I nearly became a statistic on Toronto roads today.
It isn't the first time that I've almost been eviscerated by a car while following all of the rules as a pedestrian and I'm certain that it won't be the last, but I am so tired of feeling like walking chum to the swirling sharks of combustion engines, I thought that maybe if I vented my spleen, it might help those of you who drive on a daily basis better understand those of us who walk or cycle.
It was a miserable day in the city today. The weather was just brutal and depending on where you were, you were subjected to either torrential rains, a mixture of wet flurries, or full on white stuff falling from the sky in an ugly prelude to winter. I loathe this kind of weather but I was happily babysitting today and as such, needed to use public transit in order to make my way north. The final part of the journey involves a one-kilometre walk from the subway station to Younger Son's and His B'shert's home. I noted on my walk, in the miserable rain, that there was construction happening directly in front of Fairview Mall on Sheppard Avenue going westbound. There was a police officer stationed in front of the mall trying to divert traffic around the mess but cars were backed up all the way east to Victoria Park. The detour added a few minutes to my walk that felt like hours because of the weather. I hoped that perhaps the increased traffic would be gone before I made my return trip.
I was so very wrong.
As I left this afternoon, the cars were piled up three lanes deep and barely moving. The weather had gotten even worse throughout the day, adding whipping winds to the mixture from hell. I knew that I had to cross Sheppard in order to complete the construction-induced detour, so at the off-ramp from the DVP, I pressed the button to make the crossing.
Here's where things got dicey.
Drivers were in no mood to play nice. Cars exiting the Don Valley were immediately funneled into the line of three lanes being squeezed into two. Cars heading west on Sheppard had already endured many more minutes than they should have in a jam and were piling into the intersection with no cares about blocking both the DVP cars and those trying to make left-hand turns from the adjacent street. When the light turned green for me to cross, it was like playing real-life Frogger. As I started to move, two drivers decided to block me out, one tapping me on the leg with his bumper and another angrily flipping me the bird as I tried desperately to make it to the south side of the street. Technically, I got hit by a car today. Yes, I am fine and no I have no injuries other than a damaged psyche.
I want it understood that I crossed at a properly marked crosswalk, on a green/walk signal, and the countdown on the signal hadn't yet begun. I wasn't on my phone, I didn't have earphones in, I could see everything in all directions, and I wasn't even carrying an umbrella that could have impeded my vision.
THIS WAS NOT MY FAULT!!!!
This incident was the fault of drivers who were aggravated, anxious, probably late, and miserable because of the weather.
And therein lies my lesson.
I hear from drivers all the time about stupid pedestrians and selfish bikers. Some of the time, those descriptions are true. But the fact still remains that the person operating the two-tonne vehicle is usually the problem and almost always at fault. There is a selfish mentality of righteous ownership that comes over drivers about the roads. We who drive, often forget that we must share the public space with those who don't have the same kind of power. Cars are big and dynamic and in the wrong hands, they can be weapons. Thirty-four pedestrians and five cyclists have been killed on Toronto roads already this year. It is the highest total since 2007. We are all getting impatient and forgetting that the person who walks is totally exposed to every danger that the driver is but without the security of airbags and rollbars.
I am exhausted from my myriad of near-misses. I have almost been hit by drivers who speed through already red lights, stop signs, jump ahead for right turns on reds and directly into pedestrian traffic. I have had close calls with drivers blowing past open streetcar doors as I've exited and with drivers making illegal u-turns into oncoming traffic. This is the short list.
Here's my Shabbat wish. Take care on the roads this weekend. If you are a driver, watch out for the bikes and pedestrians. If you are a cyclist or walker, follow the rules set out for you. We all count no matter how we traverse this city.
Friday, 9 November 2018
Monday, 29 October 2018
Kehillah Kedosha-We are a Holy Community
I was in synagogue this past Saturday.
I was there, like I am on many a Shabbat morning, to study Torah with a group of regulars who over the years have become like family to me. Sometimes I stay after Torah study to daven and sometimes, like on this particular day, I leave before the service begins in order to observe my Shabbat in a variety of ways usually filled with Oneg and Menucha. (Joy and rest.)
We are Jews. We observe.
We, who are regulars, often joke about our routines and our repetitions. We find ourselves sitting in the same sections of the room, if not the same seats from week to week. We know instinctively who will be late, who will be early, and we worry when somebody is missing, often calling or texting to check on their well-being. We know who are the active talkers and who are the passive but intent listeners. We openly welcome the newbie, warmly inviting them to our table and encouraging them to participate and badgering them to return.
We are Jews. We badger.
We bring each other breakfast and we help with the set-ups beforehand and the cleaning afterward.
We are Jews. Eating is a major component of our DNA.
We leave our coffee mugs in the shul's storage cupboards, a sign of our permanency in this space and we take turns teaching when the rabbi is occupied elsewhere. We are a close-knit community, we who have learned together, celebrated together and too often cried together. These are my people, my synagogue, my Jewish family, my community.
We are Jews. We are communal.
As I left shul on Saturday, I was blissfully unaware of the horror taking place at that exact moment at a sister community in Pittsburgh. When my phone started vibrating with intent, I instinctively knew that it was catastrophic. We all know these people. We are these people and we all know the hate that inspired their murders.
We are Jews. We know.
When the carnage was over and the dead revealed, I could see in my mind's eye the longtime members, the regulars, who are the spine and structure of every congregation. I could see the retired teacher who lost her husband two years ago. She is a face I see every week across my Torah study table. I recognized the two brothers who did everything together. They are the siblings in my congregation who lovingly care for their aged mother. I know the longtime married couple who attended weekly. They are my parents.
We are Jews. We understand suffering.
On the Shabbat before this last one, my Torah study cronies discussed the story of the Tower of Babel and whether or not The Divine Spirit was indeed punishing us with the fracturing of language. As is often the case with our discussions, we headed off into a tangental talk of modern anti-Semitism in our own community. A young man of the age of Older Son, a millennial for whom I have great respect, stated quite forcefully that he has never felt uncomfortable or held back from opportunity in his city or country simply because he is Jewish. I wondered aloud if that was blissfully generational and asked if others around the table felt similarly. There were people there old enough to recall a time in Toronto when Jews were barred from country clubs and public beaches. My own mother was part of a quota of Jewish girls accepted into her nursing program in the late 1950s. To this thirty-something, those stories were historical and distant. I gently reminded this gentleman that an avowed white-supremacist was standing for election for mayor of Toronto a mere two days later and that her following was vocal and growing. He simply couldn't fathom it and dismissed her as a crackpot. On election day, more than 25,000 of my fellow Torontonians voted for a woman who wishes me dead.
We are Jews. We understand the hatred is always there.
So, we are now in mourning...all of us...all Jews. We will leave the debates about responsibility to others while we bury our dead, sit shiva, and comfort our mourners. It is what we do, what we have always done. We search for answers where there are none and we search for scapegoats where there are many. In Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5 we read, "Whoever destroys a soul [of Israel], it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life of Israel, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." We have lost eleven souls. We will return to fight for our lives, for our very essence, for our very right to be. We are diminished but we are not defeated.
We are Jews. We survive.
Zichronam Livracha. May their memories always be for a blessing.
I was there, like I am on many a Shabbat morning, to study Torah with a group of regulars who over the years have become like family to me. Sometimes I stay after Torah study to daven and sometimes, like on this particular day, I leave before the service begins in order to observe my Shabbat in a variety of ways usually filled with Oneg and Menucha. (Joy and rest.)
We are Jews. We observe.
We, who are regulars, often joke about our routines and our repetitions. We find ourselves sitting in the same sections of the room, if not the same seats from week to week. We know instinctively who will be late, who will be early, and we worry when somebody is missing, often calling or texting to check on their well-being. We know who are the active talkers and who are the passive but intent listeners. We openly welcome the newbie, warmly inviting them to our table and encouraging them to participate and badgering them to return.
We are Jews. We badger.
We bring each other breakfast and we help with the set-ups beforehand and the cleaning afterward.
We are Jews. Eating is a major component of our DNA.
We leave our coffee mugs in the shul's storage cupboards, a sign of our permanency in this space and we take turns teaching when the rabbi is occupied elsewhere. We are a close-knit community, we who have learned together, celebrated together and too often cried together. These are my people, my synagogue, my Jewish family, my community.
We are Jews. We are communal.
As I left shul on Saturday, I was blissfully unaware of the horror taking place at that exact moment at a sister community in Pittsburgh. When my phone started vibrating with intent, I instinctively knew that it was catastrophic. We all know these people. We are these people and we all know the hate that inspired their murders.
We are Jews. We know.
When the carnage was over and the dead revealed, I could see in my mind's eye the longtime members, the regulars, who are the spine and structure of every congregation. I could see the retired teacher who lost her husband two years ago. She is a face I see every week across my Torah study table. I recognized the two brothers who did everything together. They are the siblings in my congregation who lovingly care for their aged mother. I know the longtime married couple who attended weekly. They are my parents.
We are Jews. We understand suffering.
On the Shabbat before this last one, my Torah study cronies discussed the story of the Tower of Babel and whether or not The Divine Spirit was indeed punishing us with the fracturing of language. As is often the case with our discussions, we headed off into a tangental talk of modern anti-Semitism in our own community. A young man of the age of Older Son, a millennial for whom I have great respect, stated quite forcefully that he has never felt uncomfortable or held back from opportunity in his city or country simply because he is Jewish. I wondered aloud if that was blissfully generational and asked if others around the table felt similarly. There were people there old enough to recall a time in Toronto when Jews were barred from country clubs and public beaches. My own mother was part of a quota of Jewish girls accepted into her nursing program in the late 1950s. To this thirty-something, those stories were historical and distant. I gently reminded this gentleman that an avowed white-supremacist was standing for election for mayor of Toronto a mere two days later and that her following was vocal and growing. He simply couldn't fathom it and dismissed her as a crackpot. On election day, more than 25,000 of my fellow Torontonians voted for a woman who wishes me dead.
We are Jews. We understand the hatred is always there.
So, we are now in mourning...all of us...all Jews. We will leave the debates about responsibility to others while we bury our dead, sit shiva, and comfort our mourners. It is what we do, what we have always done. We search for answers where there are none and we search for scapegoats where there are many. In Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5 we read, "Whoever destroys a soul [of Israel], it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life of Israel, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." We have lost eleven souls. We will return to fight for our lives, for our very essence, for our very right to be. We are diminished but we are not defeated.
We are Jews. We survive.
Zichronam Livracha. May their memories always be for a blessing.
Sunday, 21 October 2018
What I Want in My Mayor.
On this day we discussed the upcoming municipal elections. Since I still travel up into the suburbs for my haircuts, (I know it is ridiculous but the woman has been cutting my hair since before Younger Son was born) I was a bit surprised to realize how little she understood about the mess that was made of the Toronto civic vote by our vindictive and arrogant new premier. I get that she doesn't live in Toronto and will cast her ballot in a city north of us but she really didn't understand the subtleties of Premier DoFo's meddling in an already in process election and the chaos that this has caused to our rights as citizens to a free and informed vote. While we can argue the merits of reducing the number of councillors in the city, the craziness of doing this three months before the vote when it had been informed, studied, and approved three years ago was political malpractice. There was absolutely no disguising the motives of the premier and while he did win the legality argument in court, the resulting chaos and disengagement of Toronto voters have been palpable. Many council candidates and voters have been confused as to which riding they are a part of or where they are now running. Several incumbents have found themselves running against council colleagues and there have been no debates that have featured the two front-running mayoral candidates one on one. Our incumbent and uninspiring mayor has ridden the wave of apathy towards what looks like a landslide victory tomorrow. The whole mess has me thinking what I want in a mayor for this wonderful but still stagnating city. I will preface these comments with the fact that both of the front-runners are decent, educated, and kind people who I believe only have the good of the city at heart. For one of the only times in my recent voting history, the choice between the two candidates at the head of the pack doesn't involve a scum-sucking corrupt hack who is only interested in his/her own power that comes complete with the demonization of minorities, the disadvantaged, or the raiding of the municipal coffers.
And so...with that in mind....
I want a mayor who will stand strong for the city in the face of a meddling provincial government and a premier who wants to use the city as his personal Lego set. I want to see some passion when the mayor confronts DoFo and not total capitulation. When the premier comes for our subways, and make no mistake that is most definitely coming, will the mayor publicly defend this city and tell him to back off or will he/she call for some bullshit referendum? The mayor of Toronto needs to lead this city in defiance and in a crusade against the damage that Queen's Park is already causing.
I want a mayor who relies on evidence-based and economically sound principals when planning for the city. I don't want back-of-the-napkin transit solutions dishonestly sold to the electorate because there are votes to be had in Scarborough or North York. We are all one city and the integration of transit must be done with all stakeholders in mind.
I want a mayor who takes the Vision Zero strategy seriously and not in stages. It has been two years since council adopted it and so far this year, there have been more than 50 cycling or pedestrian deaths on Toronto roads. 2018 is on pace to be the deadliest ever. As a driver, transit user, and pedestrian, I have been in more dangerous situations this year than I can count. I want a mayor who understands that creating safe cycling, walking, and transit opportunities is the key to Vision Zero and that even one death on our roads is abhorrent. Worrying about an extra minute for drivers' travelling times is regressive. This city needs a transportation visionary.
I want a mayor who is progressive and sees the city's long game. I think that trying to find a compromise in many issues is commendable but often short-sighted. The east end of the Gardiner should be torn down in order to release the potential of the waterfront. Spending an extra billion dollars to maintain it in order to save drivers 3 minutes in travel time is regressive. Cities all over the world are removing elevated highways while Toronto is trying to save this crumbling and ugly piece of 1940's infrastructure. The Yonge corridor north of the 401 should be reduced to two lanes in each direction in order to create a walkable plaza in downtown North York. This plan has been championed by city planners and transit experts alike. The community wants it. I want a mayor who recognizes that cars are not king.
I want a mayor who will commit to and fight for our most vulnerable. I want funding restored for the safe injection clinics that are on the frontlines of the opioid crisis. I want funding restored for shelters for abused women and children. I want a mayor who recognizes that there are not nearly enough cold-weather shelters for those on the streets and doesn't need to be cajoled and embarrassed into opening up the armories when the temperature drops. I want a cohesive and immediate plan that sees the unlocking of city land to be used for affordable housing and not merely for the profit of greedy developers.
I want a mayor who will champion programs for at-risk youth and commit to finding the funds. It is a fundamental step to helping curb the gun violence on our streets.
I want a mayor who will invest in green initiatives including demanding proper stormwater management and the greening of rooftops in all new condo buildings.
I want a mayor who understands that all of this cannot be achieved without new sources of revenue and who sees property taxes as the communal fund that works for the betterment of this city and all of its citizens.
These are just a few of the things that I will be thinking about when I cast my ballot tomorrow. Toronto deserves it all and not just a nice, decent guy.
Tuesday, 9 October 2018
Just Vote Already!
This is not a post about a political point of view.
This is not meant to divide the Conservative or the Liberal.
This is not about Republicans or Democrats.
This is a post about social action and civic responsibility.
Do you vote?
And if the answer to that question is no, then why the hell not?
Are you too busy? Too tired? Too angry? Too apathetic?
Do you live too far away from your poll? Are you physically unable?
Seriously? What is your excuse?
In the last Ontario election, only 58% of eligible voters cast their ballots. This is the election that gave us Doug Ford. In the last presidential election, more than 100,000,000 eligible voters didn't vote. This is the Trump election. The numbers astound me.
Older citizens vote. They vote in huge numbers. Young people...well they stay home and let their grandparents' votes govern the communities in which they live and the issues they live by.
University students. I am speaking to you, now. Would you let your grandparents pick your clothes? Your music? Your partner?
No?
So why are you allowing them to make decisions on the issues you say are the most important to you?
The environment. A woman's right to govern her own sexual agency. Gun control. Equal pay. Worker's rights. Net neutrality. Healthcare.
This should terrify you all. (Start at about the two-minute mark.)
Parents, I'm talking to you now. Have you talked to your children about the dangers of drugs, alcohol, or unprotected sex? Have you lectured them about driving while under the influence? Have you taught them to have respect for others and to treat people the way they themselves would expect to be treated? Have you raised them to make informed choices?
Have you ever discussed with them the power and importance of voting? Have you taken them with you to the polls? Have you modeled voting behaviour by voting yourselves?
No?
I am constantly amazed at the number of people I know personally who don't believe that voting is a collective responsibility. It isn't merely that voting determines how we live our lives in our communities and how we protect the most vulnerable among us but that it sets the course to what kind of world we want to live in and what we will leave to the next generations. Are we willing to accept government by an invigorated minority or would we rather be on the right side of history?
Toronto residents, there is no doubt that our upcoming election is a mess. We still don't know who all the candidates in our ridings are, let alone where our polling places are located. There have been no voters cards mailed out because of the turmoil. But that is not an excuse to stay home on October 22nd or to not vote in the advance polls. Check out https://myvote.toronto.ca/home or https://www.thestar.com/toronto-election.html for all the information you need to vote with intention. You do *not* have to be registered to vote like in the U.S. to cast a ballot in the city election. All you need is to be eligible to vote and have ID with your address. Also from the city:
In addition, did you know that you can vote by proxy in Toronto? Here's how. https://www.toronto.ca/city-government/elections/voter-information/appoint-a-proxy-voter/
American friends, I have heard from many in the know that this November's midterms are possibly the most important since the Civil War. That is a stunning indictment on everything you all have been living through for the past two years. The world is watching. Get out and vote and then drive ten more friends and neighbours to the polls. Pick people up. Ensure your college kids are registered and that they are hounded and nagged by you until they cast their ballots. Go to seniors residences and take them to vote. Set up carpools through your church and synagogue groups. Stand in line and know your rights and what identification you need. Plan it and do it no matter what.
It isn't hyperbole to say that people have died to protect our right to vote in a democracy. We can argue about the candidates and we can argue about the platforms but we should NEVER use any excuse to keep us from exercising our franchise.
via GIPHY
This is not meant to divide the Conservative or the Liberal.
This is not about Republicans or Democrats.
This is a post about social action and civic responsibility.
Do you vote?
And if the answer to that question is no, then why the hell not?
Are you too busy? Too tired? Too angry? Too apathetic?
Do you live too far away from your poll? Are you physically unable?
Seriously? What is your excuse?
In the last Ontario election, only 58% of eligible voters cast their ballots. This is the election that gave us Doug Ford. In the last presidential election, more than 100,000,000 eligible voters didn't vote. This is the Trump election. The numbers astound me.
Older citizens vote. They vote in huge numbers. Young people...well they stay home and let their grandparents' votes govern the communities in which they live and the issues they live by.
University students. I am speaking to you, now. Would you let your grandparents pick your clothes? Your music? Your partner?
No?
So why are you allowing them to make decisions on the issues you say are the most important to you?
The environment. A woman's right to govern her own sexual agency. Gun control. Equal pay. Worker's rights. Net neutrality. Healthcare.
This should terrify you all. (Start at about the two-minute mark.)
Parents, I'm talking to you now. Have you talked to your children about the dangers of drugs, alcohol, or unprotected sex? Have you lectured them about driving while under the influence? Have you taught them to have respect for others and to treat people the way they themselves would expect to be treated? Have you raised them to make informed choices?
Have you ever discussed with them the power and importance of voting? Have you taken them with you to the polls? Have you modeled voting behaviour by voting yourselves?
No?
I am constantly amazed at the number of people I know personally who don't believe that voting is a collective responsibility. It isn't merely that voting determines how we live our lives in our communities and how we protect the most vulnerable among us but that it sets the course to what kind of world we want to live in and what we will leave to the next generations. Are we willing to accept government by an invigorated minority or would we rather be on the right side of history?
Toronto residents, there is no doubt that our upcoming election is a mess. We still don't know who all the candidates in our ridings are, let alone where our polling places are located. There have been no voters cards mailed out because of the turmoil. But that is not an excuse to stay home on October 22nd or to not vote in the advance polls. Check out https://myvote.toronto.ca/home or https://www.thestar.com/toronto-election.html for all the information you need to vote with intention. You do *not* have to be registered to vote like in the U.S. to cast a ballot in the city election. All you need is to be eligible to vote and have ID with your address. Also from the city:
American friends, I have heard from many in the know that this November's midterms are possibly the most important since the Civil War. That is a stunning indictment on everything you all have been living through for the past two years. The world is watching. Get out and vote and then drive ten more friends and neighbours to the polls. Pick people up. Ensure your college kids are registered and that they are hounded and nagged by you until they cast their ballots. Go to seniors residences and take them to vote. Set up carpools through your church and synagogue groups. Stand in line and know your rights and what identification you need. Plan it and do it no matter what.
It isn't hyperbole to say that people have died to protect our right to vote in a democracy. We can argue about the candidates and we can argue about the platforms but we should NEVER use any excuse to keep us from exercising our franchise.
via GIPHY
Tuesday, 25 September 2018
Love to My Father On His Big Birthday.
Today is my dad's 80th birthday.
80.
It seems like such a monumental age, almost as if it crosses some sort of an unspoken threshold. And in truth, Dad didn't want to celebrate all that much this year. He was uncharacteristically ambivalent about this birthday. He was emphatic about a moratorium on gifts and instead he wanted a far more muted commemoration than we might have done, one with just immediate family and some close friends. So, we honoured those wishes and had a lovely gathering last Shabbat but I couldn't let the day go by without some sort of observance as to the man my dad is.
Without further adieu, I present some fun facts about Ralph.
1. He was born on the second day of Rosh Hashana. Whenever someone would ask his mother about his birthday, that would be her answer. I'm convinced she never really remembered the English date until she looked at that Jewish calendar that came from the butcher.
2. His older brother, and sole sibling, Syd (z"l) was a full 7 years his senior. I'm convinced that my dad was a surprise baby to his "already-very-mature-for-those-days" parents but I was never able to get a straight answer from my grandmother, whose old-world sensibilities refused to discuss such things.
3. He was, unsurprisingly, ADHD as a child. It was a time when schools and parents didn't know about such things but because he was, and still is, such a gite neshema (a good soul) he managed to get through school with decent grades. His gregarious nature has always bought him goodwill but it isn't an act. Ralph simply has no capacity for hiding anything. He wears it all right out there for everybody to see. What you see, is what you get.
4. He speaks Yiddish fluently due to it being his parents' first language and some early schooling through the Arbiter Ring, The Workman's Circle.
5. Yup. My dad's first political indoctrination was through the very leftist and socialist (almost communist) Workman's Circle. It explains a lot about his visceral need for and fights for social justice but does nothing to explain his bizarre later in life vote for...
6. Rob Ford. Yes, he regretted it and yes he is very apologetic for it. (And yes...this is my way of needling him for a very out of character stupid act.)
7. Dad used to have very curly and very thick jet-black hair. Honest. There are photos.
8. He has a wicked temper. It is, unfortunately, something he felt the need to pass down to me. Those closest to him know it and have been in the direct firing line. He hates it about himself and is instantly sorry each and every time he blows a gasket but it can be painful. I choose to share this because Dad is fond of saying that nobody is perfect and that we all have something we'd rather not possess. His self-awareness about his foibles and flaws and his attempts over the years to deal with them is one of the things I admire most about my father. I truly believe that if I gushed too much about him in this post, he might taunt me about rewriting his biography.
9. He spent one year studying to be a pharmacist. He absolutely hated it and couldn't imagine counting pills behind a counter as a career. He left after that year in Windsor to go into a different side of the drug business...pushing...I mean...sales.
10. He used to work as a singer/waiter at Waposka Lodge in the summers. I still, to this day, cannot believe he waited tables. This is a man who can't drink a glass of water without spilling on himself. He still wears a bib that he carries with him wherever he goes. I can't imagine he did well by his patrons but his singing talent more than made up for his lack of tips.
11. Dad sang and Dad still sings. He has the most amazing baritone I have ever heard. He will say that it is old and gone but...nope, not true. He sings in the shower and in the car and at shul and when he thinks nobody is looking. He used to sing in a calypso band and was even cajoled into singing at his own wedding. He introduced me to every folk artist from 1940 on and still loves to go to small concerts and venues to take in an evening of whatever is playing. We would sing on family car trips and we would sing just for ourselves at home. I cannot stress enough how beautiful my father's voice is. One of these days, I hope to convince him to sing a duet with me at out Temple Coffee House. Maybe this post will provide the impetus.
12. Dad met Mom on a blind date....and then promptly didn't call her again for a year. A year!! There are a whole host of excuses he uses for that horrendous lapse in judgment but it was mostly because he was dating somebody else. When that ended, he decided to call her and....she couldn't remember who he was. Love at first sight, this was not. But something must have clicked because here we are almost 57 years later and he is still crazy about her. He will often quietly whisper to me, "Isn't your mother just beautiful."
13. Judaism matters a lot to my dad and it pains him to this day that he never had a Bar Mitzvah due to that Jewish socialist upbringing. I've tried to convince him to do it as an adult over the years but I am still working on it. Dad was the creator of the very first Camp Scholarship Fund at Temple Har Zion and he went out and called every single member at the time to solicit the necessary funds to send kids to GUCI. He and Mom are regulars at Kol Ami when they are in town and often go to various synagogues in the South Florida area. I know that he wishes I was still on the bimah. He loved to brag about me to his friends, especially after High Holy Days. He tells me this a lot but he is just fine singing in the congregation with whoever is leading.
14. Dad is the most demonstrative man I know of his generation. He hugs and kisses everybody, men and women alike. He quite simply loves people and he feeds off of their energy. He wears his emotions like a badge of honour and has cried publicly on both happy and sad occasions. He just cannot pretend. It is what I love most about him.
15. Dad has had a variety of sales jobs throughout his career but the one constant has always been how good he was at it. It's that people-person thing again. He loves to talk and understand what people need and want, and he refuses to sell them anything more than what they absolutely require. He is unfailingly honest with his clients because he simply doesn't have the capacity for lying and mistruths. He can't keep a secret for shit and he will readily admit that lying takes far too much energy, so honesty is and has always been his credo.
16. Dad likes to be the peacemaker. He believes that family is paramount and those family members should never quarrel. I think it comes from the fact that so many members of his own family were lost in Europe. On more than one occasion, and not always with success, Dad has tried to mediate extended-family member squabbles. The hurt he has experienced when it hasn't come together has been palpable but he feels the need to try.
17. My father is the most absent-minded human being on the face of the planet. He has left his purse (yup. My dad has been carrying a man-purse for 50 years.) in more locations around the world than I could enumerate here. He forgets jackets on airplanes; credit cards in restaurants; coffee mugs and briefcases on the roof of cars; hats, scarves, and gloves, in people's homes; and once he even left all of his suits in a motel room. He cannot walk and chew gum at the same time for fear he will swallow his gum. He has so much going on in his brain that he cannot remember the small stuff. I have often joked with him that I want to climb inside his mind and take a walk around to figure him out. He quips back that it would require a better woman than am I.
18. His absent-mindedness leads to his shitty driving. There. I said it. My father is a shitty driver mostly because his mind is usually elsewhere. He can park a fricking 18-wheeler into a spot the size of a postage stamp but his driving....well that is a whole other story. He once...and I am not making this up...drove onto the off-ramp of the 401. That was the day in my childhood when I thought I was going to die. Uber was created with my father in mind. I hope he uses it more often.
19. Dad never met a phone he didn't like or wear out. Until this year he still had two landlines and his cell both here and in Florida. He calls everybody all the time. He calls for happy occasions and awful ones. He calls to do business and will often wear out conglomerates (usually insurance companies or telecoms) that have cheated people. He will not take a single dime for his efforts and will often tell folks that he knows their games and refuses to be bullied by these corporations. He will often spend hours on the phone with insurers getting the best rates for his friends and families and then...he returns the commissions to the individuals. Lest you think this is a new thing born out of age, he has been doing this throughout his entire career.
20. Dad is loud and fun. He always wants to be with people and to be doing things. He loves to eat, often more than he should, but he considers much of it social. He and Mom have flown or driven in for out-of-town simchas because "celebrating is better than mourning". He loves to travel because "the world is a big place with so many things to see and people to meet." He never forgets a face, even ones he hasn't seen in 60+ years and he never forgets a name. He always leads with a handshake or a hug and has no qualms about reintroducing himself to people who may have forgotten him. Some individuals collect cars or coins, my father collects people.
I thought of doing a "top 80" of Dad but I realized that people had to read this and the length was already a bit much. The thing is, finding 80 things to share about my dad would have been so easy. He is just one of the best people I know and even though there are times when Ralph can be, in the words of Older Son, "So much more Zaidy than usual", I love everything about him. He is who he is and has never pretended to be more or less.
To the moon and back Dad. I love you bunches today and every day. Happy fourscore. Biz a hoondred oon Tzvuntzig yur. 💜💜💜 (May you live until 120 years!)
80.
It seems like such a monumental age, almost as if it crosses some sort of an unspoken threshold. And in truth, Dad didn't want to celebrate all that much this year. He was uncharacteristically ambivalent about this birthday. He was emphatic about a moratorium on gifts and instead he wanted a far more muted commemoration than we might have done, one with just immediate family and some close friends. So, we honoured those wishes and had a lovely gathering last Shabbat but I couldn't let the day go by without some sort of observance as to the man my dad is.
Without further adieu, I present some fun facts about Ralph.
1. He was born on the second day of Rosh Hashana. Whenever someone would ask his mother about his birthday, that would be her answer. I'm convinced she never really remembered the English date until she looked at that Jewish calendar that came from the butcher.
2. His older brother, and sole sibling, Syd (z"l) was a full 7 years his senior. I'm convinced that my dad was a surprise baby to his "already-very-mature-for-those-days" parents but I was never able to get a straight answer from my grandmother, whose old-world sensibilities refused to discuss such things.
3. He was, unsurprisingly, ADHD as a child. It was a time when schools and parents didn't know about such things but because he was, and still is, such a gite neshema (a good soul) he managed to get through school with decent grades. His gregarious nature has always bought him goodwill but it isn't an act. Ralph simply has no capacity for hiding anything. He wears it all right out there for everybody to see. What you see, is what you get.
4. He speaks Yiddish fluently due to it being his parents' first language and some early schooling through the Arbiter Ring, The Workman's Circle.
5. Yup. My dad's first political indoctrination was through the very leftist and socialist (almost communist) Workman's Circle. It explains a lot about his visceral need for and fights for social justice but does nothing to explain his bizarre later in life vote for...
6. Rob Ford. Yes, he regretted it and yes he is very apologetic for it. (And yes...this is my way of needling him for a very out of character stupid act.)
7. Dad used to have very curly and very thick jet-black hair. Honest. There are photos.
8. He has a wicked temper. It is, unfortunately, something he felt the need to pass down to me. Those closest to him know it and have been in the direct firing line. He hates it about himself and is instantly sorry each and every time he blows a gasket but it can be painful. I choose to share this because Dad is fond of saying that nobody is perfect and that we all have something we'd rather not possess. His self-awareness about his foibles and flaws and his attempts over the years to deal with them is one of the things I admire most about my father. I truly believe that if I gushed too much about him in this post, he might taunt me about rewriting his biography.
9. He spent one year studying to be a pharmacist. He absolutely hated it and couldn't imagine counting pills behind a counter as a career. He left after that year in Windsor to go into a different side of the drug business...pushing...I mean...sales.
10. He used to work as a singer/waiter at Waposka Lodge in the summers. I still, to this day, cannot believe he waited tables. This is a man who can't drink a glass of water without spilling on himself. He still wears a bib that he carries with him wherever he goes. I can't imagine he did well by his patrons but his singing talent more than made up for his lack of tips.
11. Dad sang and Dad still sings. He has the most amazing baritone I have ever heard. He will say that it is old and gone but...nope, not true. He sings in the shower and in the car and at shul and when he thinks nobody is looking. He used to sing in a calypso band and was even cajoled into singing at his own wedding. He introduced me to every folk artist from 1940 on and still loves to go to small concerts and venues to take in an evening of whatever is playing. We would sing on family car trips and we would sing just for ourselves at home. I cannot stress enough how beautiful my father's voice is. One of these days, I hope to convince him to sing a duet with me at out Temple Coffee House. Maybe this post will provide the impetus.
12. Dad met Mom on a blind date....and then promptly didn't call her again for a year. A year!! There are a whole host of excuses he uses for that horrendous lapse in judgment but it was mostly because he was dating somebody else. When that ended, he decided to call her and....she couldn't remember who he was. Love at first sight, this was not. But something must have clicked because here we are almost 57 years later and he is still crazy about her. He will often quietly whisper to me, "Isn't your mother just beautiful."
13. Judaism matters a lot to my dad and it pains him to this day that he never had a Bar Mitzvah due to that Jewish socialist upbringing. I've tried to convince him to do it as an adult over the years but I am still working on it. Dad was the creator of the very first Camp Scholarship Fund at Temple Har Zion and he went out and called every single member at the time to solicit the necessary funds to send kids to GUCI. He and Mom are regulars at Kol Ami when they are in town and often go to various synagogues in the South Florida area. I know that he wishes I was still on the bimah. He loved to brag about me to his friends, especially after High Holy Days. He tells me this a lot but he is just fine singing in the congregation with whoever is leading.
14. Dad is the most demonstrative man I know of his generation. He hugs and kisses everybody, men and women alike. He quite simply loves people and he feeds off of their energy. He wears his emotions like a badge of honour and has cried publicly on both happy and sad occasions. He just cannot pretend. It is what I love most about him.
15. Dad has had a variety of sales jobs throughout his career but the one constant has always been how good he was at it. It's that people-person thing again. He loves to talk and understand what people need and want, and he refuses to sell them anything more than what they absolutely require. He is unfailingly honest with his clients because he simply doesn't have the capacity for lying and mistruths. He can't keep a secret for shit and he will readily admit that lying takes far too much energy, so honesty is and has always been his credo.
16. Dad likes to be the peacemaker. He believes that family is paramount and those family members should never quarrel. I think it comes from the fact that so many members of his own family were lost in Europe. On more than one occasion, and not always with success, Dad has tried to mediate extended-family member squabbles. The hurt he has experienced when it hasn't come together has been palpable but he feels the need to try.
17. My father is the most absent-minded human being on the face of the planet. He has left his purse (yup. My dad has been carrying a man-purse for 50 years.) in more locations around the world than I could enumerate here. He forgets jackets on airplanes; credit cards in restaurants; coffee mugs and briefcases on the roof of cars; hats, scarves, and gloves, in people's homes; and once he even left all of his suits in a motel room. He cannot walk and chew gum at the same time for fear he will swallow his gum. He has so much going on in his brain that he cannot remember the small stuff. I have often joked with him that I want to climb inside his mind and take a walk around to figure him out. He quips back that it would require a better woman than am I.
18. His absent-mindedness leads to his shitty driving. There. I said it. My father is a shitty driver mostly because his mind is usually elsewhere. He can park a fricking 18-wheeler into a spot the size of a postage stamp but his driving....well that is a whole other story. He once...and I am not making this up...drove onto the off-ramp of the 401. That was the day in my childhood when I thought I was going to die. Uber was created with my father in mind. I hope he uses it more often.
19. Dad never met a phone he didn't like or wear out. Until this year he still had two landlines and his cell both here and in Florida. He calls everybody all the time. He calls for happy occasions and awful ones. He calls to do business and will often wear out conglomerates (usually insurance companies or telecoms) that have cheated people. He will not take a single dime for his efforts and will often tell folks that he knows their games and refuses to be bullied by these corporations. He will often spend hours on the phone with insurers getting the best rates for his friends and families and then...he returns the commissions to the individuals. Lest you think this is a new thing born out of age, he has been doing this throughout his entire career.
20. Dad is loud and fun. He always wants to be with people and to be doing things. He loves to eat, often more than he should, but he considers much of it social. He and Mom have flown or driven in for out-of-town simchas because "celebrating is better than mourning". He loves to travel because "the world is a big place with so many things to see and people to meet." He never forgets a face, even ones he hasn't seen in 60+ years and he never forgets a name. He always leads with a handshake or a hug and has no qualms about reintroducing himself to people who may have forgotten him. Some individuals collect cars or coins, my father collects people.
I thought of doing a "top 80" of Dad but I realized that people had to read this and the length was already a bit much. The thing is, finding 80 things to share about my dad would have been so easy. He is just one of the best people I know and even though there are times when Ralph can be, in the words of Older Son, "So much more Zaidy than usual", I love everything about him. He is who he is and has never pretended to be more or less.
To the moon and back Dad. I love you bunches today and every day. Happy fourscore. Biz a hoondred oon Tzvuntzig yur. 💜💜💜 (May you live until 120 years!)
Monday, 17 September 2018
Where There is No Shame, There is No Honour.
We Jews are entering into Yom Kippur this week and attempting to do teshuva (repentance) for all of the wrongs we have done during this past year. It is a core value of Judaism that in order to make ourselves whole again and move forward as better people, we must first own up to all of the sins we have committed and ask for forgiveness from those we have hurt. This passage is from the V'duii (the confession of sin) in our Machzor. (High Holy Day prayer book.)
It is a system that allows people to fully confront their flaws and admit wrongdoing. It isn't perfect and it demands fortitude and strength from the individual. Apologizing isn't easy. It comes with the acknowledgment that we are imperfect beings and that we feel shame.
And therein lies the fatal flaw to the troubles of our time. We assume that people feel shame, that there is an inherent moral compass that guides our leaders so that they won't breach established norms to fuel their own vendettas, wealth, or egos. We have created institutions like parliament, election laws, the courts, and houses of government based on the premise that shame will stop a rogue leader from venturing too far outside of the norms of society. Rabbi Berel Wein wrote:
And so we have a man who is credibly accused of multiple sexual assaults sitting in the White House and displays zero shame for any of them. We watch as he has shamelessly turned brother against brother and separated children from their parents. We have a leader here in Ontario who is upending traditional norms and changing the rules in the middle of an election campaign because of his personal anger and grudges. His caucus is shamelessly spouting lie after lie to feed his ego in order to gain favour with him. There is no sense of decency and no acknowledgment that anything is wrong with either the process or the law. Without an inherent awareness of shame, the entire system begins to crumble in on itself.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks makes a distinction between shame and guilt, noting that guilt is the more productive emotion of the two. I agree that there is some merit to this thesis but might argue that one fuels the other. Without shame, how does one feel guilty and then perhaps atone for one's transgressions?
Last night, as the Ontario Legislature held a ridiculous midnight session in order to push through a ridiculous law, I watched as one after another of the Premier's minions spouted shameful lies and misstatements about the functionality of Toronto City Council. I also watched as American senators, tasked with choosing the next Supreme Court Justice, one by one came forward to defend a man accused of a heinous act without even so much as a hearing granted to the accuser. Raucous debate in politics is and should be at the centre of every single decision made and elections certainly do have consequences, but we cannot and should NEVER allow our leaders to govern without shame. When that happens, we can point to the very end of civic and democratic engagement and that should scare us all, no matter where we sit on the political spectrum.
As we head into this week of Atonement, I would like to say that I am ashamed of anything that I might have done, either knowingly or unknowingly, that hurt, embarrassed, upset, dishonoured, or humiliated. I realize that I will need to make my misdeeds right and confront all to whom I have transgressed against.
G'mar Chatimah Tovah. May we all be inscribed for a good sealing.
Where there is no shame, there is no honour. ~Martin Opitz
"For transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones: but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another"
It is a system that allows people to fully confront their flaws and admit wrongdoing. It isn't perfect and it demands fortitude and strength from the individual. Apologizing isn't easy. It comes with the acknowledgment that we are imperfect beings and that we feel shame.
And therein lies the fatal flaw to the troubles of our time. We assume that people feel shame, that there is an inherent moral compass that guides our leaders so that they won't breach established norms to fuel their own vendettas, wealth, or egos. We have created institutions like parliament, election laws, the courts, and houses of government based on the premise that shame will stop a rogue leader from venturing too far outside of the norms of society. Rabbi Berel Wein wrote:
“As long as shame existed, the possibility for repentance and self-improvement also existed. Therefore the prophets of Israel exhorted the leaders and people to at least ‘be ashamed of your behavior, O House of Israel!’ Only when the sense of shame disappears does hope wane for a change for the better.”But what happens when a leader arises that feels no shame? What happens when self-interest is all that matters and the chattering classes that follow that leader understand that in order to serve their own ambitions they must dispense with shame? It is then that society realizes that the norms on which it has come to depend, cannot hold back the tide of populist authoritarianism. We need and expect our leaders to feel shame if their actions are obviously abhorrent. When that disappears, what is left?
And so we have a man who is credibly accused of multiple sexual assaults sitting in the White House and displays zero shame for any of them. We watch as he has shamelessly turned brother against brother and separated children from their parents. We have a leader here in Ontario who is upending traditional norms and changing the rules in the middle of an election campaign because of his personal anger and grudges. His caucus is shamelessly spouting lie after lie to feed his ego in order to gain favour with him. There is no sense of decency and no acknowledgment that anything is wrong with either the process or the law. Without an inherent awareness of shame, the entire system begins to crumble in on itself.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks makes a distinction between shame and guilt, noting that guilt is the more productive emotion of the two. I agree that there is some merit to this thesis but might argue that one fuels the other. Without shame, how does one feel guilty and then perhaps atone for one's transgressions?
Last night, as the Ontario Legislature held a ridiculous midnight session in order to push through a ridiculous law, I watched as one after another of the Premier's minions spouted shameful lies and misstatements about the functionality of Toronto City Council. I also watched as American senators, tasked with choosing the next Supreme Court Justice, one by one came forward to defend a man accused of a heinous act without even so much as a hearing granted to the accuser. Raucous debate in politics is and should be at the centre of every single decision made and elections certainly do have consequences, but we cannot and should NEVER allow our leaders to govern without shame. When that happens, we can point to the very end of civic and democratic engagement and that should scare us all, no matter where we sit on the political spectrum.
As we head into this week of Atonement, I would like to say that I am ashamed of anything that I might have done, either knowingly or unknowingly, that hurt, embarrassed, upset, dishonoured, or humiliated. I realize that I will need to make my misdeeds right and confront all to whom I have transgressed against.
G'mar Chatimah Tovah. May we all be inscribed for a good sealing.
Where there is no shame, there is no honour. ~Martin Opitz
Saturday, 15 September 2018
All TIFFed Out.
Dawn and The Husband will be spending the next few days attending the Toronto International Film Festival, known to the locals as TIFF. No longer rookies, they still have selected a modest number of films (5) because Rosh Hashanah is putting a crimp into their movie-viewing schedule this year. TIFF still serves as a tremendous distraction from the world's ills, the impending High Holidays, and asshole would-be dictators whose names rhyme with Dump and Thug. The next several posts will focus on TIFF and offer very quick bullet point reviews for the movies seen.
Our quintet of films suddenly turned into a sextet on Wednesday when The Husband, in his infinite and prescient wisdom, bought us tickets for one last cinematic experience. When the list of TIFF films came out, Green Book was in my top five but when we went to purchase our tickets, this film went mysteriously missing from the lineup. I was unhappy but figured that it must have been pulled or delayed. Nope. There was simply a glitch in the TIFF site and so we chose five other movies and left Green Book as an anticipatory late autumn night at the theatre. When the powers that be at TIFF added an extra showing, The Husband pounced on the tickets and so we spent this final Shabbat of TIFF in the screening room at The Princess of Wales Theatre.
I love Viggo Mortensen in almost everything (you all simply must see Captain Fantastic) and Mahershala Ali is a truly incredible actor. His performance in Moonlight had me in tears. The premise of Green Book, once again based on a true story, seemed like an old-fashioned buddy/road trip premise. Mortensen's "wise-guy" bouncer from the Bronx is hired to drive Ali's sophisticated and brilliant pianist through a series of gigs in the 1960's Jim Crow south. The green book is a reference to an actual publication that was distributed to African-Americans who were travelling through segregated areas in order to inform them of the "suitable" hotels and restaurants. Who knew?
The film is funny, a little sad, anger-inducing at times, and sometimes a wee bit predictable but I loved every single minute of it. The two leads (and they are both leads. I will be infuriated if come awards season the studio tries to shove Ali into the supporting category) have tremendous chemistry and turn what could have been a formulaic flick into something special. Director Peter Farrelly (of dumbass movie fame) handles the subject matter sensitively and with a smart comedic eye. He shares a screenwriting credit with the son of the actual guy played by Mortensen.
Green Book is a crowd pleaser and I will not be shocked if it wins the People's Prize here at TIFF. It may not be high art but it was a helluva great afternoon at the movies. Dawn and The Husband's recommendation: Two enthusiastic YUPS!!!
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