Art is 80

I never have written about our day in Hermann, Jefferson City and Sedalia, Missouri. I guess it’s not going to happen. Let’s just say on this interesting drive from St. Louis to Kansas City, that I had my second bratwurst in about 40 years in German Hermann on the Mississippi River (the first was about 10 years ago in Viroqua Wisconsin – details on request), that most of the state capital Jefferson City seemed vacant or closed and the liveliest place was the library, and that Sedalia was bigger and more active than I thought it would be. Sedalia is the home of the Missouri State Fair and, if you used to watch Wild Bill Hickok on television, you might remember that Jingles (Andy Devine) was from East Sedalia.

I thought I would probably write today about Prof. Lauren Strauss’ excellent presentation last night for the Haberman Institute for Jewish Studies on “Jews and Social Protest on Broadway”, a fascinating look at the Jewish aspects of the history of the American musical theater and how it presaged and/or reflected social issues facing the country throughout the 20th century. But that isn’t going to happen now, either.

Instead, I am going to talk about Pisac, a town nestled in the Peruvian Andes, about 20 miles from the old Inca capital, Cuzco. A town I visited about 50 years ago, one fateful day.

Why Pisac? Because, in this week’s Washington Jewish Week, there is an article titled “Israeli’s Flock To This Tiny Town in Peru”. Apparently, this town of fewer than 10,000 residents, an Inca market and crafts center, and significant Inca ruins, attracts hundreds of young Israelis, some of whom are settling there for rather lengthy periods. Although the article’s explanations are far from complete or perfect, it appears that the biggest attractions (other than the fact that the surroundings are absolutely beautiful, and the climate invigorating, and the prices cheap) are the availability of various types of psychedelic drugs that are derived from the natural vegetation and that I assume have been used by the Incas for centuries. There are so many Israelis in Pisac, it appears, that some have started their own businesses, that restaurants have Hebrew language menus, and that there is a Chabad, which feeds 50-100 people every Friday night. There seems to be a spiritual quest going on here, with Chabad competing with the drug culture. Go figure.

I think it was in 1974, when I was in Pisac. There were no Israelis, I am sure I was the only Jew, and everyone else seemed to be Incan and Quechua speaking – I remember the lack of Spanish as surprising to me. I had been on a trip up the Amazon with an old friend, and after we spent some time in and around Iquitos on the river in Peru, we went our separate ways. I wanted to stay in Peru and see Machu Picchu. As I recall, he wanted to visit friends he had in Costa Rica. (He can correct me if I am wrong.)

I had flown from Iquitos, an isolated but interesting colonial-feeling town of about 500,000 (now – my guess is less than half that amount in 1974). It is still the largest continental city in the world that you cannot drive to. On the upper Amazon, you can only reach it by boat or by air. I remember the tiled architecture, the 19th century feel, and a small women’s clothing store called Tienda Edith (I photographed the sign over the door – it must be somewhere).

When I got to Lima, I was quite disappointed. Obviously a large city, I remember it at surprisingly unattractive, and the weather was cloudy, cloudy, cloudy. I was told it was always that way. I remember really be amazed at the Gold Museum, but nothing else. I remember a rather chaotic city, overly crowded, filled with food carts and retail street vendors. In 1974, food carts and street vendors were unknown in most of the U.S. and I viewed it as a sign of poverty and underdevelopment. And I decided to leave Lima the next day and make my way to Cuzco, the ancient Inca capital.

Cuzco was to Lima as night to day. It was a step into the past, as atmospheric as a sizeable city could get. If you haven’t been there, Google it. But my goal was not to stay in Cuzco, although it would have been a good idea. My goal was to continue on to Pisac and then to Machu Picchu.

Why Pisac, other than it was on the road to Machu Picchu? Because, I was told it was the Inca town to visit, and that it’s Sunday market was famous because it was so extensive. So off I went (I think by train. I think).

It was an attractive, old town, small and very atmospheric, set in the Andes. It was already clear to me that rural Peru was one of the most beautiful places in the world, with fascinating people. As soon as you leave Lima, the clouds (really, I guess it is haze) vanish and the sky becomes as blue as the sky can be. You really do see alpacas and llamas, and the people (the character written on their faces, the colors of their clothing, the variation in the women’s hats, and the tough soles on their barefoot feet) are unforgettable. As proof, you see I have not forgotten.

I checked into a small hotel. It looked new, which surprised me as it seemed out of character with its surroundings, but it looked comfortable, and I did want some comfort in such strange surroundings. The market was a promised, very extensive with a mix of art, crafts, textiles and food. I bought some cheap watercolors (still have them, unframed in a drawer), and ate some food. I recall the food as being contained in something like a corn tacos shell, but I wouldn’t swear to what exactly it was (if I knew even then).

The food was a big mistake. I should have known better. That night, I woke up in the wee hours sick as a dog. It is tough to be sick (both vomiting and diarrhea) in the middle of the night in a place where you know no one and the only language most people speak is Quechua. But it is infinitesimally tougher, when you learn that, during the night, both the electricity and the water power disappears. You can’t see anything, you can’t turn on a light, you can’t turn on the tap, you can’t flush the toilet. Apparently that happened there then every night, but, as they say, who knew? The only thing that gave me optimism at all was that I knew that sometime fairly soon, day would come.

The next morning, after I was able to clean things up a bit, I felt better (not best, for sure), but weak. But I decided to continue on my way and get on the train to Macchu Picchu (I skipped breakfast, as I recall, and was living on Imodium, or something similar, that I must have brought with me). At that time, the train was the only way to get to Machu Picchu – perhaps now you can drive, I am not sure.

I remember sitting on the train wondering if I had made a mistake, sipping my Inca Kola. If Pisac was isolated, just think about Machu Picchu. Things are a bit different now, but then there was a guest house at Machu Picchu with four rooms (I had reserved one), but no hotels, nothing else. What if I continued to get sick there?

I tried to put that out of my mind, as I enjoyed the mountains, the river valley and everything else. Shaky as I felt, there is no way I regretted this trip.

To be continued (maybe even tomorrow).

Ah, politics in America. I wrote a poem about it:

Small towns are red,

Big cities blue,

You live in the suburbs?

Now what will YOU do?

Last night, we got home from our week long trip to St. Louis and Kansas City. Two deep blue cities in a deep red state.

In the last two presidential elections in Missouri, Donald Trump beat Joe Biden by about 15% and beat Hillary Clinton by almost 19%. But in St. Louis City, Biden received 82.3% of the vote, and in St. Louis County, 61% of the vote. Boone County (home to the University of Missouri and more than 100,000 people) voted 55% for Biden. Jackson County (Kansas City) voted for Biden over Trump 60-40. No other Missouri county voted for Biden (that means Trump won 110 counties and Biden won 4), and most of the Trump:Biden ratios were in the 70:30 range.

By the way, Johnson County Kansas (suburban Kansas City) voted 53% for Biden. Missouri and Kansas voting patterns are almost identical. Kansas has 104 counties – 99 supported Trump. Even Wichita voted for Trump – only the counties surrounding Kansas City, Lawrence (home of the state university) and Topeka, the capital, did not.

Having said this, when we drove from St. Louis to Kansas City, we avoided I-70 and basically paralleled the Missouri River, going to Hermann, Jefferson City (the state capital) and Sidelia (home of the Missouri State Fair) on smaller, two lane roads. And here is what we saw:

Trump lawn signs: None

Biden hate signs: None

Confederate flags: None

And as we wandered through this highly red part of the state, and as we wandered around the blue cities of this highly red state, we heard virtually nothing about politics and, looking around, having casual conversations, going into restaurants and the like, you could not tell if you were in red or blue neighborhoods. It all just looked like America.

Which brings us to tomorrow’s arraignment and the potential for Jan 6 type violence. This fear was also present when Trump was arraigned in New York on the charges relating to Stormy Daniels. But nothing happened then. And the hope, of course, is that nothing is going to happen this time.

I have not read the indictment and I don’t know the laws involved, but everything that I have heard tells me that, based on the evidence, this is a good case. The arguments against the charges, it seems to me, are completely specious and thus doubly dangerous. Because they don’t go away if Trump is convicted.

The first argument is that the Trump situation is no different from the Biden or Hillary Clinton situations. The fact that they have virtually nothing in common with each other is irrelevant, and Trump’s conviction would just increase the argument that he is being treated differently.

The second argument is that this is all political. Frankly, I don’t even know what that means. If Trump indeed committed serious crimes (i.e., if he in fact violated the federal criminal laws he is charged with violating), he should be tried, found guilty and punished. That seems obvious – and that makes politics irrelevant. What would be wrong is to let someone (Trump or someone else) off the hook for political reasons, and this is equally obviously what the Trump supporters are doing.

As to Clinton and Biden, it appears to me that no one in any prosecutorial office has the evidence to present to a grand jury of the violation of a criminal law. Regarding Hillary Clinton, Trump had four years to have his Justice Department investigate and prosecute her. But there was apparently nothing to prosecute her for. As to Biden, even putting aside the argument that you can’t indict a sitting president (something that Trump used to believe and that he will believe again if he is re-elected), there has clearly been no evidence of criminality. If such evidence comes up regarding either of them, investigation and possibly prosecution would follow. And guess what – virtually all Democrats would support that prosecution.

Why? Because Democrats in 2023 don’t think like Republicans do in 2023. Democrats respect the law and legal process; Republicans appear not to do so. Democrats respect the constitution as a living document meant to shape a living nation; Republicans do not. Democrats believe their own candidates can be flawed; Republicans do not. Democrats do not believe that the ends always justify the means; again Republicans seem to.

Nevertheless, the arraignment of a former president (and current presidential candidate) on criminal charges is beyond unfortunate and, as much as I think Trump deserves this and more, I am sorry to see it happen and worried about the possible consequences, immediate and long term.

A country like ours has to be governed from the center. Even if you would rather, in your perfect world, see it governed from the left or from the right, you should want it to be governed from the center. Only this can save this country from more of the dangerous polarization we now see. But where would that center government start? Who would be the politicians who would be relatively honest, show leadership qualities, and have sufficient charisma to excite the public?

The No Label Movement has the right idea. But the timing is wrong if the backing of a third choice candidate would split the center and the left and give the right wing candidate (Trump) the plurality.

The 2024 campaign will be interesting. Interesting in the way of the presumed old Chinese proverb about being cursed to live in interesting times. Throughout this period, whatever is going to happen – I wish it would take its time and wait a while.

Arraignment, arraignment, go away. Come again some other day.

My additional thoughts on Kansas City. Comments welcome.

1. As to the 21c Hotel, see previous post. Add to it the following: room and bed comfortable. But no shampoo in shower shampoo holder. Did not change towels second night. No trash bin at front door of hotel. Stay there again? Nope. Eat there again? Sure.
2. As to American Jazz Museum (see previous post for Negro League Museum), it is fine, but doesn’t compare to Negro League. A museum that concentrates on sound is tough. There’s a lot to listen to, but who has time? And some neat artifacts. But the museum is a bit schizophrenic – is it an American Jazz Museum or is it a Kansas City Jazz Museum? I think it’s a Kansas City museum with an American name. The exhibits concentrate on Kansas City musicians like Charlie Parker and on musicians that played Kansas City. Those featured are 99% Black musicians. I say 99% because I did hear two clips from Benny Goodman and Woody Herman. But no one else. Not that I find that a museum problem, just a problem with the name of the museum.
3. The Nelson-Atkins Art Museum. Clearly a good museum, we were able to see about half of it in the time we had. There is a special Giacometti exhibit, and we saw the modern and European sections, but missed the ancient and middle ages and American art. Did have time for excellent peach cobbler, a highlight of the museum, no doubt.
4. Wow, what a friendly city. Three examples: (1) Our second day for breakfast at Succatash (see earlier post for the first day), Edie ordered scrambled eggs, has brown potatoes, and toast. When the order came, there were also two strips of bacon, which quickly left her plate. When one of the servers came by our table, she asked if everything was OK. I told her all was good, but that there was a bacon mistake. She was very apologetic and asked what she could do to help (“Isn’t there ANYTHING I can do?” I think was the quote.) We told her all was fine, that we just wanted her to know. She said: “Weren’t you here yesterday, too?” We said, we were, but we were leaving town the next day. She was very friendly and, as we were leaving, she came up to us and gave Edie a large glass of fresh orange juice to make up for the mistake. We couldn’t say no, as we were walking out the door and were very appreciative. (2) We went to the Jazz Museum the day after we went to the Negro League Museum. The two museums share a lobby, and there is one “greeter” for both museums. The greeter who we had spoken to the first day was on duty the second day. Sure, he was very friendly; he’s a greeter. But, beyond being friendly, he started by saying “I remember you. You were here yesterday, weren’t you?” and (3) As opposed to most museum guards in DC museums who stay mum, every room guard at the Nelson-Atkins Museum says hello and smile at you when you walk into their room.
5. What a confusing city. I don’t know if you know Kansas City, but – on a map – if you start downtown and want to go to the museums (either the Negro League/Jazz area or the Nelson-Atkins), you go south. And if you want to go from one of the museums to the Country Club Plaza area (the largest tourist area of Kansas City), you go either further south. You would think that was easy – but it isn’t. For one thing, the major north-south street, appropriately called Main Street, is broken up for construction that something to do with a new transportation system, so you can’t drive it. And that’s the only street that goes through. The most important other north-south street, Broadway Street, takes you, for a mile or so, onto and then off I-35, a major 65 MPH interstate highway. Every other street is interrupted by a park or a similar blockage. What this means is that, whenever you want to go anywhere that we wanted to go from our downtown hotel, we were directed by Ms. GPS onto a major highway. It is clear that the city is broken up by highways, and that neighborhoods have been torn apart. When I was an undergraduate at Harvard, I knew Boston as a group of subway stops, but I had no idea how these various neighborhoods related to each other. That’s the way I felt in Kansas City.
6. A lot of Kansas City is very nice. The Plaza is an area any city in the world would be proud of, the museums (the ones I have mentioned, plus the World War I museum we saw the last time we were there) are outstanding, and downtown is extensive and filled with important and impressive buildings. But that does not mean that everything is peachy. Downtown, there are a lot of vacancies – retail and we think maybe also full office buildings; we don’t know if this has always been the case, if it is a pandemic result (DC has this problem, for sure), or what. And, there are a large number of homeless-looking, vagrant-appearing, drunk or high-seeming people on the street in many neighborhoods. It isn’t a pretty site.
7. Kansas City has a type of construction we have not seen anywhere else. There are many buildings, especially homes, built of stone, gray or tan. But not only this, there are many part stone homes – homes with stone first floors and brick or shingle or frame second floors. Or homes built of other materials with a stone foundation or a stone front porch or even stone columns. Just odd architecture and we think unique.
8. Two small points: (1) All of my relatives, and everyone we know in Kansas City live in suburbs in Kansas, but we stayed in Missouri the entire time. (2) In three days in Kansas City, how many Teslas did I see? One. And (3) Next time we are there…..the Truman Presidential Museum and House in Independence.

The last time we were here, in 2019, we went to the extraordinary World War I Museum. This time, we went to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. Just as extraordinary.

Growing up in St. Louis, baseball was all about the Cardinals and Browns. I never heard of the St. Louis Giants or the St. Louis Stars. They were already in the past. The Market Street stadium, in the heart of St. Louis’ notorious Mill Valley (notorious because it largely, even in the 1950s, largely consisted of row houses without indoor plumbing), had been demolished.

Now, the Negro League(s) get more attention. Living in DC, I do hear of the Homestead Grays, who played in both Pittsburgh and Washington until 1950, fairly often. But if I had grown up in Washington, I probably wouldn’t have.

The Negro League once drew crowds comparable to major league baseball. But the Depression and World War II hurt the league badly, as did Jackie Robinson’s joining the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947 and Larry Doby joining the Cleveland Indians in 1948.

The museum highlights both the history of the league(s) and individual players. It tells a great story, moving you along chronologically from the days long ago when only Oberlin College had a biracial team, and when there were actually a few Blacks signed by major league teams until there were threats from other teams that they would not play against Blacks and from fans who would not buy a ticket.

The exhibits highlight the talent of the players and the hatred they faced. It is, to a great extent, the story of 20th century America and, as Edie says, a great way to teach children about race in 20th century America. In addition to the lengthy chronology, there is a wonderful 15 minute film narrated by James Earl Jones, a baseball field with life size statues of all stars and much, much more. Google the museum and see how much you will learn.

And then there was my terrific cousins’ lunch (my four remaining first cousins on my father’s side). We live in Kansas City, Washington DC, Portland OR and Hot Springs AR. I think it’s the first time the four of us got together since our grandmother’s funeral in 1972. So much to talk about.

We met in the Plaza District at Jack’s Stack Barbeque, which turned out to be a great place for the reunion. Long table, relatively quiet, very good food, even for the pescatarian.

What else? Breakfast at Succotash, an informal place not far from the museum, located by googling Breakfast Near Me. Informal place, pretty crowded, they serve very good food. We were appreciative that they let us in even though we don’t have any tattoos. And it’s the only place we have been in where several staff members went out of the way to thank us for coming.

We did take the mandatory tour to the block where my father lived until he was 14. And of course went to the pre-wedding party of my cousin (once removed). The wedding takes place this evening.

Where should I start?

Two different friends suggested that we stay at the 21c Museum Hotel in downtown Kansas City. The hotel is a historic hotel, formerly called the Savoy, originally opened in 1888, and renovated a few times, most recently in 2018. It has received very good reviews and signs on the door say that Conde Nast has said this is one of the 15 best hotels in the world. The hotel is relatively pricey.

We drove to the hotel about 5:30 yesterday afternoon. The hotel is an 8 story brick building. The outside door is not very elegant. There is a sign on the block that says no parking. But you have no choice, but to park. There is no doorman, and you soon learn there is no bellman or woman to help you unload your car. There is also no curb cut, so you can’t simply roll your bags in. You are told you can remain parked for about 15 minutes.

The hotel provides no parking. There is no valet service. You are told there are two lots, one open a block up the street, one enclosed across the street. The open lot is a bit less expensive and you are told you pay by scanning a QR code at the lot, giving them the requested information and everything else is handled automatically. I read the code and get a request for credit card info. I try four times and the card is declined four times. I leave the lot and go to the garage where I take a normal ticket from a machine.

Meanwhile, Edie checks in, using a different card. The card is rejected at the desk several times before going through. Edie gets a fraud alert from Citibank, but after she answers a few questions, all seems ok. I get a fraud alert from Barclays telling me that there look to be four instances of fraud on my card. They tell me four different vendors with strange names have each charged my card $1. I can only associate this with the QR code. Barclays tells me they are going to cancel my card and send me a new one. I tell them I am out of town and need my card. They tell me if I accept the 4 $1 charges, my account can stay open, but they believe these four entities will put large charges on my account and I will not be able to appeal them. That makes no sense to me, but they insist it and tell me that I should let them cancel the card. I do and will be without my usual card for a week or so. In the meantime, Edie has a secondary Barclays card with a different number and apparently she can still use hers. We are also assuming our Citi cards are going to be ok, although our two Citi cards have the same number.

What else? The hotel, in addition to our room fees, put another $100 on our card for each night as security for “incidentals”. I show my email confirmation showing nothing about a $100 hold and I am told it is on the website. I go back to the room, look at the website and see nothing. Oh, well, that’s a discussion for later, I guess.

Let’s see. What else? Maybe I should say that the people who stayed in our room before us had bad taste in snacks?. We know that because the hotel staff didn’t seem to clean out our refrigerator. And also, please be careful if you walk on the third floor of the hotel. There’s broken glass on our hall floor. Not much, but enough.

Is there anything good about this place? Yes!! The restaurant. The Savoy Grill. We had a first class (yes, very expensive) meal last night. I had swordfish again, this time in a spicy farro sauce, and Edie had a morel and pea risotto. We split a Caesar salad. And we sat in Booth #4 – the booth where Harry Truman and sometimes Bess used to sit.

The original plan was to tell you about our adventures in Hermann, Jefferson City and Sidelia, Missouri. Maybe tomorrow? Doubt it. My guess is this hotel stay will need more discussion. For instance, do you think our car will be where we left it?

When I was a high school student in the 1950’s, my school had a soccer team. So did most St. Louis schools. For the United States, that was unusual. Now, St. Louis has a major league soccer team and a brand new 20,000 seat soccer stadium prominently (and I mean prominently) placed on Market Street just west of Union Station. And the stadium is being pretty much filled for games.

DC United, the Washington MLS team, is also drawing well. And are many of the other teams in the league. Which brings me to my point……

Throughout the rest of the world, soccer is the biggest spectator sport. It looks like the US is catching up. What does that mean? That means that all these 20,000 seat stadiums will so be obsolete and need to be replaced. Just watch.

On to the next subject. We promised to provide the dessert for dinner at a friend’s house last night. There would be 5 people. We thought a cake would be good and it was suggested that we try the Nathaniel Reid Bakery on Manchester Road. We never heard of it, but we went. It’s a small bakery in a small strip, and its counter is divided between breakfast pastries, which are supposed to be the best, savory things, and cakes. But not normal cakes. Fancy-dancy designer cakes, and you can get individual cakes (I hesitate to call them cup-cakes, but they serve the same purpose) or whole cakes. We hesitated to get chocolate and concentrated on a lemon tart-cake that we thought would go well with a fish dinner. Or, maybe get 5 individual cakes. Or……maybe go somewhere else.

We had passed another bakery, Bello’s, which we hadn’t heard of but which Google likes a lot, and went there. A more normal bakery, their cakes were more normal, but very big. We just didn’t need a big cake like that. What to do?

We went back to Nathaniel Reid. I went in by myself. The lemon cake no longer interested me. But the cake they called Caia (don’t know why), a sour cream sponge cake with a layer of raspberry something and fresh raspberries and white chocolate wafers on the top looked interesting. I took out a second mortgage on our house and bought it. The verdict?

Unanimous. Probably the best dessert in the history of the world. Clean plate club.

Third and last. Century Electric Company was one of the many large industrial enterprises in St. Louis, making electric motors of all sizes in their large foundry and related buildings. Century is gone, but their buildings have now been repositioned as City Foundry, currently the home of a 17 restaurant food court, 14 non-chain shops, an Alamo Theater and Draft House, an entertainment venue and more. The food court places are all very unique, but we stopped at Killer Pizza for our lunch. Perhaps the least exotic of the 17 possibilities, but that doesn’t mean it’s not unique. You ever had a shakshuka pizza (red pepper/tomato sauce, garlic, and two fried eggs)? It was good.

Today, heading west. Hopefully a few good stops before we get to Kansas City.

The last few times, we have been here, we have eaten in very good restaurants. This trip, we are eating in homes three of the four nights (not complaining), so my ability to test out the eating out scene (no, two outs do not make an in…..nor an inning) is limited. But……

We met friends at a coffee shop, Deer Creek Coffee, Monday at 10 a.m. I decided to hold off and have breakfast, not just coffee. DCC (I may be the only one who uses this abbreviation) is on Clayton Road in Ladue, near my high school. It has a good reputation. It is a very informal but comfortable place. I ordered two scrambled eggs, a bagel and hash browns. And coffee. The coffee was quite good, and the eggs looked delicious, yellow and fluffy and in fact it looked like maybe they gave me three.

I eagerly anticipated my first bite. It was luke warm at best, and devoid of taste. Not edible. How could this be? I went up to the counter and asked “are these eggs fresh or from some sort of mix?” “Oh, they are fresh”, he answered, “We make first thing every morning.” “Like three hours ago, or four?” “Yep.”

Another thing about this place (and I say this without bias): every staff member looked a little off. The fellow with a full beard wearing large green drop earrings. The young woman with full tattoos covering what appeared to be everything from her wrists to her neck. The 400+ pound man. The fellow you would hire to play the nerd in a high school romcom. I was glad they all got jobs.

Yesterday morning I had some time by myself and I stopped by to get a coffee to go. Not one of Monday’s staff was to be seen. And everyone working there looked perfectly normal. It made me wonder how the eggs would be. Go figure.

Yesterday for lunch, we tried a brand new place, Deli Divine in the new Delmar Divine reconstruction of the old St. Luke’s Hospital. Meant to be an authentic 100 year old eastern European American Jewish deli, it is very cute and has an extensive menu (not kosher), indoor and outdoor seating, and an attached specialty food market that you would love. We had sandwiches – Edie liked hers, I didn’t care for mine. But I liked the Zingerman potato chips from Ann Arbor and Mexican Coca-Cola (not very Jewish, but no corn syrup). I wish them success. Off the beaten path for most of the St. Louis Jewish community, and in a sketchy neighborhood (but they have parking, etc), it’s owned by a well known St. Louis/Israeli restaurateur and just may succeed. The Delmar Divine redevelopment has office space for a number of civic nonprofits and there is nowhere else to eat.

We did have dinner out last night. But at Westwood Country Club, not a restaurant. My swordfish sitting in a spicy artichoke tomato sauce was excellent.

I’m thinking.

There’s a lot of talk about crime in St. Louis. And that’s because there’s a lot of crime. St. Louis, Detroit, Baltimore, Memphis – they go back and forth as to who wins the title of most dangerous city. And crime here is something on the minds of people. Not only fear of being murdered and other violent crimes, but perhaps property crimes (like car thefts and break-ins) even more so.

But most of these statistics concern the city only. And if you look at the St. Louis metropolitan area but exclude the city, things look more normal (not that normal is good). And that’s important because St. Louis City contains only about 10 percent of the metro population.

That is weird in and of itself. The estimated population of the city is about 290,000. The population of the metro area is about 2,800,00. When I was in high school, St. Louis City population was, according to the 1950 census, 856,000. That was about 1/3 of the metro area population at that time.

There is also a racial aspect to the crime statistics unfortunately. St. Louis city is about half white and half Black. Very few Asian or Hispanic residents in the city proper. The city is racially segregated. The north part of the city is almost all Black. Actually, it about half Black and half empty. The west and south of the city are not all white, but predominantly so. Most of the crime, and especially most of the violent crime, occurs in the northern section of St. Louis.

But the fear of crime seems pervasive and must have, along with a rational fear to some extent, a racial component. But this gets complicated because the statistics do show that Black residents are involved in most of the violent crime.

My thoughts about St. Louis and race growing up would take a post in and of itself and is not for today. Suffice it to say that St. Louis when I was growing up was virtually totally segregated residentially. And the Black population was, obviously with some exceptions, extraordinarily poor. This was in part a result of the reactionary policies of the state of Missouri government (it was always bad), and the general feelings of the white population (Missouri had its heritage as a slave state of course) which by and large had Black inferiority built into its genes.

There were no race riots in St. Louis in 1968, something the city was proud of but that I always thought just reflected the hopelessness of the city’s Blacks at the time. And fear of Blacks led to the very high white flight from the city. And my guess is this legacy continues today to a great extent.

Still today, on the whole, the city and the suburbs are different and they come together only to support the Art Museum, the Zoo, and the Cardinals and other sports teams. I know I exaggerate and there are many exceptions, but I think this separation remains a general problem, leading to isolating a large part of the inner city Black population and to personal hopelessness and crime.

Enough for today, except to make it clear that this crime problem does not blot the whole city. Western and southern St. Louis City are prosperous, thriving, lively and welcoming. And very diverse. But the sense of fear of being a victim of some kind of crime seems to be pervasive across the entire area, and seems to delay, rather than foster, positive change.

As I said yesterday, we just took our first flight since 2019. It went smoothly and here we are. But……I would rather have driven, even though it would have taken more time (which, for this trip, we did not have).

Let’s look at the difference.

When you take a road trip, you decide when to start. You put your suitcase in the car and you go. Some things don’t fit in the suitcase or you want to keep handy? No problem. Throw them in the back seat or the trunk. Want to take something to eat or drink? Take it. Want to be warm? Turn the heater on. Cold? The air conditioning. Want to talk to someone? Bring your phone. Loud radio? That’s OK. Stop and get a snack? See a site? All that is fine. Forgot something? Buy another.

How different when you fly. You must calculate when you need to get to the airport. You must pack and take “only one personal item and one carry-on”. Everything must fit. You cannot bring certain items per TSA rules.

You must get to the airport. We went by Uber. You must make a reservation. When your driver comes, you must take your suitcases to the car and put them in. When you reach the airport, you must take them out of the car and bring them into the terminal.

Then, even though you have already checked in and received boarding passes on line, you must check in using machines that want to confuse you. The machine spits out luggage tags, which you attach to your suitcases (making sure not to attach them to your hands). You now take your luggage and stand in another line. This one leads to a man who asks you to put your suitcase on a scale to see if they weigh less than 50 pounds. Then he asks you if you have lithium batteries or atomic bombs. He stamps your luggage tags and points you to the man down the way who will hopefully put your suitcases on the correct plane.

Now you must go to the gate. At Reagan National, this means you must turn the corner and take an escalator down. Then you must walk a bit to security, and stand in a long line after showing someone your boarding pass and picture ID. When you get to the start of the line, you must empty your pockets and take off your shoes and belt and put all of that and your carry-on on a conveyor belt and see them float away out of sight, while you stand in another line to go through a metal detector and raise your hands. Then you retrieve your possessions and put on your shoes and belt.

Now you need to find your gate. To do that, you first must walk through a shopping center with stores and restaurants. Then you must turn into a hallway where you walk past fast food restaurants. When you finally get to the gate, you see hundreds of chairs, virtually all filled. You finally find one, sit down and look at your watch. You see that you will be sitting for almost an hour. You look around you and realize that everyone has COVID.

A loudspeaker tells you that it’s almost time to board. Another loudspeaker tells you there will be a delay. A third tells you it’s time. You get into another line to board the plane. You show your boarding pass again

The line on the plane moves slowly. It’s because everyone has COVID, I think. Once in your seat, you settle down for a couple of hours. The lady next to you is wearing a mask. That’s because she thinks it will keep her from spreading her COVID. You appreciate that.

The plane lands and you reverse the boarding process, but don’t show your boarding pass. When off the plane, you follow the sign to the baggage claim. It is about 5 miles away, but you break up the trip by going to the bathroom.

You reach the baggage claim and have to find your carrousel. No line, but people milling around wondering if their suitcases will appear. Eventually they do.

Now you follow signs telling you where you can get on a bus to get your rental car. It is only 3 miles away and you go out the door, across one street and look for the Alamo sign. A bus comes. You lift your baggage into the bus and sit down and drive halfway around St. Louis to the rental car station. You retrieve your bags. There is only one person in front of you. He only takes about an hour to get his car.

Then it’s your turn. You have already done everything on line, so you get finished in about 30 minutes. You decline everything they offer you. You initial wherever they tell you.

They point to the parking lot and tell you to take any car you want. We choose a Nissan Altima. We lift our luggage into the trunk. Carry-ons in the back seat. We drive to the exit. We show our rental contract and drivers license. The gate goes up.

If we had driven from home, we feel like we’d be in San Diego by now. Or on Oahu.

When I was much younger, anxiety was my enemy. Why I became anxious, and why I couldn’t easily escape, I don’t know. What helped was a dose of so of Librium, which I consider a wonder drug, but which is now proscribed, not prescribed, because it apparently is habit forming. Nobody asked my opinion.

For the past 50 years or so, anxiety hasn’t really been a problem. Every now or then, I feel anxious, it may affect my sleep one night, and then it fades away. Often, I don’t know why it comes, or why it leaves when it does.

Today, maybe I do. In a few hours, we fly to St. Louis and in a few days drive to Kansas City and then back to St. Louis. So, you wonder. So what? For one thing, this will be our first time in an airport and on an airplane since September 2019. That’s almost 4 years.

So we are out of practice. How early should we be at the airport? We already “checked in” and have boarding passes, but what does that mean? Do we still go to the check in desk (we have baggage to check) or right to the X-ray machine? Is TSA going to nix anything in our carry-ons? Do we wear a mask in the airport, or on the plane? Has something else changed?

It’s not that we haven’t traveled in the past 4 years. We have driven to New England and upstate New York several times. We have driven to and from St. Louis. And a few months ago, we drove to Florida and South Carolina. But no planes.

So this may be one cause for my anxiety.

Then there’s illness. One of my close relatives in St. Louis has some serious chronic issues and there is always a question as to how she will be. Then, an old and very good friend has recently been diagnosed with a severe prostate condition and is very uncomfortable waiting for surgery. We had planned to spend some time with him and now may not be able to. Another cause for anxiety.

When we are in St. Louis, we generally see the same group of friends and relatives. Well, we have some plans this trip, but some of our regulars are in New York, Hilton Head and South Africa. How should we fill out time? Anxiety provoking?

Kansas City is a wedding of the son of my late first cousin. Naturally, it brings back memories of my cousin, with whom I was close and who died much too soon. As part of this part of the trip, the four remaining first cousins on my father’s side are planning on getting together. We live in Washington, Kansas City, Hot Springs AK, and Portland OR. We all recognize that this may be our final full get together. And there are the six cousins no longer with us.

Finally, the 2 1/2 day KC portion of the trip requires us to be downtown, in the Country Club District, Lee’s Summit MO and Overland Park KS. And everything depends on Alamo having our car ready at the St. Louis airport, and a car that is the right size, clean and easy to drive.

I know my anxiety will leave me. But, until then, it’s right here with me in the room.

Thomas Buergenthal passed away this week at the age of 89. You may not have heard of him, but his story is worth knowing, and it is equally worth knowing that his story, unfortunately (or fortunately), is far from unique.

Buergenthal was born in 1934 to a Jewish family in Czechoslovakia. You can already see where this is going. Ghetto, arrest, Auschwitz, and a three day “death march” to Sachsenhausen which he survived with his mother at the age of 11. A Polish orphanage, a miraculous reconnection with his mother who was living in a small town in Germany and in 1951, when he was 17, he was sent to his aunt and uncle in Paterson, New Jersey (I am not sure about his immigration status then), where he was sent to high school and then to a small Christian affiliated college, Bethany College in West Virginia. Then, he studied law at New York University and got a master’s degree and Ph.D. from Harvard, and decided to specialize in international and human rights law.

His New York Times obituary then lists the jobs he had. I quote: “President of the American Bar Association’s Human Rights Committee, from 1972 to 1974; dean of Washington College of Law of American University in Washington DC from 1980-1985; held endowed professorships at the University of Texas, Austin, the State University of New York in Buffalo, and Emery University in Atlanta , where he was also director of the Human Rights Program of the Carter Center…….also served on the United States Truth Commission on El Salvador from 1992-1993, was a member of the United Nations Human Rights Committee and the Ethics Commission of the International Olympics Committee” and he was vice-chairman of the Holocaust related Claims Resolution Tribunal for Dormant Accounts.

From 1979 to 1993, he was a member of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, and for a time served as its president, and he was – perhaps most importantly – the United States Justice on the International Court of Justice in the Hague, a UN tribunal, from 2000 to 2010. He then served as a law professor at The George Washington University in Washington. His memoir is titled “A Lucky Child”.

Quite a life story, to be sure. And Buergenthal was not the only European Nazi period refugee to find success. Look at Henry Kissinger, who just turned 100, or Elie Wiesel from a town in Romania, or so many others.

I am not sure what to make of this. Today, so many think that their children’s success will be based on going to the right elementary school (or even pre-school), or summer camp, or what have you. These Holocaust survivors often went to no school at all. So many today think that their children’s success will be influenced by what books they are exposed to, or by receiving information about gender characteristics or sexual preferences. The Holocaust survivor kids were exposed to situations well beyond reading about two male animals in a book who love each other – and if anything it made them better people, not worse.

What these people did have (beyond native intelligence and a background that sharpened their sensitivity to the world around them) was support and mentorship from everyone from relatives to strangers in the new world in which they found themselves. And they had a innate sense of confidence, I suppose, from having survived the ordeals of their childhood.

Which, of course, brings me to today’s immigrants, and especially the young immigrants, who have not yet reached the time of their lives where they are tied down by family obligations. These are also survivors – and we don’t hear (or don’t want to hear) enough of their stories. Shouldn’t they be given the same degree of support and mentorship, rather than be treated as insects that were able to sneak through the cracks in the wall? After all, they are – to a large extent – the future of this country. Shouldn’t we be giving them the chance to become its leaders?

As the Reverend Solomon says, in his radio messages, “not a sermon, just a thought”.

I am a curious person, and am interested in a lot of things. I read a lot, watch a lot, go to a lot of places and generally try to pay attention.

BUT…….there are many things in which I have absolutely no interest. And many of these things are subjects that most others that I know have great interest. Here goes:

(1) Popular music. By popular music, I don’t mean Frank Sinatra – I like him fine. I mean the stuff that most people like, stuff that is popular. Rock and roll is popular. So is hip-hop and rap and blues and so forth. I pay no attention to it, so that while I might know names of singers or groups, I have no idea who they are. I was very sorry that Tina Turner died, and Aretha Franklin, but…….who were they? What did they sing? Can you tell one from the other? Same with, say, the Rolling Stones. I can name one or two of them, and even recognize Mick Jagger, but can I name one Rolling Stones song? Not on your life. Bruce Springsteen. Who is he? Is he different from Billy Joel, or are they the same person? And all those other groups which I can name (the older ones) or not (the newer ones).

You ask if there are exceptions. Yes, the exceptions are those who performed before 1960 when I graduated from high school. So I know Elvis Presley, and Harry Belafonte, and Jerry Lee Lewis, and Bill Haley and the Comets. (Wow!! I just realize that Bill Haley called his groups the Comets because there is a Haley’s comet. I had put that two and two together until just this minutes. How important it is to write a blog.)

But after 1960 – no one.

One more thing: I see a lot of “what’s the last (or best) concert you have been to recently (or ever) questions on Face Book and the like. I must say: I have never been to a concert (OK, maybe a few outdoors concerts a hundred years ago) by any artist or band that fits the definition above.

(2) College sports. Now, when I went to college, I went to my school’s football and hockey games, and rooted for them. But I didn’t care about any other colleges. And after I got out of college, I didn’t even care about my college any more. Today, especially during football season, everyone wants to talk about Michigan and Oregon and Notre Dame. Football and basketball especially. And it’s become more common, and more complex, now that you need to talk about women’s as well as men’s teams. I pay no attention. I don’t care. I don’t see why anyone else does. Professional sports are different, and I pay attention to them.

(3) Television shows. I watch a lot of screen stuff. I watch movies on TV, and I watch a lot of today’s Netflix, etc., series, and of course news and professional sports, and occasional game shows, but again I don’t think I have regularly watched a TV show (a network show) since I left high school. So now, I see an article in the newspaper about “Friends”, or “Cheers”, or “Golden Girls”, “CSI”, or “Everyone Loves Raymond” – these are obviously old shows that I know nothing about. As to the newer shows (i.e., those that have aired over the past 30 years)? No clue. Can’t even pull up names.

(4) Certain books. For example, I have never read, and don’t intend to read, “Harry Potter” or anything by Tom Clancy, or most of the other contemporary mystery or espionage writers. I don’t know why. I do read a lot, and I am sure these writers write as well as those whom I do read. I just have no interest.

I am sure that, if I tried hard enough, I’d think of other things that are of no interest to me. I don’t care how automobile engines work, or how a clock keeps time, or even how to manufacture a safety pin. But I am going to stop here. It’s time for me to get on with my day and back to things that do interest me.

I don’t know about you, but I think that Rodney Dangerfield was one of the best comics of any time. A master of one liners (sure beats Bob Hope or Henny Youngman) I keep watching snippets of his self-deprecating humor. I can laugh at the same lines time after time.

He gets no respect:

(1) He’s on the beach as a kid and gets separated from his parents. He goes up to a policeman and asks him if he will be able to find his parents. “I don’t know”, says the cop, “there are so many places they could be hiding.”

(2) He decides to commit suicide. A priest is called. The priest sees him sitting on a ledge and says: “On your mark…..”.

(3) His uncle is dying and tells him that his last wish is that little Rodney sit on his lap. His uncle is sitting in an electric chair.

(4) He is kidnapped. The kidnappers send his parents a ransom note, a enclose a portion of Rodney’s finger. His father says “I need more proof”.

(5) He lives in such a bad neighborhood that once, when he bought a waterbed, he found a body in the bottom.

(6) His father took him to the zoo, and told him that he hoped that his real parents claimed him.

(7) He asked his father how to get his kite into the sky. His father said “Run off a cliff”.

(8) His son likes to play pranks, like the one time he mixed super glue with his Preparation H.

(9) He told his father he wanted to go skating on the lake. His father told him to wait until it got warmer.

(10) He had a lot of pimples when he was a teenager. Once he fell asleep in a library and woke up to a blind man reading his face.

(11) He’s so ugly that on Halloween, kids knock on his door and give HIM candy.

(12) He drinks too much. His doctor asked for a urine specimen. There was an olive inside.

(13) When he went hunting with his father, his father game him a 3 minute head start.

(14) When they were finished hunting, his father put the deer in the back seat and tied HIM to a fender.

(15) He is so ugly, his father keeps the picture of the kid that came with the wallet.

(16) And his wife…..One time someone stole their car. He asked his wife if she could identify the thief. She said “no, but I got the license number”.

(17) He figures his wife cheats on him a lot. Every time he comes home, the parrot says “Quick, out the window”.

And then there’s the end of the show he did for Ronald Reagan at the White House: “Don’t blame me. I voted for Randolph Scott.”

See you tomorrow.

Every Wednesday, we pick up our 2 1/2 year old grandson at his pre-school and drive him home to his house, which is about 30 minutes from our house. We get to his house between 5:30 and 6.

Last week, we had a brilliant idea. Why don’t we, after we drop him off, go out for supper? It’s relatively early, and we would still have a full evening at home after we ate. We made two rules. First, we would only go to restaurants that were new to us. Second, the first priority would be good and free parking.

We started last week by finding a place to park on 14th Street NW, just south of W Street. Now, if you know 14th Street, you know that there are about 10,000 restaurants in that neighborhood. We chose one called Lucy, at the corner of 14th and Florida Ave, or – more literally – Lucy Bar. It has a fairly small, but friendly and comfortable plant bordered patio facing onto Florida.

We hadn’t looked at the menu before we sat down, and were surprised that we were primarily looking at a pizza menu, not a dinner menu. (Later investigation showed that Lucy Bar, which opened last year, is meant to be just that – a bar, and that it shares a kitchen with a restaurant next door, called Slice & Pie, owned by the same restaurateur, which is in fact a pizza restaurant. When we were at Lucy, we didn’t even know that Slice & Pie existed.)

So we got a drink (a margarita and an Aperol spritz) and a pizza. We had a lot of pizza choices, and we each focused on a different one, but we ended up with a pizza with a rather unappealing name (to me) – Artichoke-me. It was a white pizza with artichoke hearts and garlic. The pizza itself was fine, the garlic better than the canned artichoke hearts, and when we were done, we were probably still a bit hungry. But it was very pleasant watching people walk by with their dogs, and listening to the three person subdued jazz combo which plays there a few evenings a week.

But next time, we’d order a different pizza. Which one? There are many vegetarian choices from which to choose. And, truth be told, I am being unfair to the menu. There are also four pasta choices, or you can get eggplant Parmesan, a cheese board, a couple of entrees and oysters. So it’s not just a pizza place – but for some reason that’s what it seems like. I know, what I have written about Lucy makes no sense at all. You just have to deal with it.

Our second Wednesday was last night, which you may recognize as a Tuesday. Let’s blame it on Memorial Day, even though I don’t see a connection. At any rate, this time we went to Cinco Soles, an even newer restaurant on 11th Street NW, one of a number of restaurants spread over a few blocks of 11th in what is otherwise a residential neighborhood.
If you Google Cinco Soles, you (for reasons only halfway logical) get a description of an Italian restaurant called Ossobucco. The reason is that Ossobucco was a restaurant at this location that closed a year or so ago, and was replaced two months ago by Cinco Soles, a Mexican restaurant. Same owner. Cinco Soles has a number of outside tables facing 11th Street, which are well spaced and comfortable.

The menu is interesting, and has some similarities to the menu at another Mexican restaurant we have gone to a number of times, Corazon DC on 14th and Randolph NW. There are a variety of tacos, as well as some entrees and so forth. This is not a restaurant where you get enchiladas with beans and rice; it is a bit more imaginative.

We had guacamole (I don’t eat that, and half of it is now in our refrigerator), fish tacos and vegetarian (brussels sprouts and almond) tacos, and a dish called mahi Abobado, described as seared mahi mahi, guajillo abol mole, nopal, and potato salad. The delicious and very fresh mahi mahi was sitting in a delicious reddish brown (or was it brownish red) sauce which the server told me was spicy, maybe a 7. I told her that I didn’t mind spicy food, as long as it wasn’t overly spicy. She then told me that, if I liked spicy food, this was more like a 5. Not sure what that means, but the spicy was much more a 5 than a 7. As to the guajillo abol mole and the nopal, I don’t know what either is, but I approve of both, and as to the potato salad…….there was no potato salad. Wonder what happened. I didn’t pay attention to the menu details when we were there. (Now, I do know that guajillos and abols are peppers and nopal is a type of cactus – but will I remember this when I go next to an upscale Mexican restaurant?)

Lucy Bar gets a B+ rating based on ambiance, music, drinks and decent pizza crust. Cinco Soles gets an A- based on the quality of everything, but the lack of potato salad.

Want to go to either of these places with us? Just let us know. We can go any night but Wednesday. They no longer meet our criteria for Wednesday nights.

Several decades ago, we went to an exhibit at the Jewish Museum in New York honoring Varian Fry, a man I then knew nothing about. Fry, a Christian American, ran an organization called the Emergency Rescue Committee, risking his own life in 1940 to get prominent Jews out of Vichy France to the United States. Working with several others, and with the aid of American diplomat Hiram Bingham IV, who issued authorized and unauthorized visas at the U.S. Consulate in Marseilles, he had remarkable success.

The story is incredible, and the ERC was able to get over 2000 Jews out of France and (via Lisbon or Martinique) to the United States. Those rescued included Hannah Arendt, Jean Arp, Andre Breton, Marc and Bella Chagall, Marcel Duchamp, Max Ernst, Leon Feuchtwanger, Arthur Koestler, Wanda Landowska, Claude Levi-Strauss, Jacques Lipchitz, Alma Mahler Gropius Werfel, and Franz Wefel. Don’t know some of these folks? Google them.

We have just finished watching the seven episode miniseries on Netflix titled “Transatlantic”, based on the historical novel by Julie Orringer, “The Flight Portfolio” which in turn was based on the dramatic story of Fry and the Emergency Rescue Committee. Thus, the story told in “Transatlantic” has gone through many sieves and prisms, and while the forest is fairly accurately portrayed, the trees are not.

I haven’t read the Orringer book, but want to. She took a story and fictionalized much of it, I think, to make some larger points about the rescue efforts, including the horrific choices Fry had to make about who got out and who stayed in. One of his goals was to rescue individuals of particular intellectual or artistic talent, and this has (like everything else) come under some criticism. In addition, she told the story of Fry’s hidden homosexuality (later confirmed by his son), something I believe was untold until that time and a surprise to many (Fry was married; his wife remained in New Jersey while he was in France); for this disclosure, Orringer was subjected to some criticism.

The Transatlantic series continues the fictionalization of the story. The villa where Fry hid some of the refugees did not belong to his homosexual lover, but was rented on the open market. The escapes from the German prison camp never occurred. His wealthy accomplice from Chicago, Mary Jane Gold, never had an affair with the U.S. consul. or with Albert Hirschman. Lisa Fittko, another co-worker, never had an affair with the desk clerk from the Hotel Splendide. Fry himself did not drive Marc and Bella Chagall from Marseilles to Lisbon in a stolen car filled with Chagall canvasses. Many of the characters (the American consul, the Hotel Splendide brothers, to name two) are completely fictionalized.

But the gist of the story is accurate and perhaps, in this case, this is enough, although it would be helpful to have more disclaimers of accuracy portrayed on Netflix, to let the viewers know that that this is a fictionalized version of a fictionalized version of a true story. At the end, there certainly could have been a listing of the major fictionalized aspects.

But there is a bigger problem with the series, I think. Although it is well scripted, and well photographed, and filled with a sense of adventure and tension…….the series is terribly acted. IMHO. I could be more specific, but, you know, lashon hara. (If you don’t……Google it)

Here are the numbers:

Civil War 655,000

WWII 405,000

WWI 116,000

Vietnam 58,000

Korea 37,000

Revolutionary War 25,000

War of 1812 15,000

Mexican War 13,000

Iraq War 5,000

Philippine War 4,000

Afghanistan 2,500

Spanish-American War 2,000

This adds up to approximately 1,355,000 Americans who have died in American wars.

I don’t know what to do with this number. Each was an individual with family, friends, etc.

The question most interesting to me is: Assume you have the ability to make a choice. You are told in 1861, for example, that we can bring an end to both secession and slavery, but the tradeoff will be 655,000 people will lose their life. Your choice. What would you do?

The same question can be asked about each war. Even World War II against the Nazis and Japanese with all of their atrocities. We can beat them. It will cost over 400,000 American lives. Should we do it?

On this Memorial Day, we remember these 1,355,000 Americans.

Or do we? Or do we instead go shopping, do errands, grill meat, maybe go to the beach or the zoo? Shouldn’t this one day be more serious than it is?

You know the National Moment of Remembrance Act, passed by Congress in 2000? Maybe it’s because I am 80, but I don’t remember it at all. Every Memorial Day at 3 p.m. (local time), things are supposed to stop for a moment, or sounds are supposed to blare (from military bugles, from Amtrak sirens, at baseball parks). We are to stop what we are doing and remember. Has this happened 22 years in the past; will it happen today? Will we (read: I) even remember at 3 p.m.?

Israel knows how to do this on its Memorial Day. Sirens blare all over the country. People even stop driving and get out of their cars in memory to those who have died in their country’s battles. One thing that Israel knows how to do correctly.

We hear about patriotism and America First and all that stuff all the time. Has anyone on the right told us how to act on Memorial Day? Anyone on the left? Looks to me like a bipartisan failure.

It’s become almost a tautology. The Democrats fight by the rules and the Republicans ignore the rules. And we are so used to the Republicans outsmarting the Democrats that it is hard to believe that, in the case of the debt ceiling negotiations, the Republicans might be left holding the bag. But that is the way it looks.

That the American government must determine whether it is going to pay its bills every year is, as most of us know, ridiculous. No other country goes through this exercise, and there is no reason we should. This is the way Donald Trump has run his business life (shorting his contractors), but why should the United States run its affairs the way Trump does? And, in fact, perhaps we don’t even have to go through this meaningless exercise. The 14th amendment to the Constitution says that the debts of the country cannot be denied. If a case came before the Supreme Court, the Supreme Court (literalists and originalists as the Justices are) might be forced to agree. But who wants to take that chance, I guess?

So now we have a “deal” that the President and the leaders of both parties in both houses of Congress support. My guess is that it will pass (I often guess wrong) Congress this week and be signed by President Biden. There will be many Republican objectors on the right because, truth be told, they didn’t get what they wanted at all. They wanted spending to go down considerably, and they wanted to show their power; this deal keeps spending where it is, and shows the weakness of the MAGA caucus.

Yes, there are some (maybe many) Democrats who wanted a squeaky clean debt ceiling bill, and this is not that. But, so what? They got most of what they wanted, and they know that they aren’t going to get any more, and they certainly don’t want to country to default. They also want to show a strong win against the right wing of the Republicans.

So I would guess that all, or virtually all, Democrats will support this bill. In the House, you only need a majority to pass it, so if almost all of the Democrats vote for it, even if half, or more than half, of the Republicans do not vote for it, it will pass. And, my guess is that the majority of Republicans, too, will support the bill. In the Senate, where there has not been a groundswell of opposition to a debt ceiling increase, you do need 60 votes. But that just means, if all Democrats vote for it and, say, ten Republicans out of their 49 vote for it, it will pass.

Now, both houses of Congress have arcane rules and procedures, and there may be ways for a minority of members to slow things down and get some leverage doing that. And that might happen. But if this results in a default, long or short term, and social security checks are not sent out in June (for example), it will be clear where the blame lies.

In other words, there is now a deal (I understand the exact language is not yet written), and if the deal is broken and a default results, it will all be on the Republicans. The Democrats win either way, whether the country does or not.

Of course, there may be another loser in all of this. That is Speaker McCarthy. He won his speakership on, what, the 15th vote, having to work out some details with the far right, who opposed him. There could be now an attempt to oust him from his position, and it could be successful, I guess, although I am sure he has calculated otherwise. We will see.

In any event, although there are a lot of devils and a lot of details, it appears that the debt service crisis will soon be behind us. If so, it will give the Biden administration another win and something to talk about. If not, it will still give the Democrats a leg up over the Republicans, at least on this issue.

Yes, Biden started by saying “no negotiations” and McCarthy started by saying “FY 2024 expenditures must be significantly reduced”, and neither achieved their goals. That’s OK – I think Biden can argue that he did not give up anything of import to his program, and McCarthy will say that he is keeping expenditures below where they otherwise might have been had the deal not been made.

But now comes the even tougher task – the appropriations process. Talk about devils and details.

Today is a special day in the household of Heinz (a/k/a Henry) Kissinger, as you may already know. Today, he turns 100. His only son wrote a piece that was published yesterday in the Washington Post. He said a number of things about his father.

First, he suggested that his father’s diet, which he said included a lot of bratwurst and wiener schnitzels, was not responsible for his longevity. Nor was his habit of watching a lot of sports, but never participating in any. And I don’t know how much Kissinger weighs, but svelte he is not.

Then what was? Maybe, it was his mother, who died at 97? His father who died at 95? They could also get credit for Henry’s brother Walter, who died at 96. Let’s assume it was that.

When I was in college at Harvard, Kissinger was a Professor of Government. That is not as surprising (it isn’t surprising at all) as the fact that when I, being 80, entered Harvard, Professor Kissinger was only 37 years old. A wunderkind, he had graduated Harvard summa cum laude in 1950 (I never did that), and his undergraduate thesis was over 400 pages long (and, according to Wikipedia, led Harvard to set a cap on the length of undergraduate theses (mine was 88 pages, not counting appendixes and end notes; I will ask Henry if his 400+ pages includes only text or more the next time I see him). Most of his books are more than 400 pages long by far, so I guess this is not surprising.

There were two competing Government professors at Harvard – both Jewish European refugees – Kissinger and Stanley Hoffman. Hoffman, who died at 86, was a few years younger than Kissinger, Austrian born and French educated. Kissinger, born in Germany, was able to come to the United States with his parents in the late 1930s, while Hoffman had to hide out with his parents in a small French village during the war. I never took a course from Kissinger (somewhat, I guess now, to my regret), but took two from Hoffman, who I thought was a brilliant lecturer (he was one of those who could start a lecture on time, make it appear that he had memorized it word for word – perhaps he had – and end it at the exact second the class was scheduled to end; and he could do that for each class).

Well, Kissinger – when he went to work for Nixon as National Security Director (was that the title then?) and then Secretary of State – was certainly controversial. In the first place, it was surprising to some, if I recall correctly, that he went to work for Nixon at all. But his theory of realpolitik, which had its dose of amorality, was put to the test when he became one of the architects of the Vietnam War for this country, and especially in his involvement in deciding to bomb a neutral country, Cambodia. (I remember at speech Kissinger gave at a DC Bar meeting that I attended. It was during that war, and that Kissinger was so unpopular with many that the then Bar president introduced him by telling the audience and the speaker that his invitation to speak before the DC Bar was by no means to be interpreted as if anyone in the room agreed with what he was doing as Secretary of State at all; I remember agreeing with that statement and being aghast at it at the same time.)

So, Kissinger was also involved in the conference that eventually ended the war. (We didn’t win it, you recall.) And he even got a Nobel Prize, speaking of controversy. His further involvement in world politics was massive, but had – as I suggested above – a sense of amorality. He helped end the 1973 Yom Kippur War in the Middle East, but he supported dictatorships in Latin America and in Pakistan. He was the guiding force opening up China to the United States.

After being president, 98 year old Jimmy Carter (18 months younger than Kissinger) created the Carter Center and did all sorts of good in the world. Henry Kissinger formed Kissinger and Associates, and made a lot of money for Henry Kissinger. And we should note that Carter is now in home hospice, while Kissinger is still running around the world giving quite lucid speeches.

At any rate, no matter what one thinks of Kissinger’s accomplishments, one must respect his longevity. He has been married to his 89 year old (and second) wife Nancy Maginnes (who is three or four inches taller than he is) for almost 50 years (next April will be 50) and he has two children and (I think) some grandchildren (most of his family is press shy for sure), which – on his big birthday – led me to the title of this blog post which, the more you think about it, makes absolutely no sense at all.

So today is the first day of the two day Jewish holiday of Shavuot. That means, for congregational rabbis, cantors and staff, these are big workdays with full services both days. But, except in the Orthodox communities, most Jews do not go to the synagogue on Shavuot, do not stay home from the office, and perhaps do not even know that it is Shavuot. Why this is the fact is something that Jews talk about. I guess you could speculate that people talk about why they don’t celebrate Shavuot so that they don’t forget that they aren’t celebrating one of the three major festival holidays of the Torah. But you’d need a special kind of mind to unravel that special kind of thinking.

Growing up, I knew nothing of Shavuot. At some point, I learned that there was such a holiday, but that was all. I then learned that, at least in the Reform movement, the rabbinical leaders were frustrated that they couldn’t get any of their congregants to recognize Shavuot, and that is why they invented the rite of Confirmation for middle school age children – the culmination of their religious school training. In those days, there were no bar or bat mitzvot in the Reform tradition for boys at 13 or girls at 12, so a Confirmation service at 15 or so was seen as a way to recognize passage into a form of adulthood and, at the same time, if it was scheduled for Shavuot, it would create a way to recognize the holiday of Shavuot. I don’t think it was a great success in this regard.

I have lived a fairly Jewish life now for 80 years, and I don’t think that I ever attended a Shavuot service. This year will be no exception. Our 2 1/2 year old grandson attends a Jewish pre-school which is closed for Shavuot today, and we have him with us all day, so at least now I am forced (not in a gun-at-your-head way) to recognize the holiday. But that will be it.

But I did listen to a lecture on the holiday, sponsored by the Haberman Institute for Jewish Studies one night last week, and presented by Rabbi David Silber, founder of the Drisha Institute in New York. Here is the link to a video of the lecture if you are interested:

I found it interesting. Here are some of the points that I recall (with a little review):

1. While the holiday is celebrated as the day that the Jews convened at Sinai and received the Torah (not only the Ten Commandments) from God through Moses, the Torah doesn’t talk about this; it states that the pilgrimage holiday of Shavuot celebrates the Jews entering the promised land after 40 years in the desert. The connection with the Torah came later, as a rabbinic position. (If I had to guess, I would guess that the other two pilgrimage festivals, Passover and Sukkot did very well, but no one came to Jerusalem on Shavuot – so, just like the Reform Jews of the 20th century needed a hook to get people to participate, so did the rabbis of old and, as to all but the Orthodox who do whatever the Rabbi wants, no one paid any attention.)
2. The meeting at Sinai leading to the giving of the Torah contained three elements: (1) revelation – God was present; (2) the giving of the Commandments, the rule of how to live; and (3) the Covenant between God and the Jewish people.
3. This was actually God’s 3rd Covenant – the first given to all the people of the world of the Flood and Noah’s survival – that He would never again destroy humanity, and the second, giving to Abraham, saying that He will become the father of a great nation who will have the land of Israel, but that this would only occur after his descendants would be strangers, and slaves, and abused. And that this is what happened to the Israelites in Egypt.
4. That the rabbis say, as written in the Haggadah for Passover, each Jews should act as if he himself were redeemed by God from Egypt, and that this was necessary because those Jews who were actually redeemed really would rather have stayed in Egypt than wander in the desert so long, and that only Jews who had never been in Egypt could appreciate what it meant to be free because they were no longer in that interim, wandering stage.

Well, you can take all this as gospel (so to speak), or with a grain (or more) of salt, but at least I hope you find it interesting and important culturally, if not religiously. And maybe this is enough and you don’t have to listen to Rabbi Silber. Because if you do listen to him, you may discover that what he said, and that what I think he said, have little in common.

It really was not a pleasant dream.

I have had a lot of school dreams – most of them unpleasant. Last night’s was one of the worst.

Law school. Time for “final exams” after, I think, one year of study. You needed to take the finals in order to begin the second year of study, and it seems (in the dream) that there had been some time between the end of the first year’s classes and the finals. I had come back to my school for the finals – a special trip. I was staying in a room or suite with a married couple; I was there alone. I don’t know who they were, except we were all taking the finals.

We had only been there a few days when I innocently asked when we were going to find out the exam schedule. They looked at me strangely and said they were surprised I didn’t know. Didn’t you get your schedule yesterday? No, I said, I didn’t get anything. Then, they showed me that they each got a plate sent to our door the day before. Each plate had a piece of paper with their exam schedule, and three cupcakes.

I thought mine got misplaced, so I telephoned (land line, rotary dial) the law school office and told them that I hadn’t received the schedule, and I was shunted to three different people. The last one, a man, asked if I wanted to talk to the dean (he mentioned him/her by name – I knew that was the dean). I said that I didn’t need to if he could assist me. He then said a bunch of words that made no sense, so I hung up a bit confused.

The next day (I think it was the next day), my roommates knew what they were doing, but I had no idea. They then showed me a piece of paper that had the day’s schedule on it. I had not seen that, either. They pointed out that the first thing was a meeting of the entire class, so I went with them.

The meeting was held in a very large classroom. There were three or four people on the stage in front, like a panel. One man controlled the agenda. He called classmates up one by one. I didn’t pay a lot of attention. It seemed like preliminary stuff. Then he called my name.

I went up to the front and he said (loud enough for everyone to hear): “Art, I hear you are a very good student and have done very well in class.” I nodded a thank you, but there was something in his voice that I didn’t like. He went on. Handing me a piece of paper with a long list of things on it, he said “These are the class assignments over the year that you didn’t hand in. There are about thirty of them. If it was only one or two, or three, we would ignore it, and you would take the exams. But we can’t let you take the final exams with all of these assignments outstanding. Now, I know you are 26 years old, and [mumbled words]. When you come back next year, you can enroll in my second year class in __________; you don’t have to take that first year class again.” And he dismissed me to go back to my seat, only saying “Leibowitz, the same goes for you,” and a student in the first row got up and rushed out of the room.

I was really taken aback. I assumed that I had not handed in the assignments; I had been pretty lax. But no one told me that taking the finals depended on this, or that I shouldn’t bother to come halfway across the country prepared to take the finals. My first thought was to go back home and complete the missing assignments and ask if I could take the finals at the end of the summer before the start of the second year classes. But, looking at the list of missing assignments, I couldn’t tell what the assignments were, only that they weren’t handed in. I didn’t want my three year law school program to extend into four years. That was too much time, and cost too much.

I decided to pack up and go home. My car (which was the 1967 yellow and black Pontiac Firebird I once owned) was not far away, and I hoped everything would fit in it. I was still stunned, very embarrassed and needed time to get away and think. What next?

(For those who want to know, I did my law school training in the normal 3 years, I always knew where my classes were (even if I had to admit missing a large number of them), and I never failed to hand in an assignment.)

Four things can bring down the Democrats in 2024. First, if the government defaults on its debts. Second, the situation at the southern border. Third, Joe Biden. Fourth, Kamala Harris.

These three factors can lead the Democrats to defeat in spite of the fact that the Republican front runner is an indicted felon, owes a woman $5 million, is mentally disturbed and is supported by a bunch of crazies in office and out of office. While it is now said that the majority of independent voters now would vote for Biden over Trump, it may not be that way 18 months from now. And, if the GOP candidate turns out to be someone other than Trump, the independents may swing towards that new candidate quickly.

(1) The debt. Yes, there should be no question about the country paying debts it has already incurred. Yes, the Republicans are as responsible for those debts as are the Democrats and perhaps even more responsible. But it is equally true that there needs to be decisions on next year’s federal budget, and while ideally those are two separate issues, the Republicans have brought them together and the Biden stance of “we will not negotiate” is not, to me, a politically winning stance. Good faith budget negotiations would have either led the GOP to agree to the debt extension, or put the Democrats in a position where it was the Republicans that looked foolish. Now, I am afraid that it’s the Democrats who look that way to the moderates of America, who look, typically, arrogant, unyielding and dismissive.

(2) The border. Yes, Congress has absolutely failed to provide the country with workable immigration and border control laws. Yes, the world situation is such that millions and millions of people need to leave their homes for someplace better, and this is something that we cannot control. Yes, in holding back immigration during his term, Trump both broke existing laws and creating hardship for many immigrating families. And yes, Democrats have deported and turned back millions of people, perhaps more than Republicans have. Nevertheless, millions have crossed the border during the Biden years and are now dispersed throughout the country, though still concentrated in border states, and many of them will avoid further processing and vanish into thin air. And, yes, politically, this is terrible for the Democrats.

What to do (if it isn’t too late): Replace Secretary Mayorkas. I don’t know if he is doing a good job or not, but he certainly doesn’t inspire confidence even to those (like me) who are on his side. Why keep him in this position to that he can be a target (maybe even an impeachment target) of the Republicans? Second, stake out a better position on the Trump wall. Maybe it doesn’t help in real life to keep people from coming across the border, but maybe we should pretend that it does in certain places and make it clear that the country will expand the wall in those places. The wall is a political wall, whether or not it really works. Third, be more transparent to the public with regard to statistics: people crossing, people being turned away, people being deported, people be processed, where people are living, what jobs are being unfilled because of the lack of immigrants who can fill them, etc.

(c) Joe Biden. He is too old to run in 2024. Period. He should know that – he should not be the third of the Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Diane Feinstein, Joe Biden trio. What does it say in Ecclesiastes? There’s a time for this, and a time for that? And this is the time to say “Good-bye”.

(d) Kamala Harris. People do not see Vice President Harris and President Harris. Whether she would make a great or a terrible president is at this point irrelevant. She is not seen as presidential. And anyone voting for an 82 year old man in 2024 knows that there is a good chance that he will not live out his term in good health, and that the Vice President will be called upon to take over. Because of how she is perceived, Kamala Harris as Vice Presidential candidate will discourage people from supporting Joe Biden for President.

Unfortunately, the Democrats won’t listen to me. And they threaten their own future and the future of the country by just carrying on as they have been. There is now, as you probably know, a new movement afoot. The No Label movement, led by moderates who wish a pox on both parties. That group may in fact succeed in putting a third candidate on the ballot in most or all states. Undoubtedly, such a candidate will draw more from the independent voters and from dissatisfied Democrats than from ideological right wing Republicans. A strong No Label candidate would most likely assure victory for the Republicans in 2024.

To forestall all of this the Democrats must get their act together and act fast. But guess what? Those are the two things that are least likely to do.

Let’s see if I can say this in a way that makes sense to me. Not sure that I can.

A good friend is heavily involved in a new museum opening next month in Washington, a museum that we hope will become increasingly important. Tonight, in advance of the official opening, there was a “cocktail reception” by invitation only to view the opening special exhibit and see the building. We were invited and said we would attend.

We spent most of the day with out of town friends, having lunch and sitting on our back patio talking about the state of the world and everything in it. Most enjoyable. We then cleaned up, and freshened up, and got ready to go.

But for various reasons, we were ambiguous about going, and our ambiguity grew as we ventured forth. The museum is located in deep downtown DC, and we faced more traffic than we expected. We looked for street parking and found ourselves just losing out on two good spaces; none others appeared. We then saw the crowd moving into the museum (we were still in our car) and saw that they all seemed much more dressed than we were – men with suits, sport jackets, ties (I was in gray slacks and a blue button down shirt). We took all these as omens that we should turn around and go home, which we did. I was somewhat relieved.

OK, writing that part was pretty easy. Now it gets harder. The fact is that I like events like this only in two situations. First, if I know almost everyone there. Second, if I have a job to fulfill. This has always been the case – even in college (probably in high school), if I went to a gathering where I had neither function, nor friends, I would immediately turn into and remain a wall flower, unless someone, on their own accord, pulled me out of it. At gatherings such as this, as soon as I found a function (if I did), I would be fine. Was there a punch bowl? Let me stand behind the punch bowl and fill glasses. I will talk to everyone and feel right at home. But if the punch bowl runs out of punch……

Why was this? Why was it that I would feel that everyone there seemed to know everyone else…..but for me? Why was it that I would feel that everyone else knew the right thing to say, or had something to say, but me? Why is it that it would be clear to me that everyone there wanted to talk to everyone else, but no one was at all interested in talking to me? Even when I was talking to someone, I became certain in a moment or two that they wished they were talking to someone else.

This was not my reaction in any other situation. It was not my reaction where I knew many of the attendees. It was certainly not my reaction in, say, a school function. Or in a business function. Or if it was a gathering sponsored by, for example, a non-profit that I was active in. Or certainly not in a small grouping – say a dinner party. But put me in a stand up gathering with a bunch of people that I don’t know….

Tonight, this was compounded by the way others seem to be dressed. Since my retirement in 2012, and certainly since the beginning of the pandemic in 2020, I have not dressed up very often. Jeans, khakis, shorts – that’s about it. A sport jacket, now and then, but only because there was a nip in the wind. A suit? Not even to a funeral.

Now for the first 40 years of my work life, I wore a coat and tie every day. Didn’t think anything of it. Seemed natural. Seemed the thing to wear. Now, though? Sure, I wore a jacket at my daughter’s wedding, and to a few funerals (there even with a tie), but that’s about it. Who are these folks who knew that a “cocktail reception” at 5:30 on a Tuesday called for a coat and tie? What do I have in common with them? I don’t see many coats and ties on the streets even during the week – so I can’t conclude that they were just coming from the office. No, I think they spruced up to look spruced up at this function.

Well, as you know, Art is 80. He has a pretty good sense of who he is. He spends a lot of time with other people – family, friends, people he works with in his not-for-profit endeavors. He feels comfortable everywhere. He feels he communicates well in all of these situations. He knows what to wear. He knows when he would rather be home and when he would rather be out and about.

But put him (or even think about putting him) in a crowd like tonight’s at an event like tonight’s and he is just as he was when he was 19 and in college. He mentally transforms into a completely different person. He sees himself differently and he is certain that others see himself differently as well. He is no longer someone to befriend; he becomes someone to ignore. And when this happens, he doesn’t fight against it. He just gives in to it.

Well, I told you that I wasn’t sure I knew how to write this to make sense to me. I still don’t.

Among other things yesterday (like attending my 8 year old granddaughter’s birthday party), (a) I watched a presentation by Rabbi Professor (or is it Professor Rabbi?) David Freidenreich, Professor of Jewish Studies at Colby College, in Waterville ME, entitled “Making it in Maine: Stories of Jewish Life in Small-Town America”, and (b) attended the Shakespeare Theatre’s production of “Here There are Blueberries”, a Holocaust play showing another side of the Auschwitz Death Camp (in Oswiecim) during the Second World War. Two very different stories, both interesting in very different ways. The Freidenreich presentation can be viewed at http://www.habermaninstitute.org, under Program Recordings and, then, Videos. The Blueberries play can be seen at the Shakespeare Theatre in Washington through May 28.

Let’s dig a little deeper.

“Here There are Blueberries” by Moises Kaufman and Amanda Gronich is an example of that rare art form, a documentary play. It tells the story of a gift, originally anonymous (for reasons explained in the play) of a photo album with about 130 photos taken at Auschwitz in 1944. The album was found in an abandoned apartment in Frankfurt in 1946, after the war had ended, and was unique in that it didn’t show any of the inmates in Auschwitz, but concentrated on the Nazis who administered the camp. It showed them typically in uniform at official functions, and it showed them with family members and with female Helferin, young women 17-30 who acted as telegraph operators at the camp, at the camp resort, Solahutte. You learn that the camp itself was more than just the Auschwitz and Birkenau death and work camps, but also a residential community and a chalet-like resort, over several square miles of ground.

The National Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington was given the photo album, after a discussion of whether it fit the mission of the museum of honoring victims and not memorializing perpetrators, and the gift led to a detailed exploration of many of the individuals pictured. It was apparently the only series of photos of this kind, showing the good life of the camp administrators, and it led to a significant amount of soul searching by the descendants of those pictured, as the play describes.\

Towards the end of the play the photo book of the camp administrators is compared to another photo book, found in an abandoned German army barracks at Auschwitz after the war, this one focusing on victims, not administrators, a book which found by chance by a prisoner in the camp at the time of liberation who is actually pictured, along with her family, in the album. Go figure.

The script (largely taken from interview and testimony transcripts) does follow some of those pictured, including the presumed owner of the book a man named Karl Hocker, who was for a period of less than a year in 1944, the assistant to the director of the Auschwitz-Birkenau complex, who lived to be 89, escaping the most serious punishment for his complicity in the Nazi crimes. His grandson features prominently in the play as a man who learned the worst things about his grandfather after the existence of the photo album was published by the museum in 2007 and who worked with the museum to track down and interview descendants of others who were pictured in the book.

The play, one act and 90 minutes, was well constructed, directed and acted. Although it shouldn’t be a surprise that the Nazi elite lived high of the hog, so to speak, the photo album does flesh out much of this life and is of much interest.

(Coincidentally, I saw this weekend that British author Martin Amis passed away. I quote from the lengthy New York Times obituary: “On the day he died, a film of Mr. Amis’ 2014 Holocaust novel, “Zone of Interest” – the title refers to Germany’s term for the 40 square kilometer area that surrounded Auschwitz – debuted to strong reviews at the Cannes Film Festival. Directed by Jonathan Glazer, the film (like the novel) is partly about the idyllic life of a camp commander and his wife, who live just outside the barb-wired compound”. Was this novel related to the Hocker photo album, which was given to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in 2007? I don’t know.)

Now what about Maine? This blog post is getting long, so I will only say a few things and suggest that you watch Prof. Freidenreich’s presentation at the Haberman website. Maine’s Jewish population today, approximately 20,000 apparently, may be concentrated in Portland, but is spread around the state in small communities, and has been since Jews first migrated to Maine in the 1840s and became peddlers, and then merchants and junk dealers, and then doctors, professors and lawyers.

The stories of some of the early settlers were interesting, along with some of the issues surrounding education in the state. Jewish quotas at all the private colleges through World War II, Jewish exclusion from coastal resorts, the change from a largely Orthodox community to one that today is largely non-denominational, and the degree of participation by Maine’s Jews in Jewish life today. Highly recommended.

The Jews of Maine and the Jews of Auschwitz. How different can they be?

We went to the ball game yesterday and saw the Nats beat the Tigers, 5-2. The weather was beautiful (threatened rain held off), our seats are good (if not perfect), and it was Star Wars Day, so we saw a lot of costumed folks, including the Presidents in the third inning race. But the best thing about the ball park was that there were no politics involved, everyone was in a good(ish) mood, and I didn’t hear any insults. Most people rooted for the Nats, but there were certainly many Tiger fans among the 30,000 present and guess what? They all got along. As for Star Wars, they were giving away shirts, and you had to choose between a Dark Side shirt and a Light Side shirt. And guess what? The two sides got along.

Why is it only baseball that brings out this “we can get along” feeling? Even during the shirt giveaway, when the people clamoring for the shirts were certainly not lined up in an orderly queue, and the booths were overwhelmed (sort of like getting bread during Soviet times, perhaps), all of the people scrounged together, big and small, young and old, giving each other every imaginable communicable disease, no one was throwing punches, taking out a hand gun or AK-15, or even pushing others out of the way.

(By the way, as an aside, everyone who has attended a Nats game knows how crowded the Navy Yard – Ballpark Metro Station can be after a game. Yesterday, it was doubly crowded – in an interesting way. Because at 6:30, as the baseball crowd, in jerseys, Nats Star Wars shirts, and red caps were heading down the escalators, there were just as many (or so it seemed) DC United fans, dressed in varying types of soccer outfits heading up the escalator going to a 7 p.m. DC United game at its close by stadium.)

Well, the remainder of the United States is not so peaceful and placid. And I, for one, am tired of it. So, I pray (because I am human) to the God that I have no way to know exists that he will intervene on earth, which I am sure he can not do, and rapture up all the right wing Republicans and their fellow travelers, along with Vladimir Putin and some of those crazy Israeli MKs, so that the rest of us can turn this country, and the rest of the world, into a humane living space. Yes, this is what I do, but I do it without assurance of success. Either there is no God, no God who cares, a God who likes the sport of it all, or a God with limited power. Yes, we are on our own. And, yes, that is apparently not a good thing.

In the meantime, I turn on the news. The Republicans want the U.S. to default on its debt, leading to who knows what, and it may really happen. Putin says that if the Ukrainians get F-16s, the world may end. And Marjorie Taylor Greene says that Congressman Jamaal Bowman is aggressive, and scary, and dangerous, and “should be watched”.

We all know (or think we know) that there is an old Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times! I used to think that was a trade off, and that interesting times may be unsettled, but at least they are interesting. But, again, guess what? The times we live in our no longer interesting. They are just sad. And it’s nobody’s fault but our own.

You know – when bad or tragic things happen in this country, there is always a politician who says “This is not who we are”. But the fact is: this is exactly who we are. Sad, but true.

Next game, Nats v. Tigers: 1:30 today.