I was inspired to write a series of blogs about the view of women in Judiasm after studying Judaics for five weeks in NY. It really peaked my interest...

A couple of months ago an acquaintance of mine mentioned that he thought the morning blessing which states "Thank you G-d for not making me a woman." was chauvinistic. My reply to his statement was that this translation alone with out interpretation can be misleading. I told him that to most people who have not had the opportunity to learn about the morning blessings will more then likely take it the wrong way, but in reality there are a few ways of explaining this blessing that are not so un-P.C.

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Okay, so apparently they liked my blog and they've asked me to write another one.  This was a little scary for me cause it was my first ever "deadline" for a blog, and I kinda made it one day.  So, yeah, scary.  And this one was less inspired and more just hardcore sitting down and forcing myself to write.  So, I'm really interested in what you guys have to say. 

Thanks!

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week one: the taste of Halloween

                                                    candy

                                                    werewolves

                                                    masks

                               clings, still fresh

                     to my chin,

like                                         time

                           moving

backwards.

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 I wrote this for my friends from high school: Hannah, Josh (Joshi), Karin, Sarah (Sarita), and Ost.

 

    “Closing time…Open all the doors and let you out into the world.” Hannah and I sang to the sound of Semisonic’s Closing Time, which was playing on Joshi’s cell phone. We were sitting on the couch in Ost’s living room. In the background we could hear shotgun bangs that blasted from videogame Tom and Ost were enticed in. “Your frizzles going down fo sho, m’kaaaaay?” Ost randomly prattled at the bad guys on the T.V. screen. Sarita and Karin cuddled at the other end of the couch, listening to our voices as we continued to sing our favorite song.
    By definition a home is a shelter, but what it protects you from is not specified. I guess that means there can be many different ideas of what a home is. Some are concrete, like a house or an apartment. That is not the case for me. Mine is much more abstract in nature. It is not a physical object, but rather, a feeling. The tricky part finding what makes me feel that way. So the big question is not so much where my home is, it’s how I get there.
    “Closing time…time for you to go back to the places you will be from.” I heard Hannah’s beautiful voice harmonize with mine.“Closing time… this room won't be open 'til your brothers or your sisters come.” As I sat there surrounded by my best friends, all I could think about was how lucky I am.“So gather up your jackets, and move it to the exits… I hope you have found a friend. Closing time… every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.” We Kept singing while Ost protested “ Yeah, I know who I want to take me home. I know who I want to take me home. I know who I want to take me home. Take me home...” During that last verse of the song Hannah said something I will never forget. She smiled and sighed “I want Sami to take me home.”

 

Far underwater

in the dankest deep

inside an oyster

is where we find our pearls

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*Forewarning*

The following article contains direct references vulgarity, racism, hate, and vague references to something that will probably never touch your lives directly. That being said, try to remember that the author does not advocate nor encourage Hate in any of it's manifestations... I'm a Lover...

In other words, the opinions and views expressed in the following post do not necessarily represent the  opinions and views of Crazy Rockwell.

Plus, I'm drunk.

*/Forewarning*

 

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You know how people are always saying that you judge yourself by a more ridged set of standards than others do? I guess I've always ascribed to this theory, but only really applied it to small things like appearance or performance. An encounter with an old friend made me rethink this assumption.

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After every early dismissal of my middle school career my friends and I would walk half a mile down Thirty-second Street to Wendy’s. During that two-year span I can’t remember ever receiving my meal the way I ordered it. This was no doubt due to the lack of English speaking employees. Most of them could not speak English well enough to produce exactly what customers had ordered. Me and my buddies never cared much about this because 1) the only other restaurants in walking distance were much more expensive, and 2) none of us were old enough to drive anywhere else. But that was not the case for most of the other customers.
We had seen a lot of unhappy people walk out of Wendy’s. A non-English speaking employee would inevitably mess up an order, the customer would complain, and then the two would have a banter session. This was a fairly common occurrence, and, although slightly annoying, was somewhat entertaining. Even though a lot of these unsatisfied customers were angry upon their departure, one couple takes the cake as all time most pissed people to ever grace the Thirty-second Street and Shea Wendy’s with their presence.
This middle age couple had apparently made a very large purchase, which was served to them obscenely differently then they had ordered it. After sending it back three times in hopes of receiving what they had actually wanted, the husband threw a fit. He began barking profanities at the Wendy’s employee. Of course this was to no avail because said employee had no clue what he was saying. The man stomped off dragging his thoroughly confused wife out the exit door.
Watching the man get really ticked off had some extreme entertainment value, but I also soaked up some sociology from the incident. I determined that people just don’t know when to give up.
Letting small stuff slide is something most people have some real trouble with. It seems to me that many of us are so stubborn that, no matter how unimportant the issue may be, we can’t seem to drop it. I think people in general would be a lot happier if we could learn to, in the words of Mr. Kenny Rogers, “know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run.”

How long does it take for a bee to die after it stings someone? I heard that once, that a bee dies after it stings someone. Or maybe I read it. I've had a lot of time for reading lately. Does the bee know? Does he know that he's got one shot and that's it for him? Ah, no, I heard it. That's right, I heard it. Somebody got stung. What was his name? Jeff? Jeff. And then Benny says, he says "That's alright Jeff. You know that bee's gonna die real soon. See, they got one stinger. They got one sting and that's it. It's dead." Course, then Jeff went into anaphylactic shock and he was dead. Allergic. I don't think there's any way that bee could have known that Jeff was going to die. See now that -- that would be murder. But supposing the bee did know, that might make it worth it. As it stands, that bee's got to be thinking "I've got one shot. Can't waste it." What made him choose Jeff the Junky? That's why I'm thinking that maybe bees don't know stinging means dying, and that's why I'm wondering how long it takes for a bee to die after it stings someone. If he could have only lived long enough to see the doc call it, it might've been worth it to him. And Jeff was dead inside ten minutes, so it's not impossible. Nobody kills for nothing, so I guess by that logic, nobody gets killed for nothing either.

 

-o-

 

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I have a beef with God.

There, I said it.

 

Not to say that I subscribe to the idea that our universe is the manifestation of a big white guy in the sky,

 

I’m more inclined to say it’s more of a mechanical mechanism than a man, supposedly superior, but clearly in control.

 

The poor deity is likely incredibly lonely,

according to the Catholics he sends artists to purgatory.

However the story goes, we all seem to know

some sinners are saved, and some saints receive the low-blow

 

Moses,

my man,

holding holy courage to stand,

 

up to Gumption Alrighty

‘scuse me,

Mr. God Almighty:

 

“Moses,

My Man,

drag those chosen people through the sand

snack on manna, the nectar, then I expect you to stand

outside the Holy Land, the Battle Grounds, pawn unto a larger plan;

Arguing with Me? Be proud to be a sacrificial lamb.”

 

 

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Here's one of my short scenes from the play...

Before one of the interviews with a woman from the Ultra-Orthodox movement, Chabad, I was helping her to cook for a Shabbat dinner. The theme was Jewish Chinese food and I was put in charge of making egg rolls. I had never made egg rolls before and neither had she and when I asked her what to do, she said just put in the carrots and cabbage, add what you think. Don’t worry. It will be delicious, Baruch Hashem. So I began to throw things together and made a pretty nice mix, but still didn’t feel completely comfortable. Don’t worry she said. They’ll be great, Baruch Hashem. And we kept working. And every time she came over to look at my progress she would say something and then without fail another “Baruch Hashem.” And it really got to me after a while. “But I was the one making the egg rolls!” I thought. This woman keeps saying “Baruch Hashem” “Baruch Hashem” What about me? Didn’t she appreciate that I was trying too? And eventually I finished them and tried one and it tasted great actually. Baruch Hashem! She exclaimed. And for some reason all of my anger melted away. This woman was seeing God in an egg roll and who am I to say that God isn’t there, that God wasn’t responsible? And you know what, everyone loved the egg rolls and after than Shabbat dinner there wasn’t one left. And I couldn’t help but think, Baruch Hashem.

Jewish Dictionary: **Baruch Hashem means something to the effect of "thank God" **

(Panels 2 and 3 below the cut)

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Note: This is a sequel to this post.

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I'm driving in my car. Watching the heat indicator (or whatever it's called) slowly climb upwards. Higher and higher. Every push I make on the gas makes the needle push forward a bit more. All I'm thinking right now is, man I hope I make it home. Oh, also I'm thinking about a former friend (emphasis on former) of mine hating me for some small thing I posted on a silly website (can you guess which one?). Plus, how I'm sad cause me and my girlfriend broke up. And then there's always Darfur.

It's around this point I come to a realization. Probably one of the deepest I've come to in a long time.

Life fucking blows.

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I remember. I remember that time. Before I believed things.

Everyone thought they knew what they were talking about. The fools. Believing stuff they had very little, if any, proof of. Spaghetti monsters. Whatever. So confident, they looked. So confident in something that didn't exist! Ridiculous! Preachers on campus, spewing hateful insanity. Terrorists killing because they were gonna get 70 virgins. Retards. And then there were the slight retards. The ones that voted for Bush because he “believed” in what he did. I was right. Precisely because I knew I was wrong. And that was all that mattered.

Think of all the crap the world has gone through precisely because people believed things. The Crusades. World War II. Slavery. Anger. Hate. Tears.

All of these were avoidable. If only. If only people didn't believe. If only they realized they were probably wrong. If only they realized how stupid they were. If only the enlightened ones, like me, who had realized that we're all stupid and that we should just cling to what we know for sure, were the ones in control. If only.

We were right.

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So I'm sitting at home waiting for AAA to come and fix my tire.

There are 2 problems with this situation:

1. I can't fix tires, which is lame. Since I've had about 3 of them in my 6 years of driving.

2. It's my birthday. And I should be at Hebrew School, doing my job, teaching 5th graders to rap about Israel.

 

As of late I have been attributing most of the things that happen to me to God. It's a very interesting thing to do because in some ways it takes away my agency and gives credit to some one else. This could be seen as either a) inconsistent, b) irresponsible, or c) a huge leap of faith...or d) dumb...but for me it is a powerful way to live my life. I am what I like to call a Theistic Exsistentialist. I am a person who believes that we are in charge of our own lives and actions, but somehow God fits in the picture too and remains a guiding force (think Tao Te Ching).

Driving around with a flat tire is not a smart thing to do and I would be doing it now had this random man who I had never seen before in my life not been walking out towards my car at the same time that I was. I was just about to get in my car when the gentleman (whom I have decided to term an angel) told me about my flat tire. Usually driving with a flat tire would be a problem, but I was about to get on a highway and drive at least 65 mph. And if I had gotten into my car and my tire had blown on the 51 on my way to Hebrew School on my birthday (well on any day, really)....well that would have sucked. A lot. So that, right there, was God. For me.

And the thing is it's probably my fault that I have a flat tire. I've known that I need to get the tires rotated for quite some time, but I've been "too busy." So that part is my fault. God did not give me a flat tire. I did. But at the same time there is a reason for this flat tire. And it does not matter if God punctured my tire with his own nail or the general chaos of the universe caused my car to drive over a nail, there's definitely at least one lesson to be learned here: learn how to change a tire. Which is completely existential no matter how you see it.

There will be many tires to change in life, many annoyances or aggravations to be dealt with, and no matter if they are sent by God or by man (or woman), it's nice to be a least moderately ready and have the tools to make it work, to move forward. And I could absolutely think of this as a completely God-less event. Flat tires happen. Life goes on. But that man who told me about my flat tire...and the fact that I really could have been in great danger makes me think. There have been a few times in my life where I really have felt protected, and today was just another example of God saving me from....myself, maybe. From my own inconsistencies and laziness. That man coming into my life and telling me about my tire....that was a gift. A great gift. A birthday gift, even. And it helped me to see once again that even with the most mundane of annoyances, God is there. And not only is God there, but he's telling us something. We just need to listen.