is no sign of Portuguese politics – you don’t see political signs or slogans, or opposition signs, or anything to let you know that politics mean anything in this country. This is not a country where every home flies a Portuguese flag – in fact you could spend weeks in the country and not even be able to identify a Portuguese flag. Yes, you do see a “Parliament Building” if you happen to pass it – but you have no idea what goes on in there, and I don’t think it is even marked. But in the country, life seems to go on just fine – perhaps there is a government, perhaps even a deep (extraordinarily deep) state, but the Portuguese go out of their way to keep quiet about it.
9. It is an attractive country, but again in a low-key fashion. Hills, vistas, appealing towns, beaches. Living in the places we were the coast along could be very pleasant and inexpensive, indeed.
10. But Lisbon? Lisbon is a city of under 600,000 people that seems like a metropolis of 6,000,000. It is a very old city, situated on very hilly terrain (the “City of Seven Hills”), with beautiful and expansive views from several places of the Tagus River estuary. Construction of the castle overlooking the city began over 2000 years ago, the buildings in some neighborhoods go back hundreds of years, the road pattern is a jumble – one lane streets snaking up and down hills, circulating around, coming into complicated intersections too confusing even for a roundabout. And virtually all of the residential neighborhoods look the same. Did we see one stand alone house? I don’t think so. Lisbon is a city of three to five story apartments buildings, with flat fronts often tiled and just as often painted in pastel colors. Even the nicest of residential buildings look like they have seen better days on the outside. The roads are narrow, the sidewalks are all the same type of cobblestone (and the sidewalks vary from very wide to very narrow and are filled with obstructions, often cafe chairs),and you cross at the crosswalks only (if you do, you are safe as you can be; if you don’t, may God protect you). The ground floors of these residential buildings often house shops of various types – small groceries, service establishments like laundries or locksmiths or what have you, or retail establishments. There are empty store fronts and the occupied establishments seem to be open at the whim of the proprietors (some open for a few hours in the morning, close for a few hours mid-day, and open again from, say, 3 to 7; others are less regular; and some simply have signs that say “we are on vacation this month; see you in September”, or something to that effect). And cafes – almost every block has at least one small cafe, serving good coffee and bad pastries, with chairs inside and in front, with people gathering from early morning to late night. How any of these cafe owners or merchants make a living is a mystery. Again, every residential neighborhood looks like this, so as you drive through the city, nothing seems to change.
11. Yes, there is a large downtown commercial area where the buildings are a bit taller, the sidewalks a bit wider, the restaurants a bit larger and so forth. And there are a number of public squares with statues of people you have probably never heard of. But even though the scale is different from the residential areas, the feel is – to me – identical.
12. Along the very broad Tagus, the feel is different. It is flat down there, and you see some modern apartment buildings, warehouses and so forth, and some of the newer tourist attractions, such as the Aquarium and the Science Museum we visited. Here you are not in Lisbon, you are in Europe. But drive a quarter mile from the river and you are back in Lisbon.
13. Downtown Lisbon has no true high rises. This must the result of zoning restrictions to preserve the look of the city. And while the city has a number of parks, the city has a minimum of green space when you are not in a park. In the neighborhood we stayed in, for example, you could look down street after street and see nothing green. Until you got to the park.
14. The quality of the food is mixed. Generally good fish and vegetables. And, although most Portuguese restaurants have similar menus, there are some surprises, and some surprising and delicious dishes with odd mixtures – like the appetizer I had of chopped salmon gravalox, strawberries, capers and chocolate, or the chickpea burger served on a black olive tapenade. There are also all sorts of other cuisines – Indian (often Goan), Chinese, Japanese, Mexican etc.
15. Finally, the people. They are everywhere – locals and tourists. Perhaps because of the especial crowds of Catholic youth, I was reminded of ants – groups where everyone was clearly doing their jobs as they marched along, and places where everyone was scurrying about in seeming Brownian motion. My immediate reaction to Lisbon is that I don’t want to live here – it is too confusing, too crowded, too homogeneous. But maybe I am totally wrong. Maybe my five days in Lisbon, with the Pope and all the others and the heat, has given me the wrong impression. Maybe if I committed a crime, and the punishment was 6 months in Lisbon, I would come to love it. I think that very possible. And, for sure, as W.C. Fields could/should have said: Better here than Philadelphia.

On our trip, and on a previous trip to Portugal, I noticed that many Portuguese men had “a look”. That is, I noticed that, just as I often can tell when someone looks Jewish, I could tell that someone looked Portuguese.

It’s a look that I can’t quite define and shouldn’t attempt to, but will. Sort of a “hang dog” look – depressed or dejected, sad, turned down mouth and so forth. But on top of that, something else that I really can’t describe well – it’s like their face is front loaded and that, if it weren’t attached to the rest of their head, if they leaned forward, it might fall off. (I told you this wasn’t politically correct.)

During the course of our trip, I would see many people meeting this description, and sometimes I would even point them out. I certainly didn’t consider this look at all attractive or appealing.

Move to yesterday morning at the Lisbon airport. Noticing that Edie was using a cane, a young uniformed woman came over to her to permit Edie and her family to skip the long line and have priority check-in. We followed her, and then, after talking to Edie in perfect English, she spoke to me in Portuguese. I was surprised, and told her I didn’t speak Portuguese.

She looked at me, apologized, and said “Sorry…..but you have such a Portuguese face.”

Aside: this morning, my first morning back, a friend gave a talk on Jewish humor that I attended via Zoom – my Thursday morning breakfast group. I told this story at the end of his presentation and asked the group if this was an example of Jewish humor. Most thought it was – self deprecating, etc. And that the Jewishness had nothing to do with the incident itself, but rather in the telling of it.

My friend that countered with his own joke: A woman walks up a man, a stranger, and says “Are you Jewish?” He says “no”. She asks again. He again says he isn’t. She asks a third and a fourth time and gets the same answer. Finally, he looks at her and says “I can’t keep denying it. I am Jewish.” She looks at him and says, “Funny, you don’t look Jewish”.

There you go.

You know. W. C. Fields’ supposed tombstone: Better here than Philadelphia. Or the old one: Last night I spent a week in Philadelphia.

Well, let me tell you about the last day of our trip.

First, do you know how to say “coincidence” in Portuguese? Our day started with one. Lorenzo was our Uber driver for the second time in two days. This morning he brought us to the airport in Lisbon, which was filled with an unbelievable number of people. Waiting and shopping. Shopping and waiting. If you ask me how many people were at the airport, I would guess (without purposeful exaggeration) that it was a little over half of the world’s population.

We had a cart for our luggage (Joan figured out how to get it) and were given priority treatment at American check-in because Edie was using a cane, so we were in decent shape walking through all the many shopping centers the Lisbon airport sends you through. We (read Edie) even bought two kinds of chocolate sardines. We got to the gate, boarded our flight, and for the next seven hours, until we landed in Philadelphia right on time, all was right with the world.

But then ….

Let me explain. First, none of us knew the Philadelphia airport, where we were to transfer to a plane to DC with time to spare (so we thought). So we were surprised when these things happened:

1. There was no line at the first men’s restroom you reach after you get off the plane and walk the corridor towards customs. On the other hand, there must have been a 20 person line at the women’s room. Nowhere in Lisbon or at Heathrow did we see evidence of obviously insufficient facilities for women. And those airports are enormously larger than Philly’s. But in Philadelphia……
2. After a very long time at the rest room (some inside, me outside the door), we went into a large room where a touted new self-operated passport review system was being employed. No people, just machines. You walk up to a machine, choose a language and are first asked a bunch of questions about what you are bringing into the country (any live cows or pigs?), and then are asked to insert the main page of passport onto a shiny block and (providing you line it up perfectly) the machine takes a photo of your passport. Then it instructs you to look at a spot a little higher on the machine and it takes your picture. Then I guess it decides if you are you and it spits out a boarding pass sized piece of paper that has your picture on it and a bunch of words. Because no one is expert on this machine, and many people have problems (especially putting their passport at the right place) there is an employee there to help you navigate this new experience. By the way, I think there were 35 machines and only one or two employees, so at times they must have their hands full. And, by the way, even if you know what you are doing, the machine takes longer than an in-person customs officer would.
3. When the machine spits out your picture, you assume that you have passed the test and been allowed into the country, but no. You step beyond the machines and you see an old fashioned bank of customs officials and you stand in line and wait until you have been called, just like the old days. Then the customs official looks at you, your passport, and the paper that the machine has spit out and says “okay”. Now, tell me what role he plays? Is he making sure the machine that replaced him is doing the job as well as he would have?
4. Next you pass through the large room behind the customs official to a door that leads you to the baggage area, but before you go to the baggage area, you pass another official who takes the picture that the machine has spit out, looks again at you and the picture, and nods at you to get out of here and leave him alone, for God’s sake. At least that was the look he gave me.
5. The next big room is the baggage retrieval room. This works like any other, I guess. You find the right carousel, you retrieve you luggage, and move on to the next activity.
6. Once you have your luggage (which you have to pick up in Philadelphia even though you had checked it in Lisbon through to DC), you have to take it out of the baggage area and then either go your merry way, or re-check for your connecting flight. If you have a connecting flight, you stand in another line and simply give it to an agent when you reach the head of the line. The agent looks at the luggage tag and your boarding pass, takes your bag and puts it on a conveyor belt. He doesn’t even bother to thanks you; instead, he grunts.
7. I should add here that we arrived at Philadelphia in Terminal A. Before we landed in Philadelphia, we checked the screen at our seat on our transatlantic flight, and saw that the DC plane would leave from Gate B4. Once you get to Philadelphia, as opposed to any other airport I have ever been to, you can’t find a board listing arrivals or departures. We saw none when we left the plane, none in the passport rooms and none in the baggage claim. We just had to hope that we were still B4. There did not appear to be anyone to ask. I did ask someone with a TSA uniform on, and he just shrugged.
8. But we figured that our next task was to get to the B terminal from the A Terminal. Again, nothing was obvious. We asked someone in an airport uniform who told us that Terminal B was a 2 minute walk, there was no train, and that the shuttle bus may not come for another 20 minutes. So we started following arrows – typical, of course, hallways, escalators and doors. And when we exited one of the doors, we found ourselves outside.
9. Outside!! Like we had just arrived from the Main Line. Each terminal is a separate building, apparently not connected to each other internally. And, for us at least, the walk was closer to 10 or 12 minutes, not 2 minutes. At least it was sunny and not too warm. What do people do in February? Seriously.
10. And, although we had boarding passes, so we didn’t have to check in, we then took a walk, an escalator ride, and another walk to the TSA security check-in which, as a matter of fact, was very, very crowded (maybe the longest line we had seen anywhere on the trip, other than in the Lisbon airport on check in). As we thought our flight was leaving in 30 minutes, once again we thought we might miss it. Luckily, again, an agent told us old folks with a cane that we could skip the line and move right into x-ray land. Even once our carry-on and other belongings were on the belt, the process took some time.
11. Once we got through security , gate B4 was right on the other side of one more shopping mart they forced us to walk through. And, we had more than thirty minutes until take off – because (a) we had misread the “boarding time” for the “flight time”, and – of course – because the incoming plane was late.
12. So we got back into DC about 20 minutes late (not a problem) and everything at National worked just like it was supposed to.

But I must say that – although nothing was lost, we didn’t miss our plane, and there were no tragedies, the multi-stage process Philadelphia required us to go through was totally unnecessary and ridiculous. To make up for it (not really), they upgraded Edie and me to first class. Yes, what a treat! First class on an American Eagle flight that lasts less than an hour! What a treat.

Thanks for following our trip. We leave for the airport in about an hour. Home late this afternoon.

Our last day was problem-free. Morning at the Science Museum, next to the aquarium, built for kids. Afternoon roaming the Tuesday flea market. Dinner in the neighborhood. All good.

See you on the other side for conclusions and observations.

Our last day in Portugal. My second trip to Portugal..Sintra will have to wait until my third.

Yesterday was by far the best food day (no, not the morning pastry). We had lunch at a vegetarian restaurant which turned out to be right next to the very bad, awful, terrible Mexican restaurant of the day before. This one has plain walls and delicious food. I had a chickpea burger served with an olive tempenade and other things I have already forgot. The restaurant is called Manjelica, which someone who speaks no Portuguese told me means “basil”. Maybe so.

Dinner was just Edie and me. We stumbled on a very unprepossessing looking restaurant near our neighborhood tram 28 stop. Called Cicero, it had some free outside seats and a unique menu which we didn’t quite understand but looked interesting and we weren’t that hungry and….why not?

We each had two starters and we split a desert. The owner of the restaurant was from Recife, Brazil (we had a long talk with him) and the server (we had a long talk with him) was Portuguese, as was the chef (who must have been too busy to have a long talk with). Edie’s starters were a sardine/roasted peppers (red, green, yellow) combination, and mine was a combination of gravalox and strawberries on crisp and thin rye toast with a thin black olive spread. It was adorned by large capers and (naturally) topped by a square of bitter chocolate. Then, Edie had a stew of black mushrooms and hearts of palm slices (both cooked) in a delicious vegetarian sauce and served with rice, while I had a very tasty sea bass soup. Our shared desert was a thick flan served with tangerine (yes, tangerine) ice cream and chopped pecans (she says walnuts, I say pecans). Our conversations had to do with food in Portugal, politics in Brazil and the U.S. (Trump and Bolsinaro), and what New York would have been like if the Jews could have stayed in Recife in 1654. Did you know that Recife, when under the Dutch had the first synagogue in the western hemisphere?

Our daytime activities included a morning laying low and, after lunch, a Hannah led venture to find vintage shops. Three of the four of us soon tired of this in 100 degree weather, and jumped ship. We hailed a tuk tuk (one of those little open golf cart like tourist wagons) and spent a lot of money being shown the town – various neighborhoods, super views from atop and so forth (so forth being largely the Church of St. This and the Church of St. That). Our tuk tuk driver was from Nepal. He lived in Norway before coming here.

We were left off at the top of the funicular which has been transporting folks up and down for over a century, went into a friendly place for a cold drink, went into an antiquarian book store, and Ubered home. Our very friendly Uber driver was Pakistani. He’s been in Lisbon for several years (he also came here from Norway), praised the reception that Portugal gives immigrants to the skies. I thought Portugal should hire him as an emissary until he talked about how great opportunities were for immigrants since the Portuguese themselves were so lazy.

Maybe he was right. After all, shops seem to be opened at owner’s whims, irrespective of what the posted hours are. And stores and restaurants simply close for vacation for periods of up to a month.

By the way, a shout out to Uber. How easy it makes getting around a European city.

Finally, an almost tragic adventure. We returned from our tuk tuk about 6 p.m. to find we had no air conditioning in the 100 degree heat. While trying to see if there was anything we could do and communicating with our host back in Washington, all the power in the building went out. Details not important, but it was back on as if nothing happened within an hour. We don’t know how extensive the outage was – building? block? neighborhood?

But the power company came to the rescue in record time Must be manned by immigrants.

I can’t say that I understand the neighborhood we are staying in. It’s called Campo de Ourique, and it’s a center Lisbon neighborhood filled with 3 to 5 story residential buildings, built at various times over the course of the 20th century. It’s described as a middle class neighborhood with a number of (mainly French) expats and as a neighborhood in the middle of tourist Lisbon, but not a tourist destination.

It’s also filled with small stores, small groceries, small patisseries and small restaurants. In fact, everything is small here. I am one of the tallest.

For the last three days, at about 8 a.m., I have joined the Great Lisbon Decent Pastry Search. So far, no luck. Delicious coffee and not so delicious pastries. Now, every patisserie, and there is on most blocks, bakes their own goods. And they have found out how to make them all taste the same, at least in Campo de Ourique. How they do that is a state secret, I am sure.

There are two kinds of patisseries . The first is very modest, with tables outside for maybe 10. They are occupied by men of a certain age, who enter, order coffee, are very happy to see friends, and who sit down, sil their drink and become glued to their smart phones. Some add a cigarette, that is beyond the logistical capacity of the others.

The other patisseries are bigger, cleaner, sleeker and more modern. They are visited by women, more than men, in a ratio of about 2 to 1. They have mastered the art of increasing the variety of pastries visually, while still having them all taste the same. A deep state secret.

A diversion: is there a Deep State in Portugal? Is there any state here? Hard to say, at least in Lisbon, where the important thing in the world is making sure that your pastry doesn’t stand out and cause too much attention.

Okay, back to the Gulbenkian Museum. Gulbenkian was Armenian, born in the Ottoman Empire, spent much of his life in London (where he is buried) and his last years in Lisbon (where he died). He was a masterful collector and philanthropist, as well as the man who controlled virtually all of the oil in Iraq. His will provided for a museum and foundation.

Just as there are two kinds of patisseries in Lisbon, there are two kinds of museums. One kind consists of museums founded and controlled by the will of a collector – the Gulbenkian, the Freer in Washington, the Demenil in Houston and so forth. The other kind are not .

The art in the collector’s museums are picked very carefully and lovingly and are easy to appreciate. The art in other museums? Not necessarily so. Often those museums contain works by famous artists that are not their best. They are the pieces that donors are happy to get rid of. Don’t believe me? Okay, then. Name me one piece of art in a collector’s museum that is only mediocre. See? You can’t do it.

The Gulbenkian is a wonderful museum, both in design and content. And the content is eclectic. From ancient Egyptian and Middle Eastern pieces to Greek and Roman sculpture, Iranian rugs and pottery, ceramics from Iznik, rugs from Bursa, Chinese ceramic, Japanese prints, European painting and sculpture and furniture, Lalique glass.

We saw three special exhibits. One terrific display of 18th and 19th century Japanese prints. One of contemporary Portuguese art, and of the sculpture of Giacometti and a Portuguese sculptor named Chaves.

We were there for 3 hours. Could have been there longer .

Today is a very hot Monday. Most museums are closed. I am told the plan is to lounge in the apartment this morning, and take an Uber to another neighborhood for lunch and vintage shopping. That excites me. I need more stuff. For my museum. After all, I am a collector.

So what’s it like when it’s 100 degrees in Lisbon? First, it’s hot. But second, it’s not particularly humid, and there is a breeze, so if you can stay in the shade, it’s ok. Sort of.

Last night, when it wasn’t 100, Edie and I had a date night. Joan and Hannah had salad and eggs at home, but we walked four or five blocks south (until I looked at a map I was sure it was north) of our apartment to a restaurant called O Magano, which I found on a website that talked about restaurants in our neighborhood. We got there about 7:30 and sat at the only table which didn’t have a “reserved” marker. In typical Portuguese style, the waitress rushed to bring us a selection of appetizers. We settled on two – green beans teriyaki style and chick peas with pieces of cod. Both went well with our red and white house wines (by the way, all our local wines have been good). We then ordered the grilled turbot for two, which came with potatoes, carrots and spinach, and was much too much for us to eat, but very good (ok, so I didn’t taste the carrots or potatoes). And then we ordered dessert! A very dark, dark chocolate cake and an almond torte, both delicious. Okay, so this cost us as much as we would pay for an expensive meal in the US, but it was worth it. And I should add that we seemed to be the only tourists in the restaurant, always a good sign.

Our waitress was a little too pushy (she pushed us into the appetizers), and at the end said something when she handed us the bill we never had heard before in this country: “You know, service is not included.” And, yes, I fell for it.

I did ask her what “Magano” meant. The restaurant was clearly not Italian. She said it meant “a foolish person”, but that in her small village near the Spanish border, it meant “a beautiful girl”. That made no sense whatsoever until I realized that, when she was young, people there must have called her a magano and her parents told her it meant she was a beautiful girl. Then it all made sense.

This morning, once more I left early and ordered mediocre pastry and very good coffee. Going back to the house, I rounded up the others and we walked past last night’s restaurant and went to a stop for Tram 28, the famous Lisbon trolley pictured time and time again in promotional material. We were at the second stop, but each of the seats in the team were already filled. But we settled in for our 45 minute ride through town.

I found it all interesting , but I can’t say I saw everything standing up the entire way and I had no idea where were or what I would have seen had I been able to see everything. Churches, a parliament building, hills, neighborhoods that all looked alike, crowds, a water view. Joan thought the ride was “cool”, but we all thought it was too crowded and too hot and not a necessary Lisbon activity. We did meet a nice French family from Brittany and had some interesting conversation on the ride.

It was lunch time when got off at the end of the route and found a “Mexican” restaurant with air conditioning. How long did it take to get our food? Like an hour. And I didn’t find it (it being my chicken enchilada or Edie’s vegetable burrito) particularly edible, but boy did I enjoy my Coke after the ride. It was the best Coke ever canned. And the monkeys on the wall were neat.

Again, I should mention our waitress, who seemed to be trying, but no cigars. She was not able to translate our order (made in English) to computer language, which is how she communicated with the kitchen. Items like “rice” sent her into a tizzy – pushing buttons, looking confused, asking for help and so forth. And why did we wait an hour for food? Was it a kitchen problem, or did she just forget to retrieve it? Hard to say. Eventually she brought everything but the rice, which took a little longer.

But, as you know, God works in mysterious ways. Let me mention two. First, he sent all young Catholics to celebrate mass with the Pope, so the city wouldn’t be too crowded. Second, he made sure we didn’t get out of the restaurant until 2 pm.

This turned out to be important because the Gulbenkian Foundation Museum becomes free at 2 on Sunday. The Gulbenkian, by the way, gets an A+. But this post is already too long, so come back soon for more.

At 4 p.m. in Lisbon, the temperature is 97, feels like 99. Just saying.

This morning , Michelle and crew flew back to the States on a TAP plane to Heathrow and a British Air flight home. Their plane was scheduled to leave at 7:30, so you can imagine what time they left their hotel. Of course, their plane left late, causing them to sprint at Heathrow, only to learn that their seconf plane was leaving late, too. Andrew and Izzy left our place this morning at 7:30 for their 11 a.m. plane across the Atlantic. Because Andrew was with Izzy, they were given priority treatment in every line and wound up at the gate with months to spare. All are flying states-bound now.

I went out early. Sat at a small cafe, had a pastry and coffee. My definite conclusion: Portugal has no idea how to make pastry, but makes excellent coffee. I walked around the neighborhood. Three used book stores. May never get to any of them. No big deal. I don’t read Portuguese. Did you know that?

We had lunch at a small cafe, where we sat outside on the sidewalk. No, I don’t mean next to the sidewalk. On the sidewalk. How do these little places make a living? This place had two counter chairs indoors and a few tables outside on the sidewalk seating maybe 15.

I would give my sandwich an A. It was a chicken salad (translated chicken paste) and I didn’t pay much attention to what else. Turned out to be greens, beets, pickles, tomatoes, and not a sandwich at all but a wrap. The wrap was much thinner and crisper at the edges than what you get at home. The taste was excellent.

While I haven’t found Portuguese fish to be as good as I expected, I have found that the Portuguese have a knack for good combinations. Also, I should say that Portuguese chips and fries are tops.

We finished eating and called an Uber which came in 4 minutes. We had 2 p.m. tickets at the aquarium (the Oceanarium). I was surprised it took over 30 minutes to get there. Big city.

Although it involves much walking, the aquarium is absolutely worth a visit. It takes you around the world, ocean by ocean. No fresh water river fish allowed. You follow the arrows to make two concentric circles and stop to see a film about the aquarium’s labs and vetinary activities.

Even though the aquarium was crowded with Catholic Youth among others, it was roomy enough to see everything.

A very nice Uber driver coming home. Learned a lot about Portugal’s economy. He said he understood Americans buying retirement properties. That was fine. But Portuguese who convert their homes to rental and air b&bs for tourists, they are the problem, driving up rents beyond what natives can afford. And he isn’t happy with remote workers from other countries who can pay the high rents to work from Lisbon.

We also talked about the Pope’s visit and Catholic Youth Day, which he says has paralyzed the city for 6 days and hurt the economy. Again, he doesn’t blame the teens who get a chance to see Lisbon, but they don’t spend money. And the Pope devastates mobility around the city. It was promoted as win-win. But it’s lose-lose.

I also read a bit about Portugal . Fertility rate is 1.43, well below replacement rate. Last year, for every 8 births, there 11 deaths. And lifespan is 81, so lifespan isn’t the reason. On another topic, there a many Blacks here, it appears. That’s because, until 1975 when the country divested itself of its colonials, Portuguese colonial subjects were automatically citizens. But the number of Lusoblacks (Remember that Lusitania = Portugal) is hard to figure. Portugal does not calculate races as we do. The child of a white Portuguese citizen and a Lusoblack, in Portugal, is not classified as Black, for example. At least that’s what I read.

Tomorrow we will talk about birthright citizenship.

We are in Lisbon, in Campo Ourique, in our friend’s wonderful condo. We bring Edie, Hannah, Andrew, Joan, Izzy and me. Tomorrow Andrew and Izzy fly home, leaving four of us until Thursday.

After a frantic morning clearing our vacation house in Foz, Michelle and crew left to turn in their car at the airport and kill and afternoon, and we pulled into our taxi for the 100 km drive to Lisbon.

But remember that the Pope is in Lisbon and this is also the home of this year’s Catholic Youth Day, so we weren’t surprised when the taxi driver told us that he wasn’t sure he could get us to our house because so many roads were closed. He said he knew he could get us within about 1 km, but that might be it. What???

Well, it did bring some anxiety to our otherwise beautiful ride down A8. That’s for sure. Hills and farms and towns and more hills and towns on the hills. And then Metro Lisbon – hills and apartments, many of fine design, and even more of pastel colors, especially blues and pinks. Then into an older area of the city know as Campo Ourique, which we were told is filled with restaurants and expats.

It turned out that there was no problem, either with access or traffic and, except for occasional covens of teenage kids, there is no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

We all had lunch at a small casual place a block away, where we got scrambled eggs, two egg omelets, a large salad, a chicken salad sandwich, a cheese and tomato sandwich, an order of stewed mushrooms, a coke, a lemonade, orange and pineapple and mango juices and two espressos, all for about 50 euros.

The afternoon was spent in the condo – how many times can one watch Frozen? I did venture out to find Raffi’s Bagels before they closed at 4. I got there at 3:45, but the bagels were all gone.

We told Hannah and Andrew that we’d take care of the kids and they could go out for dinner. And they took us up on that. Before they left, Edie and I walked to Memorial Pizza, two blocks away and ordered carryout, having time to enjoy a glass of wine on a street table while the pizzas were baking.

So dinner at home. All hands on deck required to get Izzy to bed (we hope). “I don’t like that diaper!!” “Read me that book again!!” Etc

Now it’s quiet.

Tomorrow, without having to worry about nap time, we can start exploring Lisbon.

It’s our last full day in Foz da Arelho. Tomorrow we head to Lisbon at 10 a.m. I assume we will find our condo and be able to get in without a problem. BUT we aren’t the only tourists in Lisbon. The Pope is in town. And tens of thousands of others for Catholic Youth Day. So crowded Lisbon is super crowded. So will streets be clogged? Will the restaurants be too crowded? Will Ubers be unavailable? We will see.

This morning, sunny but with gale winds, sweatshirt weather, we went to the lighthouse at Peniche, built in 1790 after a big ship wreck off the coast. It sits at the tip of a dramatic peninsula surrounded by rocky cliffs and roaring surfs. There are a number of rough trails over rocks and sandy dirt to provide beautiful views in all directions. We chose one, started up, walked through the dirt, over the rocks, on broad ledges, up steps, across bridges. Onward.

I was with Michelle ‘s family. But walking up, we ran into Andrew, with Izzy riding on his back. The views were spectacular even for a 2 year old.

Then lunch. We saw nothing near where we were, but thought that there must be something on the Peniche beach. There probably was, but we missed it, but driving through the town of Ferrel, Our Lady of GPS told us there was a place nearby we could try.

A digression. It is very windy today and very sunny. That meant the waves were very high. The beaches around Peniche are surfing beaches, and it seemed there were as many surf boards as people wandering the streets.

Pateo de Vila. Should be easy to find. Not on the beach. Not on the main road through town. Follow the GPS. Turn right? Okay. Then turn left and it’s a couple of blocks away. Oops. One way street. But we can find it. Several turns later and there it is.

Residential neighborhood. Well kept, whitewashed adjoining homes with red tile roofs. But the restaurant blends in. Tastefully decorated, three tables for 6, three for four. That’s it. I opted for Thai vegetable green curry. Excellent. Two of my best Portuguese meals have been Thai and Indian. Go figure.

Back home after lunch. Izzy finally ran into a table and will have a black eye. There was a raucous game of Kids Create Absurdity. And a game of Cats In Costume, a matching game where I thought I would come in last (6 played) and did. My memory for a card matching game has always been weak and now has been shot. Joan tells me I need to think deeper.

A restaurant tonight in Foz, two doors down from our first night restaurant. I had dorado, which was the best fish I have had here yet. Also tasted Joan’s fish sticks, which were excellent and perhaps restaurant made. Conclusion which was forgone – I don’t like cod, sardines, or sea bass (The most common fish so far by far) any more in Portugal than I do at home.

Tonight, a frenzy of packing, so we will be ready for our 10 a.m. pickup.

Talk to you tomorrow from Lisbon, where the weather promises to be each day in the 90s.

For this trip, with my family, including wife, daughters, sons in law, grandchildren and step grandchildren, I changed my approach. Rather than be the trip planner and historian, I decided to attack the trip differently. I decided to do nothing. I didn’t pick the house we are staying in or its location, I haven’t picked a restaurant, I haven’t designed a single excursion, I am not driving a car, and I haven’t researched our surroundings. I am just going along for the ride.

It’s worked out okay. I was told that today, we were going to Tomar. I looked at it on the map – about 100 kilometers from here – and realized it would be a longish drive, and I was told there was an old synagogue there.

The trip from Foz da Arelho took a little more than hour. Pretty scenery, largely on fast highways. High hills or low mountains, farms and towns, a lot green, many flowers including the large pink and white oleander bushes that adorn the median strip on Highway A8, which runs from Lisbon to Porto. Two tunnels, several river crossings. Terra totally incognito to me.

Tamor was a surprise. There is an old town, which is very old and picturesque and, for the most part, well maintained. Easy to find your way, because the old town was basically a grid, with a central plaza at one end. Behind the plaza, a green hill/mountain with a castle at the top.

There are many restaurants and a large variety of shops – clothing, jewelry, children’s shops, and services. All quite nice and friendly.

And on a street primarily residential, there’s a synagogue. Not a big one, and not functioning as a synagogue, it is now a small, but appealing Jewish museum. It has been well restored, and is architecturally, just another town house on the block. It once encompassed the houses on either side, one now a private residence and the other where you view the remains of a mikveh through a large glass window. There is a pleasant guide, happy to answer your questions. She apparently belongs to one of the two Jewish families in Tomar today.

But back in the day (it’s a fifteenth century synagogue), Jews made between 30 and 40 percent of Tomar, and had been there a long time. They were formally expelled, along with all the Jews in Portugal in 1496. But if they didn’t leave, as I recall my history, no big deal. They were willingly or not baptized en masse, whether or not they were present at the baptism ceremony. Much more thoughtful than what happened four years earlier in neighboring Spain.

Tomar was also a headquarters of the Portuguese Templars, a Catholic order (but much more) I have read about quite a bit. Wikipedia says that many Jews worked for the Templar organization in Tomar. I certainly can see that happening.

In the early 14th century, the Pope (under the influence of the king of France) decided that the Templars were too big and too wealthy and were rivalling the Vatican, so he ordered all Templar institutions shut down and turned over to the Church. In some places (in fact in most places) Templar leaders were rounded up and killed. But in Portugal, as a precursor to what happened to the Jews 150 years later, the Templar buildings were not stolen and given to the Vatican. Instead, one morning the Templars woke up, learned they were now members of a new Order of Christ, and life contued as normal, not only in Tomar but all through Portugal.

By the way, this synagogue is one of only two pre-expulsion synagogues in Portugal. And there are only four or five in Spain.

We had lunch in Tomar at an Italian restaurant called La Bella. Much too much food for lunch but, gee, that’s what this family does. I had “gorgonzola ravioli” which was delicious. I are about half, which was more than I needed. And I ate less, I am sure, than anyone else. So this evening, at a restaurant down by the beach near us, Restaurante Europa, I only ordered an omelet because I was still full. But they served it with good french fries, so once again I ate too much. And, by the way, tragedy did strike at the Europa. Ever been attacked by catsup? Let me tell you – it’s no fun.

Both missing suitcases are now here. Michelle, who started learning Portuguese on Duolingo and was dismayed to discover she was learning Brazilian Portuguese was pleased when she thanked one of the deliverymen who responded by saying “Are you from Brazil? So am I “.

This morning we went down our neighborhood boardwalk with beautiful views over the cliffs to the sea. Getting back was as easy as 1-2-3. That is, to get back we walked up 123 steps.

2 year old Izzy loved the walk, and ran and strolled, until he came to a flat space and sat down. ” This”, he said, “is our headquarters.”. And he would stayed there the rest of the morning.

Actually not all of us went on the walk. Andrew, Joan, Josh, Olie and Ian went kayaking in the lagoon. No one fell in. All were tired.

Then, I went with Michelle and crew to Porrinhos Dos Leitoes, a suckling pig restaurant in nearby Salir de Porto. It’s a modern and large roadside restaurant, very popular and highly rated. One of the other complications of our trip is that half of us keep kosher and half don’t. I’m in the middle – kosher in our kosher home, but not outside of it. But suckling pig is a little too much for me, so I ordered the bacalau alla chefe (cod). Portions in Portugal tend to be large. My cod would have fed two or maybe three. The menu said there would be clam sauce, but in fact the fish was smothered in shrimp, prawns, clams, mussels and a few other things I couldn’t identify. It was surrounded by slices of potato and all mixed in a delicious sauce. It was too much in several ways and, IMHO, would have been better without the cod.

Following lunch, I went with Edie and Hannah’s family (minus Izzy) to Obidos. My second time in three days. Finally, the souvenir mania took control. A blouse, two bracelets, two ceramic dishes, a book, a harmonica and a Mickey Mouse noisemaker.

After an hour or two in Obidos, we were tasked with getting pizza for ten to bring home. Obidos, walled and castled city as it is, didn’t see like pizza land, and it’s only 20 minutes from us, but the route skirts Caldas da Rainha, the largest city on the Silver Coast, so we ventured in, eventually spotting Piazza Pizza, only to discover it was closed on Tuesdays. So Google and Pizza Near Me it was. Turns out we were only a few minutes from Mr. Pizza, and I ordered three maxi pizzas. I gave the proprietor my card and he said cash only. That would have been fine except that I forgot to bring my ATM card on the trip (for those with a photographic memory, you know that), Edie’s was at the house and neither Hannah’s nor Andrew’s were working. Luckily I had dollars in my wallet so we worked out an exchange rate favorable to him and got our pizza. Across the street was a “traditional Portuguese” bakery, with very rich looking multi-layer cake rectangles and I bought four- enough to feed maybe 16. The pizza was ok (although the olives on the veggie pizza weren’t pitted – say,, the cakes ok+++.

Enough for now. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow? Tomar? Could anything be more appropriate?

One scheduld to be delivered today,one tomorrow. Both reported to have enjoyed their mini-vacations at Heathrow.

It was an interesting morning. Our plan was to visit the monastery at Alcobaca, and then go to Nazare for lunch and be back for the 2 year old’s nap. Well, 10 person coordination is hard, as you might imagine as young person decided not to and one adult would have to stay home as well. So the negotiations began, slowing down everything. But all worked out and we were all on our way, about 45 minutes behind schedule.

The church at Alcobaca is quite large with an ornate Gothic front and is the final home of several Portuguese royals. Especially King Pedro and his would-be queen, the noble but not noble enough woman who Pedro loved, but who Pedro’s father condemned to death. Pedro vowed to provide a proper place for her after death and vowed to rest in the same place after his death. And so it was.

The church was built by the Cistercians in the 12th century (that’s 900 years ago). Adjoining it is a large monastery which closed in 1833, when apparently all monasteries in Portugal were closed by royal decree. Time and expense led us to skip the monastery tour for 10- we missed the form, the kitchen and so forth. Next time.

On to Nazare in our two cars. Every try to find two nearby parking places in Nazare? An impossibility. So we split – each car on its own. I went in Hannah’s car. We found a parking spot a block (short block) from the beach and the group decided to eat at (believe it or not) an Indian restaurant. Turns out there is a fair amount of Indian food in Portugal, much based on the cuisine of Goa, the former Portuguese Indian colony. The food was pretty good, I am happy to say. And next door is the Petite Parisienne, where I had the best coffee yet this week.

Nazare, very crowded and very pleasant, is much different from the small, remote fishing village that it was when I was here 51 years ago. For the better? Maybe, but less picturesque.

So at about 7 tonight, we got word that one of the missing bags have been located at Heathrow and was put on a plane arriving at 4 today. We have no confidence that they will find where we are staying so will keep our phones on a constant watch and see what happens. We don’t know which bag it is.

Now, I know many of you think that this hasn’t been a good vacation because everything has gone wrong, but we don’t view it that way. It is just different.

Speaking of that, we just got back from dinner at an upscale restaurant less than 10 minutes from the house. A restaurant that Google loves, with most reviews giving it 5 stars.

Well, where should I start? Edie’s meal never came at all. Izzy threw half of his meal in the floor with loud remarks heard throughout town, until he decided that it was pretty good after all. Joan had trouble spearing her buttered new potatoes and about 5 of them ended up on the floor. She also decided to keep Josh’s clam shells as a souvenir, wrapped them in her napkin and promptly spilled them all on the way away from the table. Someone else (who will not be named) put too much pressure on the arm of their plastic Eames-like chair which snapped and broke. The veggie burger and the swordfish and the cod were not very good. The tuna, the french fries, the vegetables and the corn bread was very good. And I am told the clams were, as well.

Now, back at the house. Sunset is over, port is being sipped, Izzy is in bed, Joan and Ian (8 and 11) are talking about what their social lives are like.

What will tomorrow bring? Tune in and find out.