Unconnected

Hey, readers. I hope I have a few.

Maybe it is because we are approaching the end of the year. But lately, I’ve been thinking back to my old posts. “Staying Connected”
http://alhaqoutaptonen.blogspot.com/2012/02/staying-connected.html has come to mind.

In that diatribe, I ranted about how all the different ways we have to connect. I droned on about being too connected. Now it is time to talk about the joy of being unconnected.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not this religious superstar. I am far from it. I try. Maybe you’ve seen my prior writings where, I discuss Judaism. Years, ago, the Staten Island rabbi that first showed me the way gave an enlightening speech during Yom Kippur. He said, “As we go into the New Year and are atoning it is important to remember there’s no way we can possibly fulfill all the positive mitzvahs each year. Let’s face it, we all sin. Therefore, we probably cannot stay away from all the negative ones.

But we should all pick a few mitzvahs and see how we do at perfecting them. Then check back next year to see how we did.” I’ve been trying. I have a long way to go. Don’t we all?

Anyway back to the point, Facebook, another thing, I am too connected on has the “Stay Unconnected For Shabbat” page. Of course, I joined it eons ago.

This past Shabbat, I was pleasantly reminded how joyful it is to be away from my computer. I think these days we take personal conversations for granted. Does it still exist? Maybe. Do we say more online than face to face?

I probably receive over 200 emails a day. Most are from my summer camp friends. None of them live terribly far from me. But we never see each other. We rarely talk. But we email all day.

Sorry guys, but come candle lighting time, I am happy to walk away from it all and log off. I think it is better for me. Logging off once in a while might be better for all of us. It helps you collect your thoughts and think more clearly.

Of course, immediately after Havdalah, I log back on and am usually beset with hundreds of emails. I try to answer them all. Sorry for missing a few. But being unconnected is mind opening. I usually send out my last emails, make my last Facebook posts and then take a break from it all.

Back to being connected. But in few more days…

Shabbat in Forest Hills, N.Y.

I am lucky, very lucky. I never have to worry about finding a place for a Shabbat meal. That’d be dinner or lunch. I’ve lived in Forest Hills since the summer of 2007.

For the last several years, I’ve been fortunate enough to be treated to dinners that would cost well over $150 per head in any of NYC’s five star restaurants. I’ve been to the homes of several rabbis, Machane Chodosh’s Delicious Taste of Shabbat, Anshe Shalom Chabad’s dinners and to the homes of countless friends I am part of the family.

Years ago, a Rebbetzin said, I am the wandering Jew of Queens. I am. But aren’t we all wandering? I am happy to report. I’ve found a permanent home in Forest Hills. But do wander around the area.

Despite that I have Cooking merit badge, I am in no position to host Shabbat. Unless you want some delicious chopped meat and veggies cooked in foil? I can whip up anything over an open fire. Well maybe not gefilte fish. But I never tried. However, I am great supplier of Israeli wine, vodka and Arrack. At least, I hope I am.

Yes, I’ve done a few Shabbats in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. No offense to my U.S. friends. I find there is so much more spirituality for me to daven at the Kotel and have dinner in the Old City. I am sure you’d agree. I look forward to when we all do that together when Jerusalem is rebuilt.

Each dinner offers its memories. In one house a really cute girl with yellow, not blonde hair (according to her) will stand on the table and tell us how she made the dinner. She will let us know how the only thing she’s still not big enough to turn on the stove. But she cooked it all. She’s five. Pretty soon according to her ima (mom) won’t be able to tell her what to do.

In another house lots of cute and super smart little kids run around. They treat us to a lesson in the morning’s parsha (weekly Torah portion). They play games and hop around. They probably know more than most of us.

I remember when the older of the girls carried a salad to the table. The bowl probably weighed more than she. However, she wouldn’t let anyone help her carry it. She made it. I remember the night she lit candles for the first time. A little while before she did. She kept telling us she was lighting the candle. We all gave her gifts. She managed to attach herself to all the gift bags and run around.

Then there’s another house or family. When I say family we are part of it. The ages run from about 6 to numbers I cannot up to. I get lectured on what it was like in Brooklyn in years past. I even was given a few “nicknames”.

Our host is an older chap. He is very warm-hearted and has served over 20,000 people over the years. His gefilte fish reminds me of my paternal grandmother’s. I miss her.

The conversations at each home are interesting. We talk Judaism, sports, Star Wars, Middle Earth and more. Much more. Each home seems to have a variety of themes. The singing is always great. Not that I can sing.

The shul dinners are always fun. I just wish they’d skip the Kedem. I call it cough medicine. That’s what my mom said it reminds her of. But it can cure a cough. I had one once and finished lots of Kedem. I was healed. I willI always BYOB.

During the week, some of my Shabbat families get together during the week for meals in some of our restaurants.

I am now deciding what type of wine to take off the wine rack for this Shabbat’s Dinner. I am going to one my favorite places. In this home the spirit you feel is sky high.

Of course, I will never say which is my favorite. Oh why not. My grandmother’s was the best. She left us on the first night of Pesach in 1993. I hope her neshama is getting an aliyah as I type. I know she’s watching me and is with me during each Shabbat. I hope she’s proud. I so wish I learned to speak Ladino.

Well I know this week’s Shabbat will be delicious. Not only in the food. But in what we learn and the time we spend together. It is only a block away or so from my house. But I so wish it was elsewhere. I want it to be in a reconstructed Jerusalem. I know my hosts and all my entire Shabbat family wish the same.

Shabbat Shalom

Nicknames

We all have nicknames. They are given to us by our parents, friends, enemies and who knows whom else? Mine include Vampire, Bat and Shlepion, those were given to me in my camp, Chappegat Hill, Ten Mile River Scout Camps, Narrowsburg, N.Y. At New Paltz my Tau Epsilon Phi pledge name was, Fudd. My frat jacket has my name sewn into it. This blog is named after my Vigil name; Alhaquot Aptonen interpreted as Stormy Speaker. That’s because I spoke with bolts of lightning when I played Meteu, the medicine man and how I served as Allowat Sakima, mighty chief of the Lodge, Aquehongian Lodge #112.

I love all of these names. I am stilled call many. Doesn’t bother me. Then there are the nicknames people earned or were given for not such happy reasons.

In camp everyone had one. Some were funny. Some were “insulting”. But we were kids. We had the Dentist, Space Ace, Dudley Brain Dead, Space Ace, Fireball, Bubba, Rock-N-Roll and thousands of others. No we had millions of others. Bucket Butt, the Porn Star., the Office Girl (he cleans buckets), etc. We often took people’s real names and made ever so slight changes.

Let’s talk about a few of these people.

The Dentist. I named him in ’87 or ’88. To this day, I do not know what is given name is. My assistant scoutmaster (ASM) and I were on the Kunatah Ball Field. My ASM has many nicknames. I gave him a few. Some came from things “my leader” did to him in the dark ages. My leader could be a novel or a movie. One day. I learned so much from him. I am who I am in many ways because of his teachings.

Back to the Dentist, I said to the ASM that’s “the Dentist”. The kid was getting ready to play ball. Just like any other young scout. My ASM said, “why”? I said look at him. He has a toothbrush in his mouth. This kid always had a toothbrush in his mouth. Hence, the name, the Dentist.

I got my vampire and bat names in 1983. It was my first morning in camp. I woke up an hour or two before wake up call. I sat on the picnic table and stared at the snake in the tank. I was near the “Palace”, our office. My ASM was just getting up. He saw me. I was 12. He was very old at the time, around 47. But we all thought he was a hundred. Now he is 300.

He asked if I was ok? I was fine. This continued throughout the summer. They nicknamed me “Vampire”. I never slept in camp. I used to roam around.

Space Ace was from Erph. There’s nothing more to say about him. He was nice kid. He was a little spacey. We called him Space Ace. He would retort, I am from Erph. I am not.

All of the aforementioned, sans the Dentist were in my Troop 521 / 721. I knew nothing about him. Other than he walked around all day with a toothbrush in his mouth.

Some of the names were given because the kids were your traditional awkward teenagers. We were shipped off to Boy Scout camp. Some of us loved it. Some us couldn’t wait to go home. I think you know where I stand. We all took our share of abuse. That was back in the day when you were allowed to do that. It made us men. It made us laugh. It made us cry. There are some stories about camp that happened years later that I will always cry about.

As for Rock-N-Roll, he was one of Camp Kunatah’s staffers. Kunatah was one of TMR’s camps. It was the kosher section. Chappy at one point had been its own camp. Eventually became part of Kunatah. Chappy closed after ’88. Kunatah closed a few years later. Sad.

Back to Rock-N-Roll. He was in his early 20s. He's a strange cat. He used to yell at me for driving the Truckster, the Chappy station wagon over 2 MPH on the camp roads. We were able to go much faster. But he would freak. I was 17 and had my license for a few months. I loved the Truckster. I used to blast U2 and Depeche Mode, as I cruised along.

Rock-N-Roll would stand on the podium in the dining hall during meals and rock-n-roll on it. In other words, he bounced back and forth. One day my ASM pulled his socks down. We wore those goofy, way too big green scout socks. I hated them. I still have a few pairs hidden away. Last time I wore them was maybe 20 years ago.

One day, the Porn Star, he was an alumnus from years ago teased R&R. He would come up every summer and hang out with us. He’s in great shape. Rock-N-Roll was rocking and rolling. The Porn Star made some comment. R&R replied back, “I know you weren’t talking about me”? The Porn Star yells back, “Yes, I was”.

Poor R&R almost fell off the podium. Laughter burst out in the dining hall.
One day his parents came to visit. We were playing ultimate Frisbee on the ball field. He proudly told his mom and dad about us. We had out own site and did our own programming. We did much more than the other kids in camp and advanced much faster.
It started to rain. We had a tradition, if it started to rain during ultimate, we would play in our underwear. I have no idea why. Some of us played in nothing. R&R was ready to keel over.

Anyway, nicknames are fun. We all have them. We must live with them.

I have a few dear friends that every day we send hundreds of emails and texts back and forth reminiscing about these great times.

Respectfully submitted,

The Vampire

Being Clean

For some reason, past posts are running through my head. This time it is “Courtesy”. (http://alhaqoutaptonen.blogspot.com/2012/01/courtesy.html)

I knew I wanted to post today. But wasn’t sure what to write. The gym is my muse. So as I walked over, I knew I’d figure it out there.

Who would have thought, I’d be writing about it? I walked over to my favorite treadmill for my warm up run, about 15 minutes at around 7 MPH. Someone left a water bottle on it. I went to the next one. Tissues stuck in it. The next three were the same deal.

Yeah, I know I am a neat freak. After all, the eleventh point of the Scout Law is “A Scout is Clean”. I am Eagle Scout. Not all scouts are clean. In my beloved summer camp, Chappegat Hill, we had numerous campers we had to drag to the showers.
I have Camping merit badge. To earn this, you needed to remember to leave your campsite cleaner than how you found it. I wish the gym goers would have to take this badge when they sign up. I’d be happy to rewrite the requirements to make it more suitable for this venue.

Why can’t people take their water bottles or paper towels and place them in the garbage? I’ve worked out in dozens of gyms across NYC. I have passport membership. I can use any one of my club’s facilities. The one I was in today is usually one of cleaner ones.

People come to this club to work out. I grew up in the Staten Island one. That’s a spectacle. The girls come to do their makeup and hair, while running on the treadmills. The guys come and chat with their girlfriends. Eventually, they lift. No one wipes anything down there. It is the only club, I’ve been to that they do not hand you a towel as soon as they scan you in.

The Rock Center one is pretty clean. The clubs in Soho, Village and UES are usually clean. I am sure they all have their days…

I did find a clean treadmill. I did my run and went upstairs to the weight rooms. Thankfully, my cool down run was on my favorite treadmill. It was clean.

I don’t know why I am so obsessed with cleanliness. I know it is genetic. My mom is. So is grandma. She gets up every day at around 4:30 a.m. and dusts. Bugs her that she has to wait a little while till she can vacuum. Buildings have rules about that. I was on my co-op’s board for a few years. I was told by the maintenance staff that I have the cleanest apartment in all of the three buildings they work in.

I took it to new levels. In my old job we had buffet style lunches served daily. One guy used to put his hands in the trays and eat right out of them. A senior officer, who shared my obsession, knew this clown never washed his hands after the exiting the bathroom. So did I. We would scream at him in front of everyone in the kitchen. He never cared. Some people are just like that.

I know as being somewhat observant, I am required to wash my hands when I wake up, before davening and eating bread. I do all of this. I love that we have laws written into the Torah focus around cleanliness.

As you read this, remember I am far from a Tzadik. I am probably a Rasha, trying his best to get to a higher level. I’ve met only one Tzadik. But she is more like my personal Tzadik. Her wisdom goes beyond anything I could ever think of. She’s helped me in so many ways.

Anyway, time to dust. But I do hope you get my point. Keep clean.

Homeless

Some of you may have read, “Sneakers,” http://alhaqoutaptonen.blogspot.com/2012/01/sneakers.html my debut post. For some reason, the penultimate paragraph so kicked back into my head.
I think it is due to the fact that everyday when I board my “R” train to go to work, I see a homeless man who lives in the Forest Hills station. Over the years, I’ve given him some Snapple and other things.

Here I am, racing off to my Rock Center office. There he sits. Last night, when I walked home from the rabbi’s house after the break-fast. (The Rebbetzin made amazing soups, salads, etc. I felt much better. ) There was a lady sifting through the garbage bags on the street. She was on the phone telling someone about her finds.

It is too wrong. It really puts things into perspective for me. Yeah, as I wrote in “Sneakers”, how pissed I was that no store carried what I wanted. Yes, I found them. But the reality is those problems or being annoyed about how high up I was at MSG during the Who’s recent Quadrophenia show, are worries so many people wish they had.

For example, I know this is nothing. I’m planning my next vacation. I know I will find all the planning a bother. I am sure I’ll go back to Israel. But I can go anywhere. These people need help just to get a cup of coffee.

I’m not sure what can be done. But I wish something could. I am not trying to sound like a “do gooder”. I am not.

Yes, I did spend nearly two-years cutting veggies at In G-d’s Love with Deliver. The veggies and the other food we prepared are delivered to people suffering terminal illnesses, NYC-wide. During our introductory sessions to the organization we watched the most depressing, but enlightening videos. They make you think.

Now I am really happy volunteering with ELEM-Entry NY. Last year, I spent Thanksgiving Day in Tel Aviv helping lots of Israeli teens. For these kids, ELEM-Youth in Distress in Israel is the only help they get. I guess it was a “thanksgiving” for all of us.

These things are small in comparison to what I know some others do. Small in comparison to what’s needed.

I am lucky. I’ve survived stuff, I will likely never write about.

I wonder how much better off we’d be we if helped the people we see living the train stations and the kids in distress? As for me, I will remember how lucky I am.

That’s all for now.

Fudd goes Back to School

Fudd goes Back to School

October 28, 2012

I’ve yearning to walk the grounds of SUNY-New Paltz for far too long. Finally, I borrowed my sister’s car and cruised up there via the Garden State Parkway and NY State Thruway. I’m a creature of habit.

‘Ya see when I used to drive home from school, as a student, I would listen to my U2 Boy and October cassettes. Remember cassettes? On the way up, I listened to whatever, I wanted to. This time, listened to some great 80s mixes, the Cure, U2, Depeche Mode, Erasure, Echo and the Bunnymen. And well, Raspberry Beret came on, too. WTF? Yeah, it may sound weird that I added to Prince to the aforementioned bands. But he’s cool.

I felt the warmest feeling, as I pulled off the Thruway at Exit 18 and drove down Main Street. I drove past My Hero Pizza. Years ago; my New Paltz girlfriend celebrated her 19th birthday, while working on campus that summer. I visited her. After spending a day in Minnewaska State Park, we shared pepperoni pizza at My Hero. Neither one of us will touch pepperoni anymore. Ah, days gone by.

I drove past Joe’s. That bar was a hike from the main campus. They used to have bus service on Thursday nights. Guys had to be 21 to get in. But I had a connection and got in at younger age. Girls could get in at 18. They served them beer, too. I used to think Joe’s was this huge bar. Boy does it look small. Things sure change when you get older.

I drove past Murphy’s, P&G’s and of course, Gourmet Pizza. Wings-n-Things is gone. So is Thesis. I loved that place. Once it closed it became many things. For the last few years, it has been Neko Sushi.

One of my bros used to bounce there. So I got in and served whatever drink I wanted years before I was 21. I have great memories of Thesis. The owner was a nice guy. One night, he stopped the music and said, "The police just called and told me they are coming to raid us in about 10 minutes. For those of you under 21, finish your beer. Get your asses out of here. Go get some pizza and come back in about 20 minutes. “

We did just that.

One Thursday, I was in my room in Crispell Hall. It was quite late. For some odd reason, I had a Friday class. The phone rings. It was some girl I was dating. She was piss drunk and begging me to get her. I immediately jumped into my Cadillac, picked her up and threw her into my bed. I slept on the floor. I am a good boy. Still am.

As you can tell, as I drove down Main Street my mind flooded back to being 19 or 20. I parked my car at South Side Terrace Apartments, where I lived my senior year. I took a nice walk around the complex. I walked to my old apt, 3H. I shot some photos of the terrace and headed to Main Street.

An older "hippyish" woman was walking her dog. She said hello to me. I told her I was visiting and that I graduated 20 years ago. We chatted. I handed her my camera and asked her to shoot a photo of me. She got nervous. I think she was so trapped in her hippy days she had no idea how to shoot with a digital camera. But she took a nice picture.

I grabbed some Gourmet Pizza. Man, I ate it at around noon. In the old days, I would have eaten it around 4:00 a.m. It was one of our stops on the way home from our weekend or weekday bar hopping. It is still delicious. Even when you’re sober.

I strolled down Main Street and passed Ariel Dental Car. Back in the day, Ariel’s was the off campus, I believe cash only bookstore. Years later, it turned into Border’s. We know what happened to them. Now it is a dental center.

I hiked up to campus. I came upon Old Main and a few other buildings. I was so happy. I walked by Shango, “Go Shango”. Many of friends resided in this hall. I took a walk to the parking lot. That’s for another post. Or not.

I was in all my glory being home at New Paltz. Those days mean so much to me. As I walked along the beautiful campus there were many tours going on. Tons of high school students were there with their parents seeing the school for the first time. I hope not the last time.

I walked into the Lecture Center and strolled into the room where I took World War Two with Professor Lee. Then I walked into the adjacent building and walked next to the room where I took Israel in World Politics with “Lew the Jew”. That was Dr. Brownstein. The class was nearly all-Jewish kids. Lots of really cute girls were in that course. Us dumb partying students called it the “Jew Class”. Man we were immature.

I made my way into the Sojourner Truth Library. They are doing lots of renovations. The Quiet Study Hall is now the Media Center. They moved the Quiet Study Hall downstairs. The private study rooms now require a key to use. They are the size of closets. I used to study in there. One day, I was so hung over, I went to my first class. Then had an hour break between classes. I tried to study in one of the little closets. I put my head down and woke up around 7 hours later.

I kept going and went to the Dorsky Art Museum. That wasn’t there when I was a student. I looked at some beautiful pieces of art. I walked out and heard one of the tour guides pointing out the science building and saying the planetarium is in there. I don’t remember it. Not sure if it was there when I was a student. But I was so spaced out anyway. I didn’t need one.

I walked into the Student Union Building. I visited New Paltz Nov. 2003. The campus was very different than when I went there. But this building was still pretty much the same. Boy did it change.

I walked in on the second floor and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. I strolled over to where the Activities Assistants live. For about a year, I lived in one of those rooms. I think it was Room # 425 or 427. I did a mental map. I can remember the neighbors we had. Oh, I was not an activities assistant. I just crashed with one.

Anyway, I went down to the Food Court. It is now called the Hawk’s Nest. The food still looks gross. But the eateries changed. Outside of it is still some salad place and now two lounges that used to be the bookstore. That moved downstairs. By the salad store was also the area where I used to pick up my New York Times and flowers for whatever girl I was with. They always got lots of stuff from me.

I walked into the lounge. They were using it as a registration center for the tours. They asked me if I was interested in going to New Paltz. I loved it. I told them I graduated 20 years ago. We joked around for a few minutes and I was on my way down to the bookstore.

I went down to the bookstore and bought some t-shirts, a hat and winter hat for my nephew.

Then I exited the SUB and crossed the Gunk via Bridge #1. Don’t worry, fellow TEPs, I bowed before I crossed the bridge and said, the “Bridgebuilder”. I even made a few students shoot photos of me doing this.

The Gunk now has a sprinkler near Bridge #1. I don’t remember that when I was there. My eyes opened wide when I saw Crispell Hall. My college life started there. I walked in and saw the Resident Assistants. We chatted for a few minutes.

The dorm was completely renovated about a year ago. My suite is gone. All of the old suites are gone. The old payphone is gone. Well that was gone one night at about 4:00 a.m. One of my friend’s bros came to visit us for the weekend. He kicked the phone off the wall. Maybe it is better that my suite is gone. Who knows what the walls would say if they could talk? They saw me at my best and worst of times. At least this hall is still a 24-hour quiet study hall. Not that it was ever quiet.

I exited my old hall and went into Hasbrouck Dining Hall. Oscars or the Rat is gone. It became Hawk Street Station. But is now closed. There’s a little late night convenience store next to it. You can buy chips and soda.

I walked up the steps to the Hasbrouck Dining Hall. The place looks the same. Some minor changes took place. But it is still pretty much the same. It still smells the same. The food still looks nasty. I worked in that establishment during my school years. I was the B&C guy, beverages and condiments. I refilled the salad bar and the soda machines. Sometimes I slopped food on people’s plates or washed dishes. Once the cart with all the dishes fell on me. Oil splattered all over me.

It was not pretty. I got a few burns and spent the next day in a few doctors’ offices at home on Staten Island.

I left the dining hall and went to Bevier Hall. That’s another one of my residence halls. That one has not yet been renovated. It looks the same. I walked in and asked to take a look around the staff, said, “We usually let the tour guides do that. Did you get lost on the tour?” I said, no, “I graduated in 1992 and used to live here”. They thought I was one of the high school kids checking out the campus. Cool. They wouldn’t let me stroll through the building Bevier was a party hall. Funny, the quiet study hall staff had no cares about me walking around. The party building staff was careful.

I crossed Bridges Two and Three. Yes, I bowed. I walked to Bridge # Four. There were some kids smoking on it. Nothing legal. Years, I ago I had my moments smoking on it, too. But it was not cigarettes or pot. We were smoking. But hey, like the Shango lot, that’s for another post. Or not.

I went to what’s left of the Tripping Fields. Most of that section is a now new residence hall. I went to the gym. They built a brand new one. The old one is still connected to the new one. It looks like a trendy health club.

I strolled around a little more. I passed by Bliss Hall, which during my days was the only all female dorm. Of course, at about two in the morning when they did fire drills many guys walked out of the dorm. So much for it really being an all female dorm. On paper it was. Maybe they wanted to get the guys out of there.

I passed the other Halls that were there when I was a student. Hung out at the Gunk one more time and walked back to Main Street to P&G’s. I hung out at the bar for a while and left. While I was there, the bar was full of the townies. About three or four hours later the place would be mad packed with students. I wonder if they still play the same tape? Every weekend they played one tape with the same songs. I just made that mix on iTunes. It features the Beatles, U2, Jimi Hendrix, Billy Joel, Elton John and a few others.

Sadly, P&G’s no longer has live entertainment when the college kids are there getting wasted.

I left P&G’s walked down Main Street. I went back to my car at South Side and waved goodbye. I drove home to Boy and October.

Man how I miss that place. I need to get back up there with my brothers and sisters. Go TEP and DPHIE. I love you all.

Oh, I called it “Fudd Goes back to School” because my pledge name is, Fudd.

Sachsenhausen Memorial

I’ve wanted to write this. Yet I’ve been reluctant. At the end of the summer, I spent a few weeks in Russia and Germany. I knew when I was in Berlin; I was going to go to the Jewish Museum. I did some Googling and found out that the “model concentration” camp, Sachsenhausen was about an hour from Berlin. When I say model, when the Nazis built it they claimed it was the architectural model of future camps. In other words, the other ones would be built based on the way his one was constructed. Tears are literally coming out of my eyes, as I type. For weeks, I debated whether I was going to go. I researched every tour on Google. I emailed all of the tour guides. Finally, I settled on the one I’d take. But for weeks, I was not willing to enter my credit card information to reserve a spot. But I did. I arrived in Berlin from St. Petersburg. I spent the first day in the Jewish Museum. I spent hours there. Parts of it were magical. It illustrated all the great things we did and how we really are the chosen people. Then it turned dark. I knew that would happen. Eventually, I made it over to Checkpoint Charlie and well felt the greatest sense of American pride that I’ve felt in well, far too many years. That’s for another blog post. The next morning I woke up and walked to the meeting place near the Brandenburg gate. I was there very early and spent some time at the Denkmal für die ermordeten Juden Europas (Memorial for Murdered Jews of Europe). I walked through it and left some rocks on the stones. They weren’t graves. But there is no solid explanation of why the artist built the memorial the way he did. There are many stories. But one’s imagination runs wild when they walk these grounds. At least mine did. Some say that was the artist’s intent. I walked over to my tour’s meeting place at Starbucks. The tour guide told me where to purchase my train ticket. I did. It so irked me that I was taking a train to visit a concentration camp. Actually, that’s one of the reasons; it took me so long to reserve a spot on the tour. It would be my first ride on a German train. As we made our way down the steps to the platform, I was really nervous. Yes, I ride the NYC subway everyday. But this was different. Much cleaner. However, it was very different. We boarded the train. I sat down next to the guide and her dad, who visiting from Down Under. The group were all English-speaking Americans. People started chatting. Not me. My mind drifted. Yes, I was an on a very clean, fairly empty fast moving subway. But in my mind, I was on a jammed packed train loaded with Jews being taken to the camp. That’s all I thought of. I did look up at times and enjoyed the scenery. It was beautiful. But my mind kept drifting back to the concentration camp train car on display at Yad Vashem. My mind was filled with images of the millions of people taken from their homes, families and lives, as they knew them. The train stopped. We were going to walk to the camp. That is the way the Jews and other prisoners were brought to Sachsenhausen. They were marched in from the train. But we took a bus. I have never been on a bus more crowded than the one we boarded in Orangeburg. The camp was two or three stops away. I couldn’t move while standing on the bus. I could barely breathe. My mind was spinning. We pushed our way off the bus and walked a few blocks. All of a sudden the giant wall, which was the entrance, hit me in the face. We walked in. The guide pointed toward the bathrooms. We all took a bathroom break and walked around the “welcome center”. That was built when the camp became a tourist attraction. Concentration camps had no welcome centers. No one was welcome there. No one was welcome to be there. We learned on our tour that the prisoners were only allowed to use the bathroom upon wake up time, right before bed and sometimes during the work breaks. But work breaks rarely occurred. I never thought how lucky I was to be able to walk into a restroom. We started walking along the main road. We saw the training ground for the SS. Then we saw the Commandants Mess Hall. Prisoners cooked and served their food. We continued our walk. Shortly, we arrived at the Registration Field. It was at this site where whatever belongings the people were able to bring were confiscated. It was here where their identities were confiscated. They were given prison camp uniforms. Tall people got small sized uniforms. Short people got giant-sized ones. Heavy and skinny people received the opposite of their size. This was done to embarrass them. Their heads were shaved. They received their ID numbers. Each prisoner’s uniform had symbolic color codes according to why they were there. Jews were yellow, communists were red and gays were pink. There were other prisoners too. But the Jews were the lowest of the low. We then went to the work fields. It was here where the prisoners slaved all day from the wee hours of the morning in the latest hours of the night. We heard stories about the “neutral zones”. Nothing was neutral. They once took. Well most probably more than once took a prisoner’s hat and tossed it into this zone. Of course, they weren’t allowed in. But they were ordered to go. They were shot on site if they went in to get their hats or if they refused orders to go in. We were walking along and just gazing at these giant fields and imagining the terror that occurred. I felt so embarrassed to be munching on my cheese and tomato sandwich and sipping my bottled water. I ate more food and drunk more water in the span of an hour or two than what the prisoners got in weeks. I took small bites and walked along. We saw the guard towers. We walked to the Jewish barracks. Most of the barracks were destroyed after the Soviets liberated the camp. When it was decided to memorialize the camp, some were rebuilt out of the scraps of what was left. I went into two of the barracks. Horrifying. They had two tiny washbasins for dozens of inmates who slept on the most uncomfortable bunk beds. There was no privacy. They had rows of toilets lined up next to the washbasins. People drowned in the basins. Multiple people were forced to bathe at once. These basins could barely fit one person. Yet they made 8 or more squeeze in. We exited the barracks and entered the prison. Then we went to the kitchen. They had a giant potato basin. Often they put kitchen workers in the basin with ice-cold water to freeze them to death. There was some graffiti painted in the basement. Allegedly, “sympathetic” Nazis let it stay. A kitchen worker, who was a Jewish prisoner tried to sneak out with the equivalent of a half a stick of margarine. A guard caught him. The poor man was forced to sit in the tub of margarine and eat as much as he could. He was then taken outside and other prisoners jumped up and down on his stomach. He was then hung to a gallows. They let him off and went through this procedure again. It went on all night. They then hung him up again. The next morning the guards found his corpse hanging off the gallows. We then saw the memorial the Soviets erected for liberating the camp. We got to think about the liberation for only a moment. We were led to Station Z, the execution site. I walked along the entrance to the firing squad. Then we entered the “Examination Rooms”. No one performing the examinations were MDs or RNs. Jews and others were examined for gold fillings and other things. Experiments were performed. Then the people were brought to the ovens. At first the Nazis sold the ashes of those they killed to their families. Eventually they were gassing so many people at once they had no clue whose ashes were whose. As we walked out of the crematorium I saw a memorial. It was filled with Yazhreit candles and on the base was the Israeli flag. Our guide informed us that about two weeks before a group of Israelis toured the camp and led a Yizkor service in the crematorium. We walked out of this awful place and wound up in front of one of the many ash pits. Here is where thousands of Jews, gays, communists and other Nazi prisoners were buried. More and more ash pits are being discovered. We went into the pathology lab and saw the examination tables where the so-called “doctors” performed tests on thousands of Jews. Funny considering we were considered the inferior race they did many tests to “learn” how to save people. They saved no one. We exited the camp and walked back to the train station. Most of us purchased ice cream or a soda. We boarded the train and went back to Berlin. We were lucky we got to go on the train and were free to get off at whatever stop we wanted. Nothing is sicker than what I saw. I never felt more relieved when I freely walked out. Thousands of people never walked out.

May Hashem watch over their souls'.

B”H

Camp

Camp

Today, I spent the day at the American Museum of Natural History (AMHN). I got there at about 1:00 p.m. There were tons of camp groups wandering through the museum. I knew this would happen. This would piss off some museum goers. But I loved it.

I wandered through the mammal’s wing. A bunch of kids stood in front of the wolves. They shrieked, “Wolf”. They all tapped on the glass and yelled, “You can’t get me”. They all smiled and went to the next exhibit.

Most of these kids were day campers. I did see a group wearing t-shirts that said their camp hailed from the “Old Dominion” state. Maybe they were on trip in into the City that Never Sleeps.

I too, went to camp. Camp Chappegat (aka “Chappy Hill), part of Ten Mile River Scouts Camps, located in Narrowsburg, N.Y. Mine was summer camp. I lived there for many weeks during my summer. It was the greatest experience of my life. Nothing can replace. I was 12 when arrived on the Hill. Sometimes I still feel like I am 12, and on the Hill. I made more lifelong friends than I can ever count. I still speak to dozens of them everyday.

So while these kids in the AMNH were on a camp field trip, I thought back to the trips we took. We went on many. Yeah, we went to Hall of Fame in Cooperstown to pay our respects to team that the building was built for, the 27-Time World Champions. We went to Callicoon to bowl. We went to Action Park. I fell off the Alpine Slide. It was painful. And, who can forget our, Super Week banquet in El Monaco’s. Man how I miss the red sauce.

We enjoyed these trips. But I must say and I surely hope my fellow “Scouuuuuuts” will agree that our best trips were the ones we did right in the vicinity of our blessed camp.

We had bog hikes. What could be more fun than playing in a bog? We went to Father Meyers Swimming Hole. It had a giant tree with a rope tied around it. We climbed up the tree and grabbed the rope. We swung on it, until we fell into the swimming hole. We swam around a little and climbed right back up our tree.

On Saturdays we had leanto inspections and hiked out to Bob Landers. Most of us had the two hamburgers, fries and soft drink special. Then we hiked to the Delaware and Ten Mile Rivers to swim. We hiked back up to our beloved hill. We had a great BBQ and then our famous campfires. We had skits that would have won more Tony’s than any Broadway drama or musical. We were that talented.

TMR is huge. We went on many hikes. My favorites were lead by an alumnus. He used to come up and stay on the Hill each summer for about three weeks. He used to teach me all sorts of things about the camp. He became my mentor. I still consider him my leader.

He would take us to D-1. His camp. On the way, he would point out historic sites, the dining hall, old cabins and other stuff. Sadly, None of these buildings remain. Well one was actually moved to our Camp Museum in headquarters. He took us to the “Asshole”.

The Asshole is two large rocks with openings that resemble, the aforementioned. I visited about three summers ago. It is still there.

We went on other great trips in camp. We went to the old saw mill, we hiked through closed down sites and dreamed of what went on there.

Sadly, camp Chappy closed after 1988. But everyday, especially during the summer, I still dream about the fun we had there. Oh Chappy, boy do I miss you.


I would love to carry a scouuuuuuts’ trunk up the hill.
CH CH CH AP AP AP EG EG EG AT, Chappegat, Chappegat, Yeah Chappegat.

There are places I remember

There are places I remember “There are places I remember, though some have changed.” I think we all have those places. But only a select few have the Hill: Chappegat Hill (Chappy). It is located in Ten Mile River Scout Camp, Narrowsburg, N.Y. At one time it had been its own camp. When I was there it was part of Camp Kunatah. Chappy closed after the summer of ’88. Kunatah closed several years later. TMR is still running. But not at the capacity it used to. A few weeks ago, a brush fire hit Chappy. Other areas north of the hill were also hit. None of us Chappy campers knew the extent of the damage. We were told the man-made structures (there were not many left) survived. A few days ago, someone known as my leader went up to camp to do some work for the TMR Museum. Naturally, he went to Chappy. A visit to TMR is not a visit if you don’t spend time on the Hill. He saw first hand how this brush fire devastated the remains of the childhood stomping grounds of countless Scouts. He reported back to the individual that served as the chairman of the Troop committee and assistant scoutmaster during the summer camp season. Immediately an email was sent to our scoutmaster and myself. We were devastated. Within a few hours our, ASM sent an email to dozens of former campers. Now some of us are still in touch with each other on a daily basis. Some of us haven’t been in touch in years. But as soon at that email went out everyone was in tears. For us, Chappy is where we grew up. Hundreds upon hundreds of emails flew. We were all devastated. We all started talking about our favorite Chappy moments. These moments included famous camp sayings, activities and more important our teen friendships. I brought up my memories of being the camp vampire. I used to stay up all night. Very often, I would sit at the picnic table by the Palace (the office) in the wee hours of the night. We talked about our famous dead fish fights on our canoe trips. You see our SM would pile up dead fish into his canoe. Anyone who paddled by was fair game to be whacked in the head, chest, or limbs with a dead fish. Other memories included movie night usually the mindless 80s movies. Of course, I own many of them and watch them religiously. We talked about our famous Action Park trips. I fell off the Alpine slide in ’86. We talked about the red stuff that our favorite Italian restaurant, El Monaco’s, poured onto everything, even the salad. The red stuff was their marinara sauce. Across from El Monaco’s was Candy Cone. A cute little ice cream shack with two broken video games. I visited in 1999. It was still the same. Sadly, these places, like our Hill are gone. In 1984, I scored the winning run for the Sigh Figh Space Gators patrol. We won the softball game and that run put us over the top and made us the Chappy Olympic champs. I still have my Gold Medal. In ’85 a few campers and I made much fun of the kid that used to eat his feet. To punish us, our SM made us clean up the whole blow out party. We spent the night cleaning the dining hall and scrubbing lots of pots. We had a great time. Over the last few days, we all shared timeless memories. Of course one particular area we talked about was the latrine. The camp staff torched the precious latrine shortly after camp closed. But in our minds it is still our hub. One camper spent his entire summer sitting on his seat. It was his social network. This was way before Facebook or Linkedin. Well I can go on for thousands of pages. But you get the point. We love camp. We are saddened by the recent turn of events. But maybe it is for the better. We are not there anymore. Our memories will live forever. Nature will rebuild this beautiful site. One day, some of us will take our kids to see where we grew up. It’ll look different. But our spirit will be felt.

There are places I remember “There are places I remember, though some have changed.” I think we all have those places. But only a select few have the Hill: Chappegat Hill (Chappy). It is located in Ten Mile River Scout Camp, Narrowsburg, N.Y. At one time it had been its own camp. When I was there it was part of Camp Kunatah. Chappy closed after the summer of ’88. Kunatah closed several years later. TMR is still running. But not at the capacity it used to. A few weeks ago, a brush fire hit Chappy. Other areas north of the hill were also hit. None of us Chappy campers knew the extent of the damage. We were told the man-made structures (there were not many left) survived. A few days ago, someone known as my leader went up to camp to do some work for the TMR Museum. Naturally, he went to Chappy. A visit to TMR is not a visit if you don’t spend time on the Hill. He saw first hand how this brush fire devastated the remains of the childhood stomping grounds of countless Scouts. He reported back to the individual that served as the chairman of the Troop committee and assistant scoutmaster during the summer camp season. Immediately an email was sent to our scoutmaster and myself. We were devastated. Within a few hours our, ASM sent an email to dozens of former campers. Now some of us are still in touch with each other on a daily basis. Some of us haven’t been in touch in years. But as soon at that email went out everyone was in tears. For us, Chappy is where we grew up. Hundreds upon hundreds of emails flew. We were all devastated. We all started talking about our favorite Chappy moments. These moments included famous camp sayings, activities and more important our teen friendships. I brought up my memories of being the camp vampire. I used to stay up all night. Very often, I would sit at the picnic table by the Palace (the office) in the wee hours of the night. We talked about our famous dead fish fights on our canoe trips. You see our SM would pile up dead fish into his canoe. Anyone who paddled by was fair game to be whacked in the head, chest, or limbs with a dead fish. Other memories included movie night usually the mindless 80s movies. Of course, I own many of them and watch them religiously. We talked about our famous Action Park trips. I fell off the Alpine slide in ’86. We talked about the red stuff that our favorite Italian restaurant, El Monaco’s, poured onto everything, even the salad. The red stuff was their marinara sauce. Across from El Monaco’s was Candy Cone. A cute little ice cream shack with two broken video games. I visited in 1999. It was still the same. Sadly, these places, like our Hill are gone. In 1984, I scored the winning run for the Sigh Figh Space Gators patrol. We won the softball game and that run put us over the top and made us the Chappy Olympic champs. I still have my Gold Medal. In ’85 a few campers and I made much fun of the kid that used to eat his feet. To punish us, our SM made us clean up the whole blow out party. We spent the night cleaning the dining hall and scrubbing lots of pots. We had a great time. Over the last few days, we all shared timeless memories. Of course one particular area we talked about was the latrine. The camp staff torched the precious latrine shortly after camp closed. But in our minds it is still our hub. One camper spent his entire summer sitting on his seat. It was his social network. This was way before Facebook or Linkedin. Well I can go on for thousands of pages. But you get the point. We love camp. We are saddened by the recent turn of events. But maybe it is for the better. We are not there anymore. Our memories will live forever. Nature will rebuild this beautiful site. One day, some of us will take our kids to see where we grew up. It’ll look different. But our spirit will be felt.

First Game of the Season

We all have something we’ve been counting down the days till it arrives. Let me preface this by saying, I am super active. I see two-four Broadway shows per month. I regularly hit all the top museums. The Guggenheim is my fave. But nothing beats my first game of the season. I’ve been dreaming of this since the day, I paid Ticketmaster the ridiculous but mandated service charge. Well today I got there. As the four went above ground heading toward 161 Street, my heart pounded and my blood rushed with excitement. I knew I was getting to the Stadium. For those of that don’t know me. Or don’t know me well. I am a very ritualistic person. It could stem from Judaism. Or very likely stems from the rituals I participated in the Order of the Arrow when I grew up. I’m not sure if did or ever will. But that’s for another post. But I realized as I went down the stairs in the train station, I probably started my first traditions in the House that Ruth built. At each game, I eat a variety of foods. But according to tradition, I must eat them in a certain order. My eating habits depend on the inning. The required food must be finished by the bottom of the prescribed inning. My mother once said, I have more traditions than, Tevye. Today, I realized I even walk down the same flight of stairs off the platform at 161 Street. I exit through one of two turnstiles and always climb up the same flight of stairs to exit the station. Upon exiting the station, I took my usual gaze at the Stadium. Then I crossed the street to walk on hallowed grounds, the site where the real Stadium, the House that Ruth Built lived. It opened April 18, 1923. Babe Ruth inaugurated it with its first home run. Yeah, he made the stadium’s first error that day. Even the most important ballplayer in the sport’s history was human. After they tore down the world’s holiest sports venue, they promised to build a park with baseball fields on its soil. That park is now open. I watched a little bit of some little league games and walked over to the park. There were some kids on the playground. They probably weren’t even born when the Stadium stood. I hope their parents told them what was on the grounds of their park. I strolled into the new Stadium. I went to Monument Park and saluted the baseball greats, Ruth, Gehrig, the Clipper, Martin, Mantle, the Scooter and many more. As mentioned, I have required eating habits. This dates to my first game in ’77 with my dad. The Yankees won it all that year. We had hot dogs, knishes and Pepsis. To this day, I must eat that and finish it by the conclusion of the first inning. At times finding potato products had been tough. I used to bring Wise chips. But in the new Stadium you can find more potatoes than you ever wanted. Fries are prevalent. But at a ballgame, I want a knish. I knew the Glatt stands had greasy ones. I came up a different ramp than usual. Oh, how I get toward my seat makes no difference. It is not part of the tradition. You must have some freewill. My eyes zone in on some people in Stadium concession stand uniforms wearing tzitzits. You don’t have to be Vulcan to make the logical deduction that they would be manning the Glatt stands. I hiked over, got my hot dog and knish. They were super nice. They gave me a small paper cup to fill up by the water fountain adjacent from their stand for Netilat Yadayim (hand washing prior to eating bread). I bought my Stadium cup Pepsi, peanuts, washed and hiked over to my seat. I dove into my hot dog, knish and chugged my soda. As usual, I finished with about 30 minutes before the fist pitch. We all stood for the National Anthem. As it played, I looked up at the sky. My mind was filled with images of a photo of my grandfather wearing his U.S. Army Officer’s uniform. I can’t believe June 26 will be his first Yazhreit. On that fateful day, I was sitting in the Stadium at Old Timer’s Day when for some reason, I walked away from my seat during the bottom of the first. I rarely leave my seat until the end of the fifth. I saw I had a VM from mom. I played it. She frantically said, “Call me”. I did. I got the news. Today’s game began, C.C. pitched really well. Jeter, Granderson, Jones and even A-Rod made the pinstripes proud. Thanks to them, we didn’t even need to play Enter Sandman. I finished the game with all of my traditions and caught the four. I will be attending 6 more games. I hope I am 7-0. More important is my dream of our four game sweep of the NL team on Oct. 28, in the fall classic. This will happen.

ELEM: Active to Proactive

Active to Proactive

March 20, 2012


As a passenger in the first car to arrive at Lenore Ruben’s stunning Hamptons home, I was excited for what was ahead of me. We walked up to the front door and were greeted by Lenore, the founder/president of ELEM/YOUTH in Distress in Israel, who was taking care of some last minute things to wake the house up from its winter sleep.

The fireplace was lit. Our great chefs headed to the kitchen and began to make our Shabbat dinner. Candles were lit, wine was poured and were off to a tantalizing dinner of tilapia, chicken, salads and lots of other good stuff. Thanks, Guy and Shira for taking the lead and making everyone happy.

After dinner, we sat by the warmth of the fireplace. Rinat led us in a “get to know you”, Bingo game. We found out all sorts of tidbits about each other to make us closer. For example, the Lion, former Sen. Ted Kennedy, personally handled one of our activists’ visa problems. Most of us probably knew who began talking at 9 months. The night continued on. We all just sat and chatted. Eventually, we went to bed. Nothing is better than summer camp style sleeping. In other words, air mattresses were scattered about the floor.

We woke up to a breakfast that could have fed the masses at any hotel. Once again, our chefs prepared a dazzling feast that included, French toast, bagels, salads, juices and eggs.

Rinat directed us outdoors to Lenore’s spacious yard, where we conducted our warm up games. We spent some time forming pyramids. The geometry got a little tough for a moment. But we did it. We tossed a ball or two around and played catch. But we had rules on how we had to approach our games of catch.

The views we were treated to were spectacular. The swans swimming in the lake looked so peaceful. To the happiness of some, we went back inside where it was a bit warmer. We continued to play our trust building games.

Rinat challenged us to answer what our goals were for our group. We all agreed we want to raise awareness about our mission in order to provide more help for distressed Jewish and Arab Israeli youth.

Our challenges continued. One of our activists stood in the middle of our circle and had to free fall into the circle. It reminded me of my old fraternity days. But much credit goes to Rinat for making this more civil. We were not free fallin’ while blindfolded off the top row of the bleachers on SUNY New Paltz’s “Tripping Fields”.

But rest assured, we were shortly blindfolded. One of us was blindfolded. The other was not. We had to guide each other from various points and avoid the many obstacles, while trying to find candy. The games continued.

We did a few other exercises and then got into a contentious discussion about ELEM-Entry's structure and the way some things are run.

Let’s face it, no family gathering is free of contention. But if we didn’t care about and believe in each other we probably wouldn’t have gotten as angry. We were just trying to come to some agreements. Hey, it is human nature to have these squabbles. Every volunteer group has them.

We had a brief break. Following it, we were treated to an amazing selection of hot dogs, beef kabobs, Asian chicken and much more. We were well fed before we took the stage.

We got to try our hand at drawing in a take of everyone’s favorite drawing game, Pictionary. We got to dress up and act out a few scenes. Once the opening acts concluded, “dress up” Karaoke night began.

After a debate about song selection, my team picked Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy”. Our song and dance routine scored the maximum twenty points. It was well way too sexy for paper or my shirt…

Bedtime arrived. I was lucky enough to wake up super early and watch the sun rise over the lake.

Thanks, Lenore for once again lending us your space. More important, thanks for being there with us and sharing your inputs and observations.

The inspiring retreat ended. But what didn’t end, was the goal of strengthening ELEM-Entry to make many children’s lives better. We have our work cut out for us. But with the teamwork we’ve been building there’s no doubt we can hit that

101-Depeche Mode

101

Earlier today, I sat on the couch and watched my Depeche Mode 101 DVD. That’s the concert documentary that DM put out in ’89. It features the amazing tunes they played during the Music for the Masses tour.

As, I heard Dave Gahan’s voice sing “Master & Servant”, I was blasted back to the day when life was simpler and in some ways more fun. In some ways it was not. We still have our masters and servants.

Watching Martin L Gore’s solo of “Somebody” brings the same depression I had when he sung that tune, while I was wishing for somebody back in high school.

Depeche Mode is one of the bands that will always remain honest and current. Their songs will always touch one’s heart and soul. Whether, you’re traveling down “Route 66”, worrying about “Blasphemous Rumors”, worried that “Everything Counts “ (I sure do) or “Just Can’t Get Enough”.

I remember listening to their cassettes nonstop and making Depeche Mode mixes for my car. In one of my autos the tape deck was on its dying days. The only tape it played flawlessly was a Depeche Mode mix. The same thing happened years later in another vehicle’s CD player.

I remember wearing all black. Well that hasn’t completely changed. I’ve seen them dozens of times. I once waited hours on a line at the now defunct Tower Records to meet them. That was in 2004. They signed one of their new releases.

I got about 90 seconds to talk to Andrew Fletcher, Martin and David. I remember begging Martin to play songs from Speak and Spell (even though) that was really a Vince Clarke, a DM founder who left after their first release. He founded Yaz, ran and has thankfully found a home in Erasure. I discovered this band in the health lodge at T.M.R. I wasn’t the sick one. I was with one of my campers who needed to be in that awful place. We had some strange nurses.

Anyway, back to my conversations with DM. I continued to beg them to go back to around 1984. They just smiled and said we’ll think about it. I saw them a few days later at the Garden. They didn’t take my requests. But they dazzled us anyway.
While, I was sitting outside of Tower Records, I chatted with a cute girl, who was at least 10 years younger than me. She was a 90s DM fan. I am a 80s DM fan. Well, I’m a fan of their music. But I gravitate to their 1980s tunes. This woman did the same for their 1990’s music. She was in love with Martin. She had a tattoo stating that. Her dream was for him to kiss her on it. Never happened. But she got meet him and couldn’t have been happier.

Another thing that flashed into my mind was the great way we dressed back then. I already mentioned all black. But we cropped our hair as close to our heads as we could. I used to bring in pictures of them and O.M.D. to my haircutter. I called him Professor Joe. He tried his best to make me look like them.

Eventually, I made it up to New Paltz. Us New Wavers used to go Berties in Poughkeepsie. We all had to wear bracelets saying we were under 21. But we wore our black outfits and danced all night to Depeche Mode, the Cure, the Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, New Order and the other greats from the 80s. I wasn’t a good dancer. That hasn’t changed.

Man I miss those days. If only we could all be “Stripped” down to the bone. In other words, speak just for me and make decisions without your television on.

So, “Now this is Fun”. “It is More than a Party”. As for me, I’m looking for a “Policy of Truth,” while doing my best to remember, “People are People”.

Subway

Subway

For millions of New Yorkers, the subway is our best friend. But it is also our number one enemy. Yes, going underground is the most reliable, inexpensive form of transportation. With the exception of traveling to Staten Island, it can pretty much get you anywhere you want. I documented the horror of going there a few weeks ago.

There have been lots of budget cuts and track work. It seems the wait in between trains is a little longer. The trains are more crowded. But we are New Yorkers so we live with it. We complain about it.

How can we make subway travel more enjoyable? There are many ways. Bear in mind it is only in recent years that I would actually sit while riding the subway. I was always afraid of who would be sitting next to me. Not fearful of crime. I was fearful of another crime, body odor. Another crime is the sound of awful music blasting from one’s iPod.

Perfect example, the other day, I sat on the train and was completely zoned into the New York Times magazine. Standing a few feet away from me was a woman in her forties. She was loudly humming to the trash that she was listening to.
It happens everyday. I kept on reading. Then she sat next to me. My reading enjoyment ceased. I am not sure if this woman ever showered. Boy did she smell. I finished my magazine and jumped out of my seat.

I walked a few feet away in the train’s car and could breathe. I did hold my nose until I finished reading. But now, I was happy again. The R-train pulled into 49th Street. I was happy to get off. I normally walk like a racecar. But for some reason I chose to walk slowly. Perhaps I was so much calmer because I was nowhere near the smelly humming lady.

I proceeded toward the turnstiles. I was aghast when I heard her awful humming. I looked behind me. The woman was only two footsteps away. I kicked my walk into high gear. I raced through the turnstiles, up the steps and was on 49th Street and home free.

We’ve all experienced this. My suggestions to make subway travel more enjoyable are to create cars for people with annoying habits, i.e. singing, cutting their nails, dancing and preaching. Of course there should be cars for smokers. Yes, I know smoking has been banned from the trains for many years. This vile habit should continue to be off limits. Those that choose to enjoy their cancer sticks before swiping their MetroCards should be forced to ride separately from nonsmokers.
Did you ever sit next to a smoker on the train? They have the “smoker body odor”. It is gross. Sometimes you wind up smelling like smoke, too.

Anyway, it is time to go. I have a train to catch.

Email

EMAIL

Feb. 14, 2012


Do we still need it? Have the ways we’ve used it changed? Yes to both questions.

About 18 years ago, I got my first email address. It seems like that was the dark ages. These days’ three-year-old kids have email addresses. The more advanced ones Tweet.

I remember when I used to stay up and converse with friends via email. In many instances, I still do. Yes, IM is better. But at times it is just more fun to do it via EM. You can answer when you’re ready to. In fact today, my summer camp friends and I exchanged about 150 emails. Some of us are into it. Some are not into it.

Some have to respond to every single email. I used to be that way. But thankfully, I’ve discovered the delete key. These days email is so overused. I get much more junk electronic mail than snail mail. I am happy I have a good spam blocker.

So let me ask my readers. How do you use email? Do you respond to each one received? Do you always hit reply all?

Do you get annoyed when you get cut off from group emails? Do you wonder why some people only respond when emailed by certain people and just cc you? Do you still pick up the phone? Or do you just communicate electronically?

Do you ever wonder when many people are involved in a project only a few people join the electronic conversation?

Send your thoughts.

Staying Connected

Staying Connected

Do you remember the Stereo MCs? A one hit wonder band that hit it big with the tune, Connected back in something like 91. I remember partying to it in New Paltz. I have the CD.

The song sings about making sure you are connected. My question is are we to connected? I’m on Facebook, Linkedin.com, Twitter and other social media sites. Please don’t get me wrong I love them all.

When Facebook first started to accept the general public, I resisted for a while. Then I got an email saying your friends ….. want you to join. They paired them together. Call it the odd couple. One is a Chabad rabbi. The other is a former co-worker, a bleached blonde from Fla. Just picture it. Long beard, pais, white shirt, Florida beach girl.

I joined. How could I resist? Facebook has helped me reacquaint myself with friends from Tau Epsilon Phi, P.S. 209, P.S. 36, and old jobs.

Several ex-girlfriends sent me messages on Linkedin.com and Facebook. One said, “hi, I hope you don’t mind getting a request from me”. I really didn’t care. Many girls I dated are friends with me on all the social media sites. One introduced me to a friend of hers. It didn’t work. But she tried.

But are we to connected? I so think so. When I first joined Facebook and Twitter, I put up messages saying, “can’t you write something more interesting than I’m doing laundry or sipping a diet Coke”? Within minutes over hundred people wrote back to me saying guess what? I’m doing laundry and sipping a diet Coke. Like I really care.

Fall 2010-early winter, the cute girl I dated was Twitter obsessed. Every date we were on, she’d be like I’m sorry, I have to tweet this. I just saw something come in about this and that and like whatever. I gotta Tweet it. We even went to a tweet party in a bar. We all sat there ate some food, donated a gift or two for a needy child so they could have a better holiday season. People got up and talked about tweeting. Of course they multi-tasked. They tweeted while they were speaking.

Were we better off before these applications? No. They are very valuable and have brought many people together. They’ve rekindled old friendships and created new ones. But it can be overwhelming. Do we really need to check our email and all the social medias sites 24/7?

Last night, I shut my computer off. Let lots of music play and finished a book. After posting this, I am going to do more reading.

Oh as for the Stereo MCs, they’ve been playing on iTunes and have been inspirational while I penned this.
Off to read a book.

ELEM Community Dinner, the Mizrahi House # 4
Supporting “Awake at Night”

February 5, 2012

Last night, 22 people arrived at the stunning Tenafly, N.J. home of ELEM activists, the Mizrahis. All were there to learn about ELEM's Awake at Night (Erim Balayla) program, which provides assistance to Israeli children and teenagers who are working as prostitutes, which is an ever-growing problem in Israel.

Around 8:00 p.m., the house, which should be featured in a photo spread in Better Homes & Gardens, filled up with lots of interesting young people eager to become more knowledgeable about ELEM’s charitable work. This was one of 7 locations across the NY metro area hosting a “Community Dinner”. It was my second and the organization’s fourth. It marked my one-plus year anniversary as an ELEM activist, which has been an enlightening experience. I only hope to do more.

Guests were welcomed by the amazing musicianship of Harvey Valdes who teased our ears with his oud all evening. Upon arriving, all were treated to a great selection of Barkan wines and great chatter about Awake at Night.

The night moved on and a sumptuous buffet style Moroccan feast was served. There was more food than you could imagine. Valdes’ music kept us smiling. As an activist, I got to walk the room and make small talk about ELEM’s incredible work. Yeah, chitchat ran from Broadway, art and music. But it always circled back to the Israeli kids in need and how we can help them.

Liat and Ifat took the “stage” and made dazzling speeches about the important work Awake at Night Does. For example, in 2010, the Tel Aviv operation treated 81 youth (from which 34 were new to Awake at Night), while Haifa operations treated 45 youth. The team is working on harm reduction mainly to minimizing threats to their health and livelihood of the youth (i.e.: providing condoms, physical check-ups and AIDS blood tests).

After their speech a DVD, which Avital worked so hard to create rolled. Our attendees got a bird’s eye view of how drastic the situation is and how much these children rely onto ELEM’s Awake at Night program for a better chance.

The night wound down. Everyone had a great time. Our honorable guests all opened their hearts. All made donations to support Awake at Night’s work. Many were so inspired they asked to be kept informed about our work. Hopefully we cultivated a few new activists.

Special thanks goes to Ronen and Violette for opening their generosity in opening their home to ELEM. Ronen’s speech was heartfelt. I’m anxiously wait to hear how my fellow activists Community Dinners turned out.

Alhaquot's Blog: Believe

Alhaquot's Blog: Believe: I Believe The title of today’s blog is monumental. Last Thurs., I attended the Yud Shevat Farbrengen at Anshe Shalom Chabad to commemorate...

Believe

I Believe

The title of today’s blog is monumental. Last Thurs., I attended the Yud Shevat Farbrengen at Anshe Shalom Chabad to commemorate the life of the previous Lubavitch Rebbe Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn on the date of his Yazhreit. At this time the Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson of righteous memory became the Rebbe and assumed the leadership of Chabad Lubavitch Worldwide.

When you hear the words, I believe no one has stronger beliefs and a more inspiring story than Rabbi Leibel Zisman, he and his brother, Berel are the sole survivors from their Kovno, Lithuania-based family. The rest perished in the Shoah.

Rabbi Zisman, the guest speaker at the gathering, told a story that moved the congregation, while simultaneously showed the true meaning of why life can be joyous and most important, why to believe.

He began discussing his early life. When he was 10 years old his dad took him to a Farbrengen led by the previous Rebbe. At the end his dad approached him and asked him to bless his son. He did. Dad danced with joy. When asked why he was dancing so happily? He responded that this blessing would protect his son throughout his life.

Protect him it did. He, his older brother who was also blessed traveled home and went about their lives. Sadly, one day the Germans invaded and their lives changed forever. The family lived in a ghetto for a period of time.

One day they and many others were rounded up and forced onto a cattle train. He spent the next years of his life in several camps, including Auschwitz-Birkenau. He told us how he was able to run away from vicious dogs the Nazis sent after him. We’ve all heard of dogfights. His story was the dogfight of dogfights. B”H for Rabbi Zisman’s strength and beliefs. He continued by telling us about his transfers to numerous camps. He was in five until the Americans arrived to end the war. He was one of 6 of a total of 131 children to survive from when they were originally herded onto a train.

The story that connected most with me was how he managed to put on his Teffilin almost the whole time. He even was able to give it out to the males. This mitzvah is so important.

You see he wound getting pair of Russian boots that were a bit big for him. But he was able to hide his pair of Teffilin in them and got to do the precious Mitzvah of wearing it almost daily. Eventually it was taken from him and destroyed.
The war ended and he wound up in Russia and one day he was summoned to an office, interrogated and led to his brother, who was waiting.

Shortly after he left Europe for America to begin his new life. He told some amazing stories about his arrival to Brooklyn, too.
He ended by telling us how his belief in the blessing he received from the previous Rebbe was his inspiration and kept him alive.
I was lucky enough to meet him and spend a few moments chatting with him. He signed a copy of his book, I Believe: The Story of One Jewish Life. About two weeks ago, I met two Terezin survivors and had a book signed. Last time, I had the woman make it out to my American name. This time, I had Rabbi Zisman make it out to my Hebrew name.

The story of his life and the women I met earlier give us all hope. Everyone must hear the stories told by these survivors. They are the most inspiring stories ever told.

I know I have a lot reading to do. But it will be more than worthwhile, I believe.

B”H

Friends or Defriending

Friends or Defriending
Sunday’s New York Times had a well-written story about friendships and how to end them. The real thing we need to think about is who are our friends and when were they our friends?

During the course of one’s lifetime friends come and go. But who are the real friends? I think in Chris Rock’s recent play Motherf**ker With the Hat hit it right on the head. Rock’s character made it clear that your friends are the ones you’ve had since an early age. The people you knew when you were in college and before.

I must say this is very true. But in my case, I am happy to report I’ve been fortunate enough to make a few lifelong friends in my mid-thirties. Both I met through my previous workplace. In one case, our respective companies had a tech partnership. The individual and I worked together on numerous PR announcements. Then spent a few days hanging out in the pressroom at the San Jose Convention Center during the famous VON show. We bonded. I miss those shows.

The other I met through marketing partnership my company did with Yahoo! during the holiday season. She was one of the cool, pretty people working our booth. I got to help her celebrate her birthday.

In the case of both of these people, I talk to them regularly. In one case, I’ve met the person’s family and have been to many family events. I even traveled to Jerusalem to attend her son’s Bar Mitzvah. The other person has visited me when she’s in NYC and we’ve hung out along our travels to Vegas or mine to the City of Angels. I wish they lived in NYC.

Of course, in the case of Rock’s character’s statement, my camp and college friends are a perfect example of what his character expressed. We grew up together. Some have known me since I was 12 and first hiked up the famous Hill, which you can’t beat. Not a day goes by when we don’t chat electronically and relive the years we spent in Chappy. While at the same time we create new memories and bizarre stories.

As for the fraternity crowd, I was with several of my brothers last weekend. Nothing’s changed. Yeah, some of us have grown up. Not sure anyone in the camp crowd has or will ever. But that’s what keeps us so tight. Back to the frat.

We spent that precious end of our teen year’s time to turning 21 together. We graduated and entered the “real” world. But we still remember what it was like on the Tripping Fields, the “delicious” food in the Rat, hangin’ in Thesis and going to classes.
I still chat with some of my elementary school friends on Facebook. But that’s about all we do. They are good people. It’d be neat to see them.

One thing I wonder is if I just met those people today would I befriend them? I think the answer in most cases is clearly yes. I think they are the people I trust and care about most.

Courtesy

Courtesy

There are some very courteous people in this world. Of course there are lots of discourteous people. Some are over courteous. Some are just sleazy.

The other day, I was walking home and came to street corner. The street had two lanes. The driver in the lane closest to me waved me on to cross. He clearly had the right of way. Yeah, he was being nice to me.

But I stood on the corner and did not go. He kept looking at me mouthing go. He was being nice. But the driver in the car next to him was revving her engine and raced right through. There was no way I was going to cross the street. One person was going to let me go. While the other would have made me road kill.

Let’s talk about another topic. Is it courteous or just plain cleanliness? Perhaps both. I’m hopeful we were all taught to wash our hands prior to leaving the bathroom. Sadly far too many people fail to that. I always do.

Let me point to two stories that should shed some light on this topic. About two years ago, a friend was visiting from the mid-Atlantic region. She brought her kids over to my dwelling. Her then three-year-old boy went to the bathroom. He got very nervous and started asking for the step stool so he could reach the faucet to wash his hands. I don’t have one. I can reach the faucet. He asked me to pick him up. I did. He washed his hands.

Same thing happened several months ago at one of my religious institutions. The cutest little three-year-old girl walked out of the bathroom. She asked for someone to pick her up by the ritual sink, so she could wash her hands. She couldn’t reach the faucet in the ladies room. But knew she had to wash her hands.

This same cutie often yells people at her home and in the shul to use forks when they take food out of the serving dishes to put on their plates. Then she’s reminds people not to eat with their hands. I never got yelled at.

The moral of the story is we could all learn a lot from toddlers. In many cases they are far more grown up than many of us.

Courtesy

Courtesy

There are some very courteous people in this world. Of course there are lots of discourteous people. Some are over courteous. Some are just sleazy.

The other day, I was walking home and came to street corner. The street had two lanes. The driver in the lane closest to me waved me on to cross. He clearly had the right of way. Yeah, he was being nice to me.

But I stood on the corner and did not go. He kept looking at me mouthing go. He was being nice. But the driver in the car next to him was revving her engine and raced right through. There was no way I was going to cross the street. One person was going to let me go. While the other would have made me road kill.

Let’s talk about another topic. Is it courteous or just plain cleanliness? Perhaps both. I’m hopeful we were all taught to wash our hands prior to leaving the bathroom. Sadly far too many people fail to that. I always do.

Let me point to two stories that should shed some light on this topic. About two years ago, a friend was visiting from the mid-Atlantic region. She brought her kids over to my dwelling. Her then 3 old boy went to the bathroom. He got very nervous and started asking for the step stool so he could reach the faucet to wash his hands. I don’t have one. I can reach the faucet. He asked me to pick him up. I did. He washed his hands.

Same thing happened several months ago at one of my religious institutions. The cutest little three-year-old girl walked out of the bathroom. She asked for someone to pick her up by the ritual sink, so she could wash her hands. She couldn’t reach the faucet in the ladies room. But knew she had to wash her hands.

This same cutie often yells people at her home and in the shul to use forks when they take food out of the serving dishes to put on their plates. Then she’s reminds people not to eat with their hands. I never got yelled at.

The moral of the story is we could all learn a lot from toddlers. In many cases they are far more grown up than many of us.

Alhaquot's Blog: No Day But Today: The fire's out anyway

Alhaquot's Blog: No Day But Today: The fire's out anyway: No Day But Today Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of the death of Jonathan Larson, the world’s greatest playwright. I found that out at a...

No Day But Today: The fire's out anyway

No Day But Today

Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of the death of Jonathan Larson, the world’s greatest playwright. I found that out at around 5:00 p.m. “I can’t believe his gone. He taught us how to love,” Tom Collins in reference to Angel. Jonathan Larson taught us all so much with his magical writing. I think he gave us hope.

Around 11:00 a.m. I got off the phone with Telecharge and was informed a seat was available at New World Stages to use my pass dated Rent ticket. I’ve seen the show both on and off-Broadway countless times. I own the movie. I’ve met Idina Menzel. I am sure I’ll see it again soon.

Yeah, I’m a Rent head. Every time I listen to or see it I learn something new. Very few things do that to me. Star Wars and Kevin Smith movies featuring, Jay and Silent Bob do. I have a tendency to think about these learned pieces of entertainment quite a bit.

Larson’s Tick Tick Boom so sets the scene. I loved that show, too. It is the the “pre-Rent”. Larson used to perform it himself. I was not lucky enough to see it. I saw it during the summer of 2001. It featured three great actors.

I’ve been lucky enough to sit and drink beer at the table, where Larson wrote the plays at in the Life Café. Yeah, I should have had wine, too. Then I could have had “Wine and Beer… Viva la Vie Boheme”. I’ll do that soon.

The story Rent tells and the family created in show is amazing. I’ve met so many people in my life who resemble someone from Rent. I totally identify with Mark.

“But who Mark are you? Mark is got his work? They say Mark lives for his work And Mark's in love with his work Mark hides in his work,” Roger.

The lines go on to discuss how Mark longs for a community of his own. I’m sure you know the rest.

Well, yeah, I think we all long for a community of our own. I have many communities. All are unique. I love them all. Sometime I’m not sure if I should just stick with one. However, I feel you are so much better off with a wide community. It is much richer learning and life experience. Perhaps, that’s why I’m the one of us to survive.

Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test

Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test: Dock Test If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were div...

Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test

Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test: Dock Test If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were div...

Scout Dock Test

Dock Test

If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were divided up based upon a scout’s ability to swim. We had non-swimmers, beginners and advanced.

On the first day of camp, our Chappy Scoutmaster Rodney would give us a tour of camp. It ended with the dock test. We started going down the muddy steps of the Hill. You can’t beat the Hill. We hiked through camp.

Rodney showed us the nature lodge, we went to the Kunatah Dining Hall, where we might have rocked-n-rolled or discombobulated. We stopped at the trading post for Bon Bons or a Coke.

Eventually, we made it down to Rock Lake. By the way, it rocks.

All of us eager scouts went up to the docks and gave our name to one of the dock guards. One by one we jumped into the lake and we were charged to swim three laps of any stroke. But were forced to conclude with the elementary backstroke. Then we had to tread water for about a minute, while holding the Scout sign and repeating the Scout Oath, Law Motto or some other scouting diatribe. Our dock tester decided what we would do.

Those of us that passed all parts were given a red and blue buddy tag. We needed to check in with it when we went to swim. ‘Ya see you and your buddy would give it to dock guard who was manning the Buddy board. You told him which area of the lake you were jumping into. He attached the tag to the Buddy board’s respective section and you were off for your swim.

Sounds simple and fun, right? Well I was always an advanced swimmer. In fact, the first merit badges I earned as a Chappy scout were Swimming and Rowing. You think I would have an easy time with my dock test.

Well, well, well.

One year, perhaps ’85 or ’86, a man who I call my leader gave me my dock test. He had been a waterfront director in the now closed Kotohke or D-1 section of camp. Sadly, these days Chappy and Kunatah are closed too. During his day he spent a lot of time on the lake and used it for swimming, boating and well? I have nothing more to say.

Back to my dock test, my leader asked me to jump into the lake and begin. I easily did the laps. I do a great elementary backstroke. I learned it as a young Cub Scout in Lake Orbach, Pouch Scout Camp, Staten Island. I figured I was home free. Then came the treading test.

I followed my leader’s orders and held the Scout sign upside down and began repeating the Scout Law no big deal. Oh, I forgot to remind you the esteemed leader is not into it. I will never say what being into it or not into it is.

But for some reason that morning he became into it and made these interesting facial gestures, while I treaded. By the way, he made me tread far longer than it would take to repeat the Scout Law, Oath and Motto. We skipped the OA Obligation. I’m not sure why. Then all of a sudden strange noises stared to emanate from his smiling mouth. I was aghast. Eventually, he said, I could climb out of the lake onto the dock. I speedily did that. He gave me a passing grade.

Alhaquot's Blog: Kosher Delis and Subways

Alhaquot's Blog: Kosher Delis and Subways: Kosher Delis and Subways Do they have anything in common? Ok readers, all three of you. Are you wondering what kind of headline this post...

Kosher Delis and Subways

Kosher Delis and Subways

Do they have anything in common?

Ok readers, all three of you. Are you wondering what kind of headline this post has?

So it is heartfelt that Golden’s Kosher Deli, New Springville, Staten Island closed about three weeks ago. Times are tough. They couldn’t handle the rent.

I started going there when it opened 30 years ago. Nothing beat getting hot dogs and knishes or a beef brisket sandwich loaded with gravy on a roll. I hate rye bread. And of course you need a knish with the sandwich.

The best part of Golden’s was the old subway car dead center of the dining room. I loved sitting it. Seating was a bit cramped. But when is it not on a subway. At least in Golden’s you would sit with your friend or family. Not whatever nut job parked their behind next to you. Of course one’s family can be nuts.

Many years ago, I mean like at least 25. My dad, sister and I were seated in the subway car opposite, “Little Dennis”. He was blonde haired boy, around three. He resembled Dennis the Menace. Like any cute three year old he was excited to sit in the subway car. Let me face it, every time I went no matter how old I was I wanted to sit in it. Sadly, my dining companions grew out of it. Therefore, I was forced to sit in the main dining room. Boring.

Anyway, Little Dennis ran around like a crazy boy. He was grabbing the Gulden’s Spicy Brown mustard containers and smiling while he was making a mess. His young parents kept yelling, “Little Dennis sit down”. They did their best to contain him. My family laughed hysterically. It made that night out more fun.

As years went by every time I went into Golden’s I wondered about Little Dennis. Now, I haven’t lived on Staten Island in many years. So I basically forgot about him.

Anyway at this point in time he’s probably married and trying to keep his own kid calm in a restaurant. But when my sister sent me an EM saying Golden’s closed, the first thing I wrote back was, “I wonder where Little Dennis is going to eat”? She laughed.

I must admit several months ago, I was heading to an event at the 92Y. I saw a little boy walking out of the karate school about a block away. A slightly older girl, likely his sister was picking him up. As he walked out the door he had that look in his eye that Little Dennis had. I quickly searched my memory banks and thought of that fun night.

Alhaquot's Blog: Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island

Alhaquot's Blog: Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island: Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island What’s better a free trip on the Ferry or paying $6.75 to take NJ Transit? Today, I visited my...

Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island

Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island

What’s better a free trip on the Ferry or paying $6.75 to take NJ Transit?

Today, I visited my adorable two-year-old nephew. He resides on Staten Island. Getting there was the usual lengthy commute from Queens. I traveled on The R subway, to the Staten Island Ferry to the Staten Island Railroad. The SIR is more like a trolley. Of course, I missed the 10:30 a.m. Ferry. The R had its usual glitches.

I strolled into the Ferry Terminal at just as the vessel set sail. I spent 30 minutes hanging out in the filthy terminal. Thankfully, mobile devices let one check their EM to pass away the time.

Now to get back to Queens, I had the choice of mom taking me to St. George to catch the free Ferry and then using my MetroCard to ride the R home. Or, a ride to the Elizabeth NJ Transit station, pay $6.75 and winding up in Penn Station. Over the years, I’ve done both and often opted the cheap way.

But today, I decided to see what was better. I had my passport. So I was able to leave the U.S. and enter Jersey. Springsteen was playing in my head and of course, as I pen this he’s playing on iTunes.

The N.J. train arrived about five minutes ahead of its scheduled arrival time. I found a seat and was in Penn Station pretty quickly. By sheer luck the E train arrived in about two minutes. It ran local. However, it got me home pretty quickly.
I have come to the conclusion leaving the United States to get from Staten Island to Queens is faster and more civilized than sailing into the City.

The $6.75 price tag of the N.J. train ride, beats waiting in the gross Ferry Terminal and sitting on that filthy boat.

Alhaquot's Blog: Tickets: Broadway, Sports, Lectures, etc.

Alhaquot's Blog: Tickets: Broadway, Sports, Lectures, etc.: Tickets January 20, 2012 I am lucky enough to attend a number of concerts, Yankee games, Broadway shows and lectures year round. Most of ...

Alhaquot's Blog: Purchasing cards

Alhaquot's Blog: Purchasing cards: Cards I’m one of the few people I know that still purchases cards at Hallmark. Let’s face it is easier to send a free card online or just wi...

Purchasing cards

Cards
I’m one of the few people I know that still purchases cards at Hallmark. Let’s face it is easier to send a free card online or just wish a person happy birthday or holiday at no cost on Facebook.

But I think a traditional card adds a special touch. It shows you care. I know my grandmother loves the ones I get her. In fact, she pretty much has every card I’ve sent her for the last 10 years or so hanging on the door that leads you into her kitchen.
I’ve been a Gold Crown Hallmark member for years. I’ve gotten thousands of bonus points and lots of free cards. I joke with my mom and sister I just “got” your card for your upcoming birthday. They know it may have been a bonus one and didn’t cost me a cent.

I have the cutest two-year-old nephew and for his first birthday, I added him to the club. Sadly, there are fewer and fewer Hallmark Gold Crown stores. The other day, I purchased and really paid for several cards. But alas, I got zero points, as this store no longer participates in the program. Months ago, I trekked around midtown on the Westside and found no participating stores.

I emailed Hallmark and asked if they could put the cards on my account. I was told no. I said there are no stores in my area that are Gold Crown. They looked up my zip code and sent me a list of stores within a five-mile radius of my residence.
Ok, so a few stores exist. But I cannot get to them. No train goes near them and they are not easy to walk to. You can be sure the customer service person who sent me the email is likely not in the USA and has no clue about logistics in NYC.

I think I’m done with purchasing cards. But I still want to add that special touch. So, I am going to revert back to the days when I was in elementary school and made cards. I remember being handed out construction paper and magic markers to make cards for mom and dad for Mother’s and Father’s Day.

Yeah, my penmanship is awful and I cannot draw. Just ask an old scout leader who “enjoyed” reading my Citizenship in the Nation merit badge work. I mailed him a dozen or so pages of the answers to the badge’s questions. My merit badge work looked like cave writing. But my answers were correct. Therefore, I got the badge and stayed on the path to Eagle.
So for those of you that I send cards to, be on look out for my artwork. It may be abstract enough to go on display in the MOMA.

I’m off to buy construction paper.

Tickets: Broadway, Sports, Lectures, etc.

Tickets

January 20, 2012

I am lucky enough to attend a number of concerts, Yankee games, Broadway shows and lectures year round. Most of these are ticketed events with assigned seating as denoted on the ticket. However, lately, I noticed many people do not understand assigned seating.

You see, I wait on the ticketholders line, let the usher scan my ticket and walk over to my seat and wait for the curtain to rise, the first pitch to be thrown, the opening song. You get the picture.

The other day, I was at the 92nd Street Y for the Terezin Lecture. I was seated in Row J, seat 115. Behind me a cute young couple said, “hmm are these assigned seats? The tickets have seat numbers”. They asked me if I knew the deal. I let them know that seating was assigned. Then they examined their ticket and saw they were several rows up from where there parked themselves.

They got up and moved to their row. For some reason, they had some difficulty figuring how to move up three or four rows. All they needed to do was walk down the Kaufman Concert Hall’s aisle and look for their row. Thankfully, they found their place.
Seated a few seats away from me in Row J was a middle-aged woman. She had the same issue the younger folks had. Me and the friendly elderly gentleman seated next to me explained to her that yes, the tickets had numbers imprinted on then that told you where your seat was. This is not a movie theater. She walked up to her row and wound up being dead center in the third row from the stage.

June 26 was Yankees Old-Timers Day. I was seated in the Stadium and a friend was seated a few sections away from me with his wife and infant. We texted and called each other pre-game. I walked over to their section to say hi and snapped a few pictures of us. Once were done shooting photos and making small talk, I began to walk back to my seat.
He asked me where I was going? I told him back to my seat. He said, “can’t you sit with us”? I said “no the seats are assigned. The seats next to you might be empty now. But you can be sure Yankee fans will be there just as the first pitch is being thrown”. The usher was standing right there and laughing. He still didn’t get it. But I explained it again. We shook hands. I returned to my seat.

Last week, I saw Seminar. Great play. Go see it. Again, people didn’t seem to understand their seat was the denoted by their ticket. The ushers explained this. The theatergoers got into their right seats. Alan Rickman took the stage and made us laugh for the next 90 minutes.

A Lecture about Terezin

Terezin

January 19, 2012

Last night, I attended the Terezin lecture at the 92nd Street Y. It was a panel hosted by Ruth Franklin, book reviews editor of the New Republic. It featured Terezin survivors, Zbenka Fantlova and Zuzana Justman. Simon Broughton, a BBC correspondent, who had written extensively about the Holocaust and Middle East, also participated on the panel.

I didn’t know what to expect. I was seated next to a NOM (nice old man). My sister and I used to label our elderly as NOMs or MOLs (mean old ladies). It seemed there were more NOMs, than nice old ladies. Maybe another time, I’ll discuss this.

The NOM was born in the Midwest in 1929. Anne Frank was born that same year. At early age he told me he had an interest in poetry and wrote his first poem, about Anne Frank. It got published. He continued his poems and visited many of the camps. I am thinking of taking this trip one day. I know a few people who’ve done it.

The NOM continued to tell me that he has published a few poetry journals about the Holocaust and met a Terezin survivor along the way, whom he befriended. The two of them often speak at shuls and college campuses. About two years ago at the Y’s 80th birthday celebration for Elie Wiesel he got to read from Night and presented his poems to Wiesel.

As our conversation concluded the panel began. In the split second before it started my new friend encouraged me to walk over the Y’s Art gallery to see the artwork prepared by the children who were forced to reside at Terezin.

The panel began. I was unsure what to expect, other than it to be moving. I’ve seen Elie Wiesel speak countless times. He is unbelievable. But I knew this panel would discuss life in Terezin. Wiesel normally takes parshas and other scriptures and analyzes them brilliantly. Sort of like his own Gemora.

Moving it was. Fantlova, who was an aspiring actress before being deported to Terezin spoke of the performances that those imprisoned put on. Justman did similar. An engaging discussion about Brundibar occurred. Justman showed video clips from her film, Voices of the Children. Through the videos, we got to meet several other survivors and see their art work. We learned about their disrupted childhoods. Or lack of a childhood. None of the people had childhoods. Fantlova is now an actress residing in Australia. Justman has written and directed some films based on Terezin and resides in New York.

They discussed how Terezin was the “model” camp. It was not an extermination camp. The majority of the people, who perished there were the elderly. They generally passed due to hard labor and malnutrition. Far too many young people were deported to Birkenau-Auschwitz, Treblinka and other camps.

We learned about the propaganda movie the Nazis produced. Our panelists were among the many that were forced to make the camp look spic and span for the film crew. The people were filmed putting on shows, singing, swimming, playing with friends and doing gymnastics. This was a front put on by the Nazis to make it look like they were treating the Jews well. Sadly, we all know the truth.

The panel ended. I said goodbye to the NOM and got on the line to purchase A Thousand Darknesses: Lies and Truth in Holocaust Fiction, by Franklin and Tin King: How I Cheated Death, by Fantlova. I got on the book signing line and was lucky to spend a few minutes conversing with Fantlova. We shook hands. I walked away and the next person approached to get her signature. Now, I’ve shaken hands with lots of people, including Bill Clinton, the members of Depeche Mode, Idina Menzel, Lou Piniella, Joe Torre, etc. But this was far more meaningful. I can’t explain how it felt. I viewed the art and left the Y. I know will read the two books with great attention.

Shevat 9 or Feb. 2, Ground Hog, day I plan to attend the Farbrengen commemorating the Yazhreit of the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn. The guest speaker is an Auschwitz survivor and a distant relative of the rabbi hosting the gathering. The rabbi told us that his relative credits his survival to the blessing he received from the previous Rebbe shortly before he was sent to Auschwitz.

I know I often complain about the most inane things. Just ask my mother or sister. They probably couldn’t fill the Grand Canyon with my goofiness. But what I saw and heard tonight makes me realize how precious is. I know the Farbrengen will heighten this.

B”H