Yes, so much depends upon that wheelbarrow, doesn’t it?

And I’m not talking about Christo, either.

I”m talking about this:

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

William Carlos Williams

So what does depend on it? Oh so much has been written about this gem. Here’s a fascinating bit by Julio Marzán with his understanding.

But from what element in “Brilliant Sad Sun” did Williams get the “red wheelbarrow”? From an imaginary translation from the Spanish. In Spanish, to know things by heart or to do something by rote can be described by the phrase de carretilla: hacer de carretilla or saber de carretilla. The image evokes carrying around the knowledge using a small cart. Colloquially, one can refer to someone’s habitually prattling on about some- thing as bringing back one’scarretilla. And carretilla also literally denotes “wheelbarrow.” On that afternoon, Rose was prattling nostalgically de carretilla, so the carretilla was Rose’s, la carretilla de Rosa, which homonymously translated also says “the red wheelbarrow.”

 He claims that it’s reasonable to get there because of WCW’s southwestern roots.

(There are many more writers who give their opinion about the poem there, but you can see for yourself what you think is valuable.)

So can we get there from here or do we have to?

The reason that this poem is dear is because it was a way out of an assignment that our dear son#2 had to do in some level of schooling (what year did they make you do this?) and ISHI came up with this ingenious way out.

I mean, so much depended on his ability to finish the assignment, you know.

But then, after the kids were grown, I started looking around and seeing things with new eyes.

I realized that my neighbors always had a wheelbarrow for displaying plants out during the spring and summer and then I realized I didn’t know what they did with it in the winter. And then I realized how little I knew about my neighbors. And then I heard that they died.

And I saw how much does depend upon that wheelbarrow.

And I saw the brilliance of the poem and of WCW.

And I saw how powerful writing can be.

And then I saw this article about Zionism that posed this question:

Both of you have written about the tragedy of young American Jews who have no connection to Judaism and the fate of the Jewish State. So let’s say you were stuck in an elevator with one of the people from that demographic and you had two minutes to sell them about why they should re-engage with Jewishness and Zionism and the Jewish people. What would you say?

Oh did you see that coming? You should look at the article to see what he says.

Can we redact everything so perfectly?

It’s a good exercise.

And so much depends upon it.

what can i tell her i’m reading?

The woman who I only see (or at least rarely see except) at the mikveh was once again there last night when I was the shomeret.  I knew that she would expect me to say some kind of wise statement, if not more, since this has become a habit.

A nice one, I think.

But could I bring the book that I really wanted, or would I bend to meet social expectations?

So maybe sometimes, social expectations do help us, even if we weren’t ready for the help.

Now that I think of it, I wrote about my two current book choices a bit ago, with my previous algorithm challenge to Amazon.

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir) by Jenny Lawson

and

Mourning Under Glass: Reflections on a Son’s Murder by Dr. Naftali Moses PhD.

Now which one do you think I read there last night?

So when she asked me for my wisdom, I could tell her what I just had read, and I think it’s profound enough to pass on.

But, if I may (and I may, since I’m in charge of this and it is mostly mine), I will say that Jenny’s book is not exactly what you’d call light reading, either. Profound in its own bizarre way, and quite moving when you think about all the things she had to overcome and did with not much more than a sense of humor to guide her.

But I regress.

This is the background for what I told her that follows, from Mourning Under Glass: (p. 122)

In traditional discourse, the literal name of G0d features prominently.  God is often referred to euphemistically as “the Name,” since pronouncing the actual name of God is prohibited. The different names of God are held to be indicative of His various attributes, and a good portion of Jewish mysticism is devoted to studying the various names and their permutations. Some of the names of God are so ineffable that they were secretively passed down only to select individuals in each generation.

A name refers to something without actually being that thing. A name exists in the realm of language, in a community’s cultural connection to the real world. But words are are by definition only ephemeral ghosts of the reality to which they refer. The word “water,” no matter how brilliantly evoked in the most creative language, cannot compete iwth the direct apprehension you get of water when a bucketful is emptied onto your head. God the Creator is the most Real there can be, yet at the same time He is also the most intangible to His creations. Naming God or referring to God’s names is linguistically the closest one can get to God, while simultaneously serving as a reminder that this name-calling is not actually the Real thing. The names, so indicative as to be ineffable, is still just that–a name, and not God Himself. It is a marker of the presence of absence.

Here’s the section that I restated for her:

The call to sanctify God’s name by the mourner is an acknowledgment of this difficult state of absent presence. This is also the temporal framework of the kaddish. Its language points to the future. Together with his community, the mourner offers a prayer that recognizes the lack found in the present. G0d’s name will be magnified and sancitified–hopefully “speedily and soon”. Eventually, there “will be much peace from the heavens” and it will be God who “will make peace for us and all Israel.”

I will stop quoting here.

The absence is magnified.

I knew she would get that.

i don’t understand algorithms

But I’ve never really tried.

I don’t know how a car works, but I know when it’s working and when it’s not.

That definitely points out the problem, like the times when my car died on the New Jersey turnpike and when our engine overheated on the Palisades Parkway (yes, maybe New Jersey is the problem, but no, it’s just that you can’t get there from here. Or “You cahn’t get theyah from heeah.”)

So why am I thinking of driving down to NJ in a couple of weeks rather than taking the train?

I thought it might be cheaper. It probably is, even when renting a car for a week. But the train is for the most part very civilized, so I guess I will stick with my original plan after all.

Anyway, it’s like all these things that we don’t understand in our world, but we depend on how they work, or relatively work, to get by. That includes most of what we deal with, such as prayer, medicine, relationships, and computers.

In no particular order.

So I know that algorithms govern how things show up on google, for example, but that doesn’t mean I get it. I can look at an article on algorithms, find out that the word comes from the Arabic (that makes sense with the “al-” beginning and also having to do with algebra), but that doesn’t help me. I could take a course on it, but I don’t need it to help me with my web work. Statistics are meaningless without direction. And I know that you have to apply the formula to give it the direction, so we’re back to square one.

And what draws me to this subject?

For a while now, every time I publish a new blentry, WordPress gently offers suggestions of tags that I may want to add to help drive people to my page.

And every time, it wants me to add “vacation” and “travel”, even if I’m talking about food for Pesach or something happening in Israel.

Like this one.

Oh, I guess I understand it about how they, the algorithms, think about Israel.

It’s travel. It’s vacation.

It’s a destination.

But that’s not how I think about Israel.

It’s a destination, alright, but not in that way.

It’s a focal point.

It’s the center of our thoughts.

So when I write about Israel, it’s not just about going there, or even about eventually hopefully sooner than later moving there.

It’s about the center of the Jewish soul.

So how does your algorithm figure that out, WordPress?

for the sake of zion i will not be silent

but I’ll let Youtube speak for me, for now.

Have a wonderful Pesach!

Someone asked me why the cryptic HKVS when I sign a letter these days. It stands for

Hag Kasher ve’Sameach, Have a Happy and Kosher Holiday.

So many people are overwhelmed with the drive for the kosher part, but the Sameach gets lost.

So I’ll wish you a happy wonderful holiday.

Enjoy your family, if you’re lucky enough to be with them.

Enjoy your freedom, wherever you are.

new looks at the old

Here are some shots I took of some flowers that went before their time. Actually, they were pretty blasted when I got them. But they’re supposed to remind me of Israel.

So they do.

And they also remind me of fleeting time.

l’éternel étranger

I feel I must say something about Toulouse.

I don’t know what to say.

וַיִּדֹּם, אַהֲרֹן

Aharon was silent after the death of his two sons.

So what can I say?

I’m reading Herman Wouk’s book from 2000 called The Will to Live on: The Resurgence of Jewish Heritage. I have absolutely no recollection of why I found out about that book; I think the last book I read by him was Marjorie Morningstar back in high school. I’ve changed a lot since then.

So has the world.

He has a part about the end of European Jewry, with the understanding that it was shifting all to Israel.

He wrote that 12 years ago, actually referencing a book that he had planned 20 years before that.

I think that we could say we’ve reached the end of the line now. Look at this excruciatingly accurate article on CNN (of all places): Europe’s blind spot on anti-Semitism

A just-released survey in 10 European countries found that 24% of the French population holds anti-Jewish sentiment, up from 20% in 2009. In Hungary, Spain and Poland, anti-Semitic sentiment is “off the charts,” according to Abraham Foxman of the Anti-Defamation League. Surveys show that 15% of Americans hold anti-Jewish views.

Powerlessness is all about what we Jews were in Europe; court Jews at best, favors gathered here and there.

No wonder we developed such long and complicated prayers.

We could only turn to G-d. We didn’t really know if His answers were what we needed, but that’s all we could hope for.

I keep thinking about the line יְהִי חַסְדְּךָ ה’ עָלֵינוּ. כַּאֲשֶׁר יִחַלְנוּ לָךְ: in the Psukei D’zimra section of morning prayers. I think it translates as

“May your mercy be upon us, [just} like we have hoped.’

I think this gets it.

It also is (surprise!) what Pesach is about–our total dependence on G-d.

If He hadn’t taken us out our Egypt…dayenu!

Not by any means…

I saw this piece of art and I thought it was cool enough to link.

This is Ward Shelley’s representation of the Diaspora.

I would say it should be called “Where are we going?”

link for pesach

I know, everything is always about me.

So I’m selfish. Is that a problem?

No, of course I’m being a bit facetious–it’s just that we can imbue life with meaning beyond just the proverbial stinky cigar.

So when I read a post about great marketing, I turn it into a great Pesach message.

Arthur Germain, from Communication Strategy Group, refers to to storytelling to build a brand as brandtelling. As he explains on his site, “Brandtelling is built on the foundation of connecting people through a story that is relevant, real and repeatable.” While this approach is often used to sell products, many of the principles can apply to individuals building personal brands. For the ultra private among you, this very action might be cringe-worthy. After all, selling yourself is not as easy or as comfortable or selling products and services. Nonetheless, it’s fair to say that in an increasingly wired world, where first encounters are often online, a little personality can go a long way. A great story? Even better. Whether interviewing for a job or making a presentation, a strong personal narrative could be the one thing that keeps you on top.

Here are a few tips to turning on your personal branding story without turning off your audience.

1.  Discover your story

2.  Re-write your story

3.  Share your story

Isn’t this exactly what we do on Pesach at the seder?

In fact, what’s striking is that we don’t just tell the story, reading straight from the Torah as the Exodus from Egypt unfolds; we tell a re-telling, linking ourselves to our gratitude for being in Israel and all the gifts that we have received there.

So we’re already doing exactly this, re-telling.

And that’s what I’m doing here.

And I’m re-posting the photo that’s on the Fast Company page, which is a representation of this idea.

Now to figure out what is our brand…

absurd contrast of values

Compare these two news items that came my way today, if you will.

The first, a story about Pia Levine, who is in Israel to bring attention to her experiences a year ago.

Pia Levine, a student at Yeshiva University in New York, was riding with a friend on an Egged bus in Jerusalem, carefree after an excursion to the swanky new Mamilla shopping center, when she suddenly heard what sounded like a large clap of thunder. It was a few minutes after 3 p.m. at a bus stop near the Jerusalem International Convention Center and the boom came from a detonated pipe bomb. It killed one person and injured some 40 others that Wednesday, March 23, 2011. Of the bus passengers, only Levine and her friend were able to walk away from the scene.

Now, the 20-year-old is running for charity as a member of Team OneFamily. In that capacity she’s already participated in the New York Triathlon last summer (see NY television coverage here) and is currently back in Jerusalem to again run in the half-marathon, with a two-fold mission: to close an emotional circle and raise money for the organization that helped her so much.

“I decided to come back because yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the bombing and because of it I had a lot of post-traumatic stress,” the accounting major says matter-of-factly in a quick phone call. “And I never had a chance to deal with what happened, to be on a bus, to be here in Israel and not be scared. I had to come back to deal with it.”…

“I call a lot of reporters and try to get my story out there. I want everyone to know, because it’s not normal that you could be sitting on the bus and put your life at stake.”

And now the second one.

People are stealing Tide detergent.

On Feb. 7, police in West St. Paul, Minn., arrested a man who’d stolen $25,000 worth of merchandise from a local Walmart. He pleaded guilty this week. What’s strange, local Police Chief Bud Shaver tells The Daily, is that the rather single-minded thief stole only Tide laundry soap: “Amazing, huh?” Actually, it’s not. By many accounts, such soap-focused crimes are not particularly unusual. Tide is “the item to steal,” says Detective Larry Patterson of Somerset, Ky., where he’s seen “a huge spike in Tide theft.”

Why? You can read this article in the Week if you want to know more.

I just came back from my shopping spree. That means I bought 4 bottles of grape juice on major sale today, plus 2 bottles of apple juice, kosher for Passover. I splurged on kosher for Passover chocolate chips, I will admit. Thank G-d, the Tide was safely on the shelves, no whateveritscalled thingy attached that has to be removed by the clerk before you buy it.

And I’ve got a gold mine in my basement, 2 big bottles stored there.

Oh I have nothing else to say.

counting blessings

I don’t always pay attention. I know that often I am on automatic. I know that’s how I work and I don’t fret about it. That’s one of the elements that draws me to the writings of Eliezer Berkovitz, that we can forgive ourselves for not always being “on”, as long as we are aware of that fact. Being aware, I think, is the first step to making the steps towards action.

Positive action.

So what brings this up?

The story of Purim, for one. This is a great account of action and inaction, and waiting for action. (No, I don’t have Iran on my mind. Much.) Think about it. Esther gets put into this queenship thing not of her doing. She then refuses to have the full treatment of beauty stuff, and yet is called beautiful by all, pleasing to the eye. She doesn’t act, doesn’t act, and is told to act. And her action is to wait and wait and then act.

It’s all timing, in other words.

So I’m going to talk about Shabbat now.

Last week, before I lit candles, I had an overwhelming emotional connection to what I was doing. This is unusual, to say the least, since right before Shabbat, I’m usually overwhelmed just getting to the finish line, as much time as there is beforehand. That’s just the nature of the beast, so to speak.

I am drawn to the prayer that I have been saying for so many years in addition to the blessing for candle lighting.

May it be Your will, Lord my God and God of my fathers, to be gracious to me (and to ISHI, my sons, my daughters, my father, and my mother) and to all my family; grant us and all Israel good and long life; remember us for good and blessing; consider us for salvation and compassion; bless us with great blessings; make our household complete, and may You cause Your Divine Presence to dwell among us. Make me worthy to raise learned children and grandchildren, who are wise and understanding, who love and fear God, people of truth, holy and attached to God, enlightening the world with Torah and goodness and service of our Creator. Please hear our prayers, in the merit of our matriarchs Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah, and ensure that the glow of our lives will never be dimmed. Shine Your face upon us and we will be redeemed. Amen.

I wrote about buying this plaque here a long time ago (wow–almost 3 years!). You can look at it, if you want.

I’m thinking that it’s not magical thinking to ask G-d to continue giving us the blessings that we’ve already received–it’s foolish to think that we automatically deserve them.