Yet, with the advent of such mind-blowing discoveries as cloning and stem cell research, it’s as if we’ve rubbed elbows with God and figured things out. Sometimes we become so cocksure about our achievements, such as the splitting of the atom and the discovery of fish without eyes at the bottom of the sea, that we think we’re in charge.

Who needs God at all? Like the people who built the Tower of Babel, our universal confidence, combined with a sense of self-importance, grows so much at these times that we see ourselves as central to existence.

Then what has come to be seen as the inevitable happens. A wave called tsunami washes away eons of children and we are once again pitched back into a reality where we recognize how little control we really have.

I think Anders Behring Breivik, a Norwegian mass-murderer responsible for the killing of 77 fellow nationals on July 22, 2011, is like that wave.

Like the wave that arrived irrationally but quite naturally and washed over land in 13 countries in 2004, Breivik’s behaviour hints at his being both sane and insane. He gave us no notice of his well-thought-out plans, and even today, makes it impossible for us to define his core motivation for such evil and to see what lies within his soul that allows him to enact a mission contrary to a universal belief in the sacredness of human life.

Breivik makes us quiver and vibrate about our existence because his humanness is so inhumane.

Breivik is a steely character with an Aryan stare, look and demeanour, who spent three years diligently preparing for his crime, right down to a reminder to include bottled water in his backpack on the day of his rampage.

He studied Al Qaeda magazines for their successes and mistakes, and wrote a 1,500-page manifesto on the ills of multiculturalism and the Islamization of Norway. With the assiduousness of Nazi leadership, Breivik masterminded a flawless attack on Oslo and Utoya Island where teenagers affiliated with the country’s Labour Party were enjoying the summer.

Was this a regular Norwegian citizen’s commitment to his ideology and task at hand, a reflection of his insanity, his psychosis? Or are we to believe when he says, “The worst thing one can do is take a life,” that he is sane and indeed recognizes the difference between right and wrong and the illegality of murder?

Are we to trust in the cogency of his mind – compos mentis (literally, a composed mind) – when he tells the court he said to himself just before he started shooting, “I just don’t want to do this,” and “I knew it was wrong. Taking life is the most extreme action you can do.”

Did you know the prophets were considered insane by many because they foretold the future? So who is sane and who is insane? What are we to make of Anders Breivik? How human is he?

What are we to consider when Anders Breivik, like the average German citizen who participated freely and often excitedly in the chilling massacre of children during the Holocaust, appears on the world’s radar?

Breivik believed in his ideology. He thought he was right. Are we all from the same human family? How in control are we? When does the wave arrive?

A) Crawl into bed and stay there?

B) Face the situation head on to deal with the most efficient way possible?

C) Crawl into bed, then peek out, deal with it a bit, then pull the covers up over your head again?

Your thoughts?

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I live near downtown houston and every year on Thanksgiving, my mother and I go down and volunteer at the George R Brown convention center [they give out meals to the homeless on that day. So these past winters have been really biting, right?

And the end of november is NO different

Im put in charge of the mashed potatoes, right? (dont you laugh too long, thats important) . Well,this lady comes in, and shes nice and pleasent enough, but when she holds out her tray for the mashed potatoes, i can see that her thin fingers are so cold, theyve cracked and are slightly (if not recovering from) bleeding. At the last minute I remember my gloves in my jacket pocket (the jacket which is tied around my waist) so ive gotta fumble around, acting like im not suspicous, while taking forever with this ladys mashed potatoes (she MUSTVE thought i was crazy).

Finally, i find the gloves and slip them on the tray, under the bowl of mashed potatoes and hand the tray back to her

She had no idea

Israel Isadore Rubenstein
January 31, 2011, Clanton Park Synagogue, Toronto

As I stand here in Clanton Park shul, a place where my brother and I stood and davened with my father on so many Friday nights and Shabbat mornings, and on so many chagim, my memories drift back to my childhood, when my father stood ramrod straight, over 6 feet tall, and his voice was strong and clear, his handshake firm and steady.. I remember walking to shul with him on countless occasions, from our house on Bonnacord Drive, then from our home on Faywood Ave, standing next to him in the front row, being covered by his tallis during the duchaning on Yomim Tovim or watching him recite Pesukai D’zimra during the Yamim Noraim.

But I want to begin remembering my father, by talking about his beginnings, his humble origins.

My father’s father, Nechemia or Charles Rubenstein, was born in a small shtetl, called Tarlow near Ozarow in the Galicia area of Poland. My grandfather came over to Canada in 1913 and became a well known figure in the Toronto Jewish community. He was a founder of the Chevra Shas, and the Agudath Yisrael in Toronto. He established the Rubenstein Insurance Agency in 1924 and, during the 1920 and 30s, was very active in helping bring over Jews from Poland – and helping them get on their feet in Toronto – until the borders were sealed in WWII.

My grandfather married Dobra Laufer from Ozarow, Poland, and together they had 3 children, Sam who was born in 1910 and Simi who was born in 1913, both in Poland, and my father, Yisrael, who was born in 1921 in Toronto, and who was named after his mother’s late father.

Throughout his life, Charles Nehemia Rubenstein supported numerous charities in Israel, including Rabbi Meir Baal Hanes and Bais Yaakov.

For his entire life, my father held his father in the greatest esteem, and in so many ways, followed in his footsteps. Besides for leading a deeply religious life, like his father, my father was one of the founders of the Agudah shul in Toronto – he was the first treasurer of the Agudah, co-signed on the Agudah’s original mortgage on Brunswick Avenue (he cosigned the mortgage with his good friend (Rabbi) Faivel Rosensweig), and he actively collected for the Meir Baal Haness Tsedaka well into his 80s.

My father’s teen years were not easy ones – the Great Depression took place when had barely turned 9. Times were tough and most of his clothes were hand me downs. When he was still a boy, his mother became sick with an illness she would never recover from.

But my father persevered.

My father was very athletic as a young man – apparently he was a champion handball player and had a terrific arm – but he was also good at math. 

In fact, his uncle by marriage, Max Dale, worked with one of the tailors on Spadina Avenue. At the end every week or two he would bring my father paper tickets (each ticket meant that he finished a garment) which my
father would add up and give him a total to charge his employers. My father was so quick with numbers, he could do it all in his head.

As a child, my siblings and I remember being able to ask our father to multiply almost any two numbers –and without pen or paper, his answer was always instantaneous and correct.

As a young man, my father actually wanted to be an accountant, but at that time you had to take the test on Shabbes, and my father would not compromise his principles, and so ended up joining his father in the insurance business.

In early 1953, my father met a beautiful young woman in New York, a refugee from the Holocaust in Hungary, while on a trip collecting Tsedaka. My father married my mother, Esther Greenblatt, in October of 1953, a union that was to last over 57 years.

In my childhood years, I remember my father as a towering figure, but one who had a soft spot for children. He had huge, strong hands, with which he could easily pick up any of us children, and he was always ready to entertain us – the children and our friends – with a variety of activities.

My father had a beautiful tenor voice, and on every Shabbos in our home, he would be leading any number of beautiful Shabbat melodies, with all of the children singing along. My father would often end musical pieces with a cantorial flourish, and could hold the final note of a given song long after the rest of us were out of breath.

For about 3 or 4 years I sang in the choir at Clanton Park Shul, and many of my father’s grandchildren have also inherited his love of and talent for singing. I also remember my father’s fondness for stories – for many years he would read to us stories and midrashim at the Shabbos table, from the Jewish Press, or from the  Bais Yehuda Chumash with the Yiddish commentary.

My father also had a gift for language. He had an excellent English vocabulary, he was a master speller, had a beautiful penmanship, and spoke a perfectly fluent Yiddish. Even though he was born and raised in Canada, and never attended a day school or a yeshiva as a young man, Yiddish was the language his parents spoke at home, and my father spoke the language with the ease of a native speaker from the old country. Taking after his father, he was also an avid stamp collector, and assembled a stamp collection that became one of the family’s most cherished possessions.

One of my father’s greatest loyalties was to be found right here, at the Clanton Park Shul, his second home. He had tremendous admiration for all the rabbonim who served here – Rabbi Gorelick, Rabbi Rabinowitz, Rabbi Kerzner (who became a close personal friend) and of course, Rabbi Weber. For years my father would stand here, right in the front row of the shul, and was one of the most recognizable people at Clanton Park.

After shul, if you came to wish my father a Good Shabbes and to shake his hand, you would be greeted with a smile, a twinkle in his eye, a humorous quip, and the firmest hand-shake you could possibly imagine.

My father was all smiles after davening. But for those who liked to talk during davening, my father had no qualms about reminding people about the appropriate decorum during davening. It is my understanding that since my father stopped coming to Clanton Park on a regular basis, the ambient noise at shul has gone up by at least a few decibels.

My father had a very strong and honest work ethic – he worked every day of the week, including Sundays, except for Shabbos, and brought home work in the evenings as well. But every year, we would take off two weeks, and the entire family would go to Wasaga Beach, a tradition my brother Shmuel still adheres to.

After my father retired, his work ethic still held strong. But he channeled his energies into spending more time learning – Daf Yomi became his passion, along with collecting more tsedaka for Rabbi Meir Baal Haness. (My father began his Daf Yomi minhag with Rabbi Uri Mayerfield with whom he studied for many years, and also attended a shiur with Rabbi Pam after he retired.)

And, up until only a few months ago, as most visitors can attest, my father’s handshake was as firm as ever.

The last number of years of my father’s life were not the easiest. He began to lose his independence, eventually being confined to a wheelchair. Finally, in October of last year, his health had deteriorated to the point where he required the full time care that only an institution like Baycrest could provide.

I remember observing that each time my father had a visitor, whether at home or at Baycrest, he would invariably make a point to thank them for coming.

So in my father’s tradition, I would like to express my thanks for all those who made my father’s life easier over the last number of years:

To Rabbi Weber, who has been such a source of unwavering support to my parents, since assuming the role of rabbi at Clanton Park.

To the staff at Baycrest – the nurses and the doctors – too numerous to mention, whose care for my father was exemplary. It has been said, a society is judged by how it treats its most vulnerable members, and I think the Jewish community should feel proud that it has created an institution that provides such kind and compassionate care to its elderly population. (Prior to Baycrest, my father received treatment at numerous hospitals, including Mt. Sinai, North York General, Sunnybrook and Etobicoke General, where Dr. Jack Sandler, also a member of Clanton Park, took such excellent care of my father.)

To Judy Clodman, who over the last few years, has been helping my mother take care of my father, and, with her charm and humor, somehow would always manage to get a smile out of my father.

To my siblings, Debbie and Shmuel, and their spouses, Michael and Laya, who were there for my father every step of the way, even though they had their own large families to take care of.

And, of course, our greatest gratitude, needs to be expressed to our dear mother, upon whose shoulders the lion’s share for the care of my father fell.

For 5 plus decades my mother basically oversaw the day to day running of the family home, took care of the children and looked after all of my father’s needs.

When my father became increasingly ill, and required more and more medical attention, my mother accompanied my father to every doctor’s appt, to every hospital visit – even while she was battling her own health challenges – and while he was still at home, arranged for a steady stream of care-givers to attend to all of my father’s growing needs. About a year ago, my mother single-handedly packed up the entire family home on Faywood Avenue, and moved her and my father to the condominium on Covington Rd. And, once my father moved into Baycrest a few months ago, my mother was there every day except for Shabbos, making sure every one of my father’s medical requirements were taken care of.

Since his early 80s, my father had multiple illnesses and was in extremely fragile state for a number of years – that he lived as long as he did, is a tribute to my mother’s dedication, commitment and – there are no other words for it – simply superhuman efforts. (I was thinking of using the phrase Eishes Chayil, but even that would have been an understatement.)

About a week or so ago, my father suffered a turn for the worse. The last time I was able to communicate with him, he was clearly struggling, but I knew he could hear me. Knowing his love of stories and singing, I asked him if he wanted to hear a Chasidic story, or listen to me sing a Jewish song.

My father still had enough strength to say one word at a time between breaths…so he would gather his energy, and say either: “story” or “song”. My father first asked me for a song, and when I finished, he asked for a story, and then asked for another song.

Amazingly as I approaching the end of the last song – I think it was “Borchi Nafshi” by Shlomo Carlebach – my father joined in with me for the last lines of the song with his usual finishing flourish, with his own voice, still beautiful and authentically his, after all these years.

When I went to say good-bye, before I shook his hand, I asked him to squeeze a little more gently than he usually did – for his sake and mine. And my father obliged, and shook my hand, still firmly, but a little lighter than usual.

My father passed away some time after sundown last night, but I will always remember and cherish his smile, his firm hand-shake, his clear, unmistakable voice, and his commitment to the religion and faith of his father, to Torah and to the Jewish people.

These memories and values will live on in me, and in all of us who knew and loved him.

May his memory always be for a blessing.

The following article (scroll down) was written in Xtra this past week (February 5, 2011).  It describes a situation in Toronto, within the Jewish community, whereby an Orthodox rabbi spoke out on Shabbat (the Sabbath) in his Synagogue against a gay and lesbian lifestyle and support of Pride Day participation, when anti-Israel groups would be present and vocal.

Read the article and the email that follows it. It gives insight into the Jewish community, one could almost say, a view of ‘our dirty laundry’, and the dynamics that occur when community leaders, such as Rabbi Mendel Kaplan and Bernie Farber, approach this issue from completely different perspectives. then, thrown into the ring is Justine Apple, the executive director of Kulanu, and Jewish gay and lesbian activist group.

It is a fascinating perspective on the layers and complexities any community would have to deal with when religious values collide with security issues, and questions of human rights. Read about Justine’s bid to have Rabbi Kaplan tossed out of his position of chaplain for York Regional Police (YRP). Think about Justine’s point: how could a gay Jew in need of a rabbi go to Rabbi Kaplan after he had spoken publicly, from his pulpit, on Shabbat, against such a lifestyle? Her feelings are powerful, and why wouldn’t they be. Gays and lesbians have been marginalized for years by the Jewish community.

But life is not a straight line – never. The Rabbi’s position is predicated on the language of the Torah describing homosexuality, as ‘abominatable’.  His belief,  and that of many other Jews, is that homosexuality goes against God’s will and cannot be condoned or supported through attendance at a Pride Parade. Why wouldn’t he take that position? The wording in the Torah is clear. He is a relgious man. It makes sense through his eyes.

And then there is Bernie Farber, the chief executive officer of the Canadian Jewish Congress who stated in his emails back and forth with Rabbi Kaplan that 

“…regardless of the nature of the parade, this is a major event on our city’s calendar and the step we took represented a defense of Israel and the Jewish people that is playing out in the general media.”

Bernie attended “Pride” in support of Kulanu, but more so the Jewish community and Israel. He is an individual who has faced down such Jew haters as Ernst Zundel, once the biggest distributor of hate literature in the world? That’s his job. It’s what he does well. Why wouldn’t he perceive ‘Pride’ in a dramatically divergent way than Rabbi Kaplan, and encourage the entire Jewish community to attend the event in support of Israel, in defense of the Jewish people? The Bernie Farbers of the world are enormously important to the safety of the Jewish people. Few Jews today in our community are as brave. 

Read this article and determine your thoughts on it. I’m sure your feelings will be strong either way, but it is far more important to come at it from a rational point of view. Emotions only dilute and confuse the challenge. Who do you think is right? Is everyone, or is nobody? If God says homosexuals are acting against Godliness then shouldn’t we hold back our support of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, as painful as it might be? Maybe Rabbi Kaplan is right and there really was no need for Jewish participation at ‘Pride’. We’re being dumped on everyday, everywhere. 

Or does everything get tossed out the door when Jewish/Israel security is at risk? No matter what you think about the Torah precept, shouldn’t we walk hand-in-hand or at least together with, any and all Jews when the cry erupts for our support?

And on the other hand, isn’t Kulanu right? Homosexuality. Abomination? Really? What is so incredibly horrible? Abominable! Are you kidding. Somewhat archaic, no?

Read this ( http://www.faqs.org/faqs/judaism/FAQ/06-Jewish-Thought/section-29.html) :  The term (abomination) is typically used in the Torah proper (the first five Books of the Bible) to refer to extremely serious offenses which completely undermine the basis of any conceivably sound religious or moral society from G-d’s standpoint. Among the offenses are male homosexual acts, idolatry, and child sacrifice. Idolatry and child sacrifice are particularly identified with the Canaanites, and are cited as grounds for their being dispossessed by the People of Israel in the Land of Israel after the Exodus from Egypt.”"

Child sacrifice. A man with a man. Are these two really equal in the eyes of Rabbi Kaplan and other Jews who subscribe to the belief that homosexuals are abominable?

Consider the facts. Read the article, and of course don’t believe all of it. There is a forth player in all of this – the media.

Let me know your thoughts. Interestingly, this is not a new debate, and it won’t end tomorrow. Such is life – Layers upon layers upon dimensions and brushstrokes of truth.

 http://www.xtra.ca/public/Toronto/York_Regional_Polices_rabbi_under_fire_for_antigay_comments-9731.aspx#pComment

It’s tough as a parent to know about this. It’s tough as a human being to know it is happening. That is the bizarre thing about life. Here I sit, watching “Crossroads”, a movie about an Eric Clapton and friend’s concert, knowing parents sit a few miles away with their children who are terribly sick. While some are suffering so badly, others are not (as much).

I figure a this stage of life I have to do my best to limit my suffering so I don’t go to many funerals or shivas anymore – pretty much only those I need to attend.

How often do you look that closely at life? How often do you dive into that very scary hole to look around and see what’s making all of us blink, as if there is milky water in our eyes? I believe we respect the elderly because they made it.

Love Avrum

When I was little, with four older sisters, I was constantly told that I had to respect my elders which included my sisters – one of whom was six when I was five. While the concept of respect is a most positive thing to bring your child up on, as it gives them a sense of appreciation for those around them and life in general, it does also serve to undercut their position.

How? Well the way respect worked in our home was, everyone older than me got it and I didn’t, or perhaps what was left over. It was tough always hearing, ‘apologize to your older sister because she’s older than you.’

Until one day when I decided against it so I didn’t apologize and that was that.

So tell me about respect of a youngest child to the oldest. What was your experience growing up? What is it now? How does respect play out in your life, in your family? It is a huge discussion and very worthwhile talking about.

Respect in the family. How does it work?

Today I saw a mother who cried tears of joy knowing and  seeing her son, who had been  subjected to so much bullying and stereotyping, achieve greatness. I say greatness for if it were not she would not have cried in the way she did. She has known great tragedy and  has grown so much because of it and through it and therefore her tears are reserved for something very special and  sacred.

Today I saw the rawest side of parenting one could imagine. Watch ‘Autism: The  Musical’, a movie about  autistic children and their participation in a musical put on by a very  talented woman who is the mother of an autistic child. One mother said she hopes her daughter dies before  her. Why wouldn’t she ? She is terrified to leave her alone in this world. Why wouldn’t she be? Fill her  shoes for a moment. She is a mom to a person who cannot run their own life.

His departure gave us a chance to hear him, see him and get a better sense of who he is as a human being. While he spoke, was sort of interviewed, he looked entirely uncomfortable, except when he began spouting off NBA history (which he knows quite well). His eyes went from being watery to angry to just plain anxious. Lebron went from King to countryman.

I was impressed by Lebron James ability to hold this ‘interview’ in front of millions of people and keep his composure. He is a young man, 25 years old, and in our day and age, that is certainly younger than my grandfather who worked in a sweat factory and had four children. Lebraun, we must remember, is still a kid, despite the fact he called himself a man.

While he looks like one, in fact in some strange way he appears to be an old man, he is part of a basketball team that coddles him and takes care of all his needs. He is a young man.

Anyway everyone seems to be pissed off at Lebraun and his handlers for his exit from Cleveland. I’m not and I don’t think he damaged his ‘brand’, his reputation. He is an outstanding basketball player, who gives up sometimes (playoffs against Boston) but generally dazzles everyone who watches him. He might even be a good man. The interview for his exit was hold amongst children in need of scholarships and basketball courts. Very cool.

Prepare yourself for the future when other stars begin doing the same as Lebron. And by the way, the fact that three superstars are coming together in Miami, to me, is awesome. This super team was not orchestrated by a general manager, or mostly not, but instead by the players. Talk about empowering the Players Union and the individual basketball stars.

We’ve come along way baby, and Lebron, like great players, and important people, are setting the tone for some big changes in the league.

2) When you learn something knew about a passion – say art – what is the experience?

3) Have you had a mentor, or a ‘master’ teaching you, instructing you? What was the relationship like?

In October, 2010 Lil Wayne, the rapper was charged with criminal weapon possession and criminal possession of a loaded weapon and sentenced to 1 year in jail. If you want to know how he’s doing in jail all you have to do is check out the following blog: http://weezythanxyou.com/ and his ESPN blog on sports.

Many of you must be thinking that something is terribly wrong when a convicted felon is able to send their fans messages from ‘inside’. You might be confused on how it is that Conrad Black, the erudite once Canadian media mogul sentenced to 6½ years in prison for his role in the misappropriation of millions of dollars (from the newspaper empire he once headed), is able to write for the National Post.  

Case in point, if you are curious about Mr. Black’s thoughts on the once again, another sexual molestation scandal in the Catholic Church all you have to do is click on: http://network.nationalpost.com/NP/blogs/fullcomment/archive/2010/03/27/conrad-black-this-too-shall-pass.aspx

How is it, you’re thinking, that two men who committed crimes that hurt others a lot, are able to  have such a good time on the internet and have the freedom to communicate to the world and their fans? Wound an accountant be given the freedom to do year-ends from the joint?

Times have changed. Incarceration no longer means what it once did, at least for the rich and famous. In the old days people of affluence or great success, would go off to jail and be hush and humble, especially after being labeled ‘disgraced’ by the newspaper they founded. They would just be locked away.

Oscar Wilde sentenced for ’gross indecency’ and while in Reading Prison, near London, prisoner C. 3.3 was not initially allowed paper and pen. (A later governor changed that).

Is it okay we are hearing from these men through their writings and blog posts? 

Should people sentenced to prison for very serious crimes know their place, and simply creep back into the room quietly once their sentences are over? At question is, why are these guys enjoying the luxury of stardom through their writings while serving their sentences, and should we be reading their articles and posts?

To answer the first question, first, Lil Wayne writes in a recent blog entry that he is doing well. He did not expound on what it was like in jail, at least not yet but there was an inflection in his words, heaviness, and a sort of contriteness in his script. He is in prison and which ever way you slice it he’s not walking far let alone performing.

Lil Wayne, a father  of four is serving time, behind bars that clank shut louder than his fans applauding him. He is locked away, far far away.

Like any prisoner everywhere Lil Wayne and Conrad Black are in jail and the food is likely comparable to the $2.96 lunch at Ikea, There are no places to hide and these men are the ‘property’ of warden, the guard and a couple hundred other guys. They are not free men. How well can they be doing?

Are they having a good time? I bet both of them would rather be anywhere but prison. Jail is not a great place. Ask an ex-convict. Look in their eyes. There you will see the clanking of the bars, and history of millions of men and women who spent years, if not their lifetime inside. Therein lays a brutal life not one which is luxurious or fun.

 Is it good for us to read Black’s and Wayne’s writings? Should we?

I think that both of these ‘criminals’ can do something significant through their writing while in jail. By this I mean, if Conrad Black and Lil Wayne were allowed to pen out articles and blog posts on such issues as: the penal  system: how to correct it, or who is suffering on the inside — that might be fine. That might be good.

I do not believe that Conrad should be writing about the Catholic Church. Aside from the fact that his credibility re churchly issues is not that sound right now, I think that Mr. Black should not be operating in his old ways – of pontificating about all and any issues. He does not seem to have the right. He writes in a way that has flair of superiority. That doesn’t seem appropriate now. He writes in a way that ‘he knows’ and we  don’t”. He’s in jail and we’re not. I think there is something he doesn’t get. In short, his journalism days about ethics, should be curtailed for as long as he is in the ‘unethics bin’.

I do not think that it is appropriate for Lil Wayne to be blogging to his fans as that is in of itself is a form of performance. He is benefiting monetarily by blogging by keeping his name ‘out there’. Further the fact he is writing as a sports commentator is truly undermining the severity of his crime. Guns are dangerous.  He was carrying one, loaded. He could have hurt of killed one or many people. His jail sentence is not a game. He shouldn’t be reporting on games, for exactly that reason.

(By the way both ESPN and the National Post have shown an incredible lack of integrity and respect for their industry and companies. These guys are in jail. They are not roving reporters. Where will their next reporters come from, Kingston Penitentiary?)

Conrad Black is a brilliant writer. Read his articles. Peruse his books. He has a fine grasp of the English language and is a very bright man, in many ways. Lil Wayne, because of his experiences harbors important wisdom about the street, hardships and the ability, despite challenges and the vagaries of his life, the possibility of rising to the top.

Image if these two men decided to share with us ideas about their fellow inmates and things we need to understand better about the penal system. It would be of great benefit, and make sense, if these two very talented men expressed their thoughts and feelings about life inside, helping we who are free appreciate the challenges to the prison population and the downside to our present penal system.

By speaking about others, by writing about those individuals who will never have the opportunities Conrad and Lil have, or will have, that will be an expression of their contriteness and a form of repairing the world. It just makes sense.

I think therefore, that we can all benefit from their time inside by learning from them, by reading their thoughts, about life in jail. I think too that we might have a really good chance here to learn something about the realities of prison, if Lil and Black would let us into that.

Should these two men be blogging and stating their views in national newspapers? Only if their words are expressing something about the people they are currently living with, and a system which needs fixing.

Conrad Black and  Lil Wayne are in prison and writing for us. Conrad is expressing his views on the church and other such ethical issues. Lil is letting us know football tips. Something about this just doesn’t feel right. I would be far more comfortable if the two of them began writing stuff about their life inside and those who will be there forever or less. Why aren’t they doing so? Why the selfishness? What are they learning from their experiences? Not what they could.

The two have a great chance to bring change to our world, the penal system more specifically, but don’t seem to be pursuing that route. They might want to be in jail, while they are in jail, or perhaps someone should tell them they are.

________________________________________________________________________

To be in touch with Lil Wayne, he sends us his contact information at

Write to Lil Wayne
Eric M. Taylor Center (EMTC)
Dwayne Carter NYSID# 02616544L
10-10 Hazen Street
East Elmhurst, NY 11370

You can also Free Weezy T-Shirts (with handcuffs or without)

Bizarre eh!?

I have read at least three dozen articles, journal reviews etc. etc. etc. on H1N1. I have spoken to the most well respected doctors in the country, particularly those involved with infectious disease. I have done so, because like you, I have an invested interest to find out the truth. In my case, it’s far more than me; it’s my 3 1/2 year old son. What I have discovered to date is…..

….it’s a crap shoot as to whether you should or should not get the vaccine?

 I don’t have any intention of sending you any articles on the pros or cons of taking the vaccine, none what so ever. My question more so is, what are the tools you are using to decide?

I am presuming you are reading the same stuff, and speaking to the same doctors and ‘pundits’ as I am?

So at the end of the day when your head is so full of information about such things as the bizarre ingredients that go into the vaccine —

Rabbit brains? and monkey’s kidney? No, it must be a joke! And it says human aborted fetal tissue and sheep blood –

– and the scare tactics (could kill 200 million people) and the accusations (against everyone from the Rockefeller Foundation to governments and the media) –

…what is your way of determining what is best for you and/or your family?

I truly believe at this point jumping on a plane and traveling to Las Vegas, driving to a gambling joint and betting on numbers or cards, is pretty much the same as what we have in front of us. The question is, how do you get to ‘yes’ I will take the vaccine and get it to those I love and am responsible for, or ‘not a chance in hell’?

What times we live in. Twitter this!

Who can imagine what that feels like unless they go through it? Who can imagine the pain and suffering Filipinos and Tibetan mothers and father’s experience, not being in their shoes?

Why do they do it? Because they love their children more than they love themselves, or at least equivalently. They do it because they know in their hearts it’s the right thing to do. Having a child means sacrificing for them. That is just the way it is. It means staying up late at night when they are sick and tending to them.

A standing ovation for all those mothers and fathers who have taught us what it means to be strong and valiant. Thank you. No doubt, we all hope and pray that each one of you will be reunited with your treasures, your gems, your children.

God bless.

That’s it. 

Something touches us so deeply we cannot detect the difference between us and the subject of that touch. I would think that you cannot (feel that difference), because it is for that precise reason it runs so deeply….because it is you who you are suffering for mostly.   

I once was a child, and I once cried. Today I saw that child again yet he was not me.

1. … that a man whose daughter is suffering from cancer was deeply pained. How many people go through this pain? What does it mean to a parent to have to be witness to your child in so much agony? How does one digest a child’s illness that could be fatal?

2. …a man who is closing down his  dollar  store. It’s not bringing in enough money to survive. He has been doing it for three years and will instead take a full-time job with someone. I asked him if he could. He said, ‘why not?’ and added this is not a failure. “I need to feel this as I head into the next phase of my life.” I said to him, “good for you.” Do you have that ability? You know I thought dollar stores would do well in this economy..maybe not all of them.

3. …that my life-long coach carried two plastic chairs to our meeting room, I guess concerned about my ability to do so, following a heart attack last year. She is very kind. Do most people figure that I can only lift light things, or should be vigilant about what I pick up? My cardiologist told me, weeks after my h.a. it was fine to lift my son, who at that time weighted 200 pounds…kidding, he weighted 30 pounds. So I did, and it was fine.

My New House One day

Moving is generally an onerous task that most people do not look forward. Much is said about it and the culture surrounding this lack lustre task such as: if a friend  helps me move, then he/she has really proven his/her commitment to me. Further, what is the time called when your furniture and belongings are not in your old house anymore, and have not been delivered to your new place? Is that the moment we are closest to being homeless? Do you have good memories, or not so good, of moving? Some people look forward to it as it is refreshing to them. Do you? Your thoughts on moving?

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The Chafetz Chaim, a 20th-century sage, was visited by a friend who commented on how sparsely the wise man’s home was decorated.

He asked the Chafetz Chaim where all his worldly goods were. The Chafetz Chaim replied, ‘Where, my friend, are all your belongings?” The visitor said, “Why, I am simply passing through.” The Chafetz Chaim responded, “Indeed, that is my reason as well for having so few material things. I, too, am simply passing through this world and need very little.”

This lofty approach to life is one seldom practised by most of us. I have just gone through a move and was disappointed with the number of boxes required to hold my worldly belongings – “Avrum, downstairs study, CDs’; “Avrum, upstairs kitchen, cookbooks.”

Boxes were everywhere, filled with things I have amassed over 40 years. Some of them reflect moments in my history, such as my collection of tapes from 10 years of  working in radio; others are packed with reminders and keepsakes.

Things, things and more things. I own three-dozen shirts, five suit jackets, five guitars, two sets of bongo drums and 12 harmonicas. While I was moving, I looked at the boxes and two things struck me: my father took nothing with him, and most of the things I own do not make me happier.

Moving – I was intrigued by the movers. They were skinny but strong, like the Sherpa (an ethnic group from the mountainous region of Nepal, highly regarded as experts in mountaineering and often hired as employees for expeditions in the Himalayas), able to manipulate a solid wood shelf with four drawers around a tricky turn in our hallway and down a set of stairs, with a keen geometric understanding.

The youngest of the movers was 21 years old. He told me he scored 94 in high school English. I encouraged him to read and write a lot. He seemed surprised I had taken interest in his intellect.

Another of the movers was more seasoned and rough. He told me he had furnished his house with items he’d received from individuals he moved. Recently, he bought a 42-inch Trinitron TV for $50. I gave him my old motorcycle gloves. I sold my bike this summer after my son was born. It seemed wise.

The third mover was in his mid-40s but appeared older. He’d been a mover for 15 years and the strain of lifting pianos (which pays an extra $20 per mover) and moving entire homes had affected him physically, like an old quarterback.

Moving – it is generally unsettling and high on the scale of things that cause people stress, especially when you are neither rooted in your new place or your old home. On the other hand, there is something exciting and refreshing about moving. A friend told me it allows him to cleanse his life, throw away the old and useless (a popular rule is, if you haven’t looked at it, touched it or used it in one year, toss it) and file and organize those things that make up one’s personal archive.

There are those people who move regularly. A colleague told me he had moved 15 times in 25 years – from continent to continent and then neighbourhood to neighbourhood. We all know people who live today in the very same home they lived in 40 years ago. Speak to them about moving and the best they can come up with are  distant memories.

So with all of this, why do we move at all? Perhaps we do because the old Jewish adage meshaneh m’akom, meshaneh mazel (change your place, you change your luck) is true. Each move is a bid to make our lives better through change and fresh walls that allow us a new start and a homeful rebirth.

Rest in Peace Michael Jackson

His smile as a child was so wide.  His voice encouraged me to dance for the first time. His exuberance on the dance floor made me sing. The intriguing thing about our world is never was there another Michael Jackson and never will there be another.

History is only loyal to a few of us. When I go only a few people will remember me – such is life. And one day nobody will remember me because those who did will be gone too. But individuals like Michael Jackson make history and will be remembered forever.

For what? His moonwalk. The 750 million albums. Thriller. His influence on millions of singers, dancers and musicians; the joy he brought into billions of people’s lives…and yes the allegations against him.

Rest in Peace Michael Jackson. Now it is your chance to sleep easily! Now you can really moon dance.  Enjoy eternity.

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This is a must read, a post on the internet by Lisa Marie Presley

Friday, June 26, 2009

He Knew.

Years ago Michael and I were having a deep conversation about life in general.

I can’t recall the exact subject matter but he may have been questioning me about the circumstances of my Fathers Death.

I promptly tried to deter him from the idea, at which point he just shrugged his shoulders and nodded almost matter of fact as if to let me know, he knew what he knew and that was kind of that.

14 years later I am sitting here watching on the news an ambulance leaves the driveway of his home, the big gates, the crowds outside the gates, the coverage, the crowds outside the hospital, the Cause of death and what may have led up to it and the memory of this conversation hit me, as did the unstoppable tears.

A predicted ending by him, by loved ones and by me, but what I didn’t predict was how much it was going to hurt when it finally happened.

The person I failed to help is being transferred right now to the LA County Coroners office for his Autopsy.

All of my indifference and detachment that I worked so hard to achieve over the years has just gone into the bowels of hell and right now I am gutted.

I am going to say now what I have never said before because I want the truth out there for once.

Our relationship was not “a sham” as is being reported in the press. It was an unusual relationship yes, where two unusual people who did not live or know a “Normal life” found a connection, perhaps with some suspect timing on his part. Nonetheless, I do believe he loved me as much as he could love anyone and I loved him very much.

I wanted to “save him” I wanted to save him from the inevitable which is what has just happened.

His family and his loved ones also wanted to save him from this as well but didn’t know how and this was 14 years ago. We all worried that this would be the outcome then.

At that time, In trying to save him, I almost lost myself.

He was an incredibly dynamic force and power that was not to be underestimated.

When he used it for something good, It was the best and when he used it for something bad, It was really, REALLY bad.

Mediocrity was not a concept that would even for a second enter Michael Jackson’s being or actions.

I became very ill and emotionally/ spiritually exhausted in my quest to save him from certain self-destructive behavior and from the awful vampires and leeches he would always manage to magnetize around him.

I was in over my head while trying.

I had my children to care for, I had to make a decision.

The hardest decision I have ever had to make, which was to walk away and let his fate have him, even though I desperately loved him and tried to stop or reverse it somehow.

After the Divorce, I spent a few years obsessing about him and what I could have done different, in regret.

Then I spent some angry years at the whole situation.

At some point, I truly became Indifferent, until now.

As I sit here overwhelmed with sadness, reflection and confusion at what was my biggest failure to date, watching on the news almost play by play The exact Scenario I saw happen on August 16th, 1977 happening again right now with Michael (A sight I never wanted to see again) just as he predicted, I am truly, truly gutted.

Any ill experience or words I have felt towards him in the past has just died inside of me along with him.

He was an amazing person and I am lucky to have gotten as close to him as I did and to have had the many experiences and years that we had together.

I desperately hope that he can be relieved from his pain, pressure and turmoil now.

He deserves to be free from all of that and I hope he is in a better place or will be.

I also hope that anyone else who feels they have failed to help him can be set free because he hopefully finally is.

The World is in shock but somehow he knew exactly how his fate would be played out some day more than anyone else knew, and he was right.

I really needed to say this right now, thanks for listening.

~LMP

We do our forgiving alone inside our hearts and minds; what happens to the people we forgive depends on them.

The first person to benefit from forgiving is the one who forgives.

Forgiving happens in three stages: we rediscover the humanity of the person who wronged us; we surrender our right to get even; and we wish that person well.

Forgiving is a journey; the deeper the wound, the longer the journey.

Forgiving does not require us to reunite with the person who broke our trust.

We do not forgive because we are supposed to; we forgive when we are ready to be healed.

Waiting for someone to repent before we forgive is to surrender our future to the person who wronged us.

Forgiving is not a way to avoid pain but to heal the pain.

Forgiving someone who breaks a trust does not mean that we give him his job back.

Forgiving is the only way to be fair to ourselves.

Forgivers are not doormats; to forgive a person is not a signal that we are willing to put up with what he or she does.

Forgiving is essential; talking about it is optional.

When we forgive, we set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner we set free is ourselves.

When we forgive we walk in stride with our forgiving God.

I was also very struck by “The Boy Said I’m a Ganif.” I appreciate what you’re saying about the need to heal rifts within the different segments of the Jewish community, and to create a united front with which to combat anti-Semitism. But as a non-Jew, I had a very strong reaction to what was almost a side-note in the article, the idea that to some members of the Jewish community, the worst insult is to be called a gentile, and that being a gentile (as expressed by the word goy) is equated with being a bad person.

Reading that actually made my stomach hurt.

I guess that’s the root of divisiveness in the world, that simply by being born into a particular group, you will be looked at with suspicion or disdain, or viewed as less of a person by members of other groups. No matter what you do, or how you live your life, or how much you try to be a good person, to some you will never be more than Jew or gentile or black or gay, etc., defined by the negative stereotypes that go with these labels.

So I agree with you that the only fight worth fighting is the one against hatred in all of its forms, one that asks us to look at each other as human beings who are all equally entitled to love and respect and compassion, and one that encourages us to make decisions and judgments about people based on who they are as individuals rather than lumping them into categories.