Apologies

I’m so tired of apologizing.

When I was a child I had a bodily problem which my parents regularly got angry at me about. I had no control over it, yet I apologized for it constantly. I went to numerous doctors and internists, only to have them admit it was totally idiopathic — they had no idea what was going on.

I was bullied constantly growing up, and apologized for my breakdowns and outbursts. Hell, I went to the teacher, principal, and my parents about my third grade bully. They all said to ignore him and I apologized for wasting their time. He relented for agonizing months until I couldn’t take anymore. One last visit to the school authorities and nothing happened. I snapped and punched him.

Then I had to apologize for him.

Two years later I had a fifth grade teacher, Heidi Snodgrass, who made me stand up in front of the class and let them make fun of me. True to form, my parents just told me to ignore it or that I was taking general childhood ribbing “too personally.”

The principal didn’t believe me.

In order to get transferred out, I had to get violent.

In none of these circumstances did the people who were supposed to be looking out for me acknowledge my pain, my point of view, or even offer slight consideration.

I can’t really explain how exhausting this was. I was told by the people in charge that they’d help me if I only came to them, but when I came to them they did nothing. When I explained what was going on they said I was making it up or told me to ignore it. If I was able to ignore it, I would have.

It sucks not knowing how to talk to people

This just made me socially awkward. I didn’t know how to really interact with many people, save for my super nerdy friends. Despite wanting to trust my secrets and problems with my parents, I couldn’t.

Middle school was horrible. This was also a time when the authorities in my life (parents, principals) said that if I couldn’t ignore being bullied, then try to play along.

Adolescent changes coupled with being outcast is brutal. Especially when your body has been betraying you for your entire life. Even more so when you just don’t know how to how to talk to people. When you’re used to being the butt of a joke and give in to start playing along, your esteem changes and you become a clown. Not the good kind of clown, but the involuntary kind.

And through all these problems my now-divorcing parents still told me to ignore the bullies or play along.

I apologized.

Whatever, I grew up

I grew into a pretty kickass person. Music training and theater in high school coupled with voice lessons helped me talk to people. My fencing coach taught me to operate under pressure. College music and improv through my latter education period polished my interpersonal skills.

Those things saved my life, but I still apologized too much. Even when someone told me to stop apologizing, I still would.

It had become reflex, to say “sorry”. It stopped being an apology and turned into “okay, I screwed up, let’s move on.” But I was acknowledging screwing up when I hadn’t.

Then I got married

Of course there were steps from college to marriage. Tons of relationships, jobs, ventures, and whatnot. But this is about the marriage.

The marriage where I apologized constantly for things not my fault. Where I fell on my sword for business dealings that my ex wife’s boss organized. Where I took the blame for things my aggregator at the time did, which were way out of my control. Where I just shut up and took it, in the name of being a good husband and compliant businessman.

It wore me down to an empty, sad shell of who I was. I honestly didn’t even recognize myself at the end of that marriage. I wasn’t smiling, I wasn’t happy, I had no energy, I was constantly morose. I wasn’t me.

I remember when I told my mother I was leaving my now ex. I apologized to her. I don’t know why. I know she loved my ex, likely more than she loved me, and I figured she’d be sad to lose her. I assumed she’d be losing my ex since she was basically emotionally abusive to me and I gathered people in my family wouldn’t stand for that.

Seems I forgot the lessons of third and fifth grade. And middle school. And all the doctors and problems I had growing up.

So my ex came to my grandfather’s shiva and memorial

My ex came to the funeral, which is public enough and whatnot, but then she came to his house and sat shiva, which is not cool. I let my mother know I wanted nothing to do with my ex. She said “I will not apologize for who I want to be friends with,” while expecting me to apologize for putting her in a tough spot. All this happened the week after my grandfather died.

Then she was invited for the family event where my grandfather’s headstone was revealed.

I’m tired of apologizing, and I haven’t done it since.

She came. I told her it was a family event and she should leave. My family stood up for her, so I left. Then my family told me I was being inappropriate.

Well if they’d listened when I told them it was ending, or when I told them she mistreated me, or when I told them she hurt me, or when I told them she’ll be kind until she abruptly cuts them off and hurts them, I wouldn’t have had to publicly decry her. But they left me no choice.

And they expected an apology. An apology they’ll never get.

The other side of my bloodline gets it. I don’t see why they can’t.

If they want her they can have her. But they can’t have me at the same time.

Without apologies.

 

 



Grandpa’s eulogy

On November 9, 2017 my grandfather was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer — where is not important. He died in the earliest hours on November 11, two days later.

This was the eulogy I read at his funeral

He had the power of contentment. The deep seated strength of enjoying things exactly as they were. Food was good enough to be “okay” and he would enjoy it for what it was and for the company he ate it with. In this world where we want more and better, he found quality of people more important than quality of things.

Grandpa also had an entrepreneurial spirit that has shaped much of our family. We remember his wife, my grandma, as an outgoing Realtor. We often forget the very reason the Barts ended up in Tucson is because Roy came out here to start his own printing company. He paired up with a number of people, many of them unscrupulous, and still managed to land on top while that industry was still strong. Even though these now-former associates stabbed him in the back or treated him poorly, he never said anything bad about them. It was always just a point of the story, without grudge.

A number of his grandchildren and his daughters have this spirit in them and have chased the entrepreneurial dream he instilled in our DNA. The desire to create something that helps others has never left our family.

He loved to be active. He was an avid golfer and always made sure my uncle Frank brought his clubs with him when he came to visit. The past decade they were the only two smokers in the family, and they shared a kinship which, quite frankly, I found comforting. Having someone to share your vice with is a wonderful thing.

It would be easy to attribute that to simple aesthetics. That he just thought it looked the best. Knowing Grandpa, though, I would bet that he liked it because he saw Mindy react better to it. He heard the excitement in her voice as she went to try it on next and he saw it in her posture and face once it was on.

Our family, though, lost a source of humor, of wisdom, and of joy. His sharpness, which he had literally up to his last day, will be missed. His ability to just be able to sit back, bask in the activities of family, and spread joy through his resulting smile will leave a hole in our family. His understanding of others and hesitance to speak poorly of people will stay with us. His love of family and enthusiasm to spend time with everyone he loved will never leave us.

Today we remember a quietly brilliant man who was strong in his simplicity. Goodbye, Grandpa.



Balak 5777

Balak 5777
Numbers 22:2-25:9
Micah 5:6-6:8

In my adolescence my dad had a condo in Rocky Point. We would go there, hit up the fish market, buy incredible fish and produce, go deep sea fishing, and cook up a storm. Honestly, there is no better ceviche than the one that I can make from a trip to that beautiful city. And it is beautiful.

One day, I was maybe 14 or 15, we were driving down there and my dad was trying to find a new place, something one of his friends had told him about. This was when GPS units were large and expensive, not part of ubiquitous pocket sized computers, so we didn’t have one. Heck, even if we had it was a dice roll for the destination in that town to even be listed.

My dad made a turn down an empty street, and I noticed immediately that all the parked cars were facing the wrong way. I knew this was a one-way street and wanted to speak up.

Now, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m kind of a black sheep. I used to be ashamed of this status, though now I embrace it. When you’re a shy early teen with a history of being bullied and a family so wrapped up in their issues that yours are consistently pushed aside, you keep your head down and your mouth shut.

Sure enough, right after he turned down that street, flashing red and blues from a motorcycle cop came on. Dad got pulled over in Mexico. I caught bits of the conversation — he didn’t know it was a 1-way street, though that could have been posturing to get out of a ticket.

One harsh rebuke and $40 later, we were back on our way.

Perhaps that’s something I have in common with another Eddie — relating too well to a donkey. Balaam’s donkey stopped when she saw a hinderance in the path, and was beaten for it. This isn’t a d’var Torah about beating those with silent advice, though. This is about the majesty of the black sheep and the fear they inspire in others.

This entire portion is about the leaders of a people trying to curse the young nation of Israel about to enter their own promised land. They’d heard stories about their fierce and blessed military campaigns and about their esteemed status with a god above all others. Can you imagine that? The G-d of this people is one god, more powerful than the myriad gods of the polytheistic nations.

We were the original black sheep, the ones who transformed religion as this world saw it. And the leaders, Balak and Balaam, knew our power and our potency. Balak tried to curse us and stop us, working his way down to smaller and smaller numbers, trying to bypass and skirt the prohibition on cursing us that Balaam conveyed. Balaam became a mouthpiece of Hashem and conveyed blessings upon Israel and a curse on Balak.

Two leaders acted out of fear in this story. One acted with violence, the other curiosity. One acted with a lust for power, the other acted with a thirst for knowledge. Let’s even look at Balaam’s transportation: a donkey. Not a horse. He rode a work animal, not a majestic steed, a lowly pack animal. Balaam is a man of pragmaticism, probably frustrated pragmaticism, but still pragmatic. He knows what needs to be done and does it.

The biggest thing I’ve learned in my life so far is how to turn being a black sheep into an advantage. How it sets you apart from the rest in everything you do, so people come to expect uniqueness from the get-go. It keeps people on their toes, and expectations shift from typical to atypical. If you leverage yourself as a black sheep, atypical can become extraordinary.

That’s what I think we need to learn at this time.

“How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!”

This isn’t just a blessing put into Balaam’s mouth. This is what we should aspire to. A tent is more than a place to sleep; it is shelter and it is protection. Our love of each other and acceptance of each other will protect us, shelter us, and keep us secure.

We live in an era where white supremacy is coming back, not silently, but loudly and with pride. New hate groups are emboldened and we, as Jews, are receiving hate from both sides of political parties. We need to remember that our few decades of peace and quiet in the US do not make us white — we are still a minority and we are still blamed for things not our doing.

We are not white. We are minorities. We are black sheep. And we are extraordinary. We need to be at the forefront of being extraordinary and we need to back each other up. Whether it’s a small community of Lubavitchers in New York with their ultra-Orthodox ways or egalitarian ultra-Reform Jews with questionable conversions, we need to embrace Jewry in its vast, glorious, and extraordinary nature. We are a nation of people, which means we will have dissent, debate, and fights. We cannot, though, forget that we are still the other, so we must lift each other up and elevate what we have in common: belief in G-d, G-d alone.

My prayer this Shabbat is that we remember who we are. That we are not white. That we can acknowledge the glory of all our schools of thought, even those we vehemently disagree with. Each of us can be a different shade of dark in our wonderful flock of black sheep. Shabbat shalom.



On Kathy Griffin

A few days ago (May 30?), famed shock comic Kathy Griffin released a photo of her holding a mold of Donald Trump’s head. The fake head was covered in presumably fake blood, and she had a 1,000 mile stare into the camera.

Basically, she had a Jon Snow moment.

The conservative leaning world had an incredible outrage, as would be predicted. Yet, I can’t help but feel like it’s mock outrage. Like it’s just them complaining to complain and because some liberal woman openly thinks their losing (by almost 3,000,000 votes) President is crap.

I want to break this down into two areas:

Area One

The blood is so freaking fake, guys. If you decapitate someone, it bleeds from the neck, not from the implanted mink hairpiece.

Area Two

She didn’t go to far.

Yeah, I said it. And if you want to stop reading here because you think I’m full of shit and don’t anything, fine. Stay ignorant.

There are two directions humor can take: kicking up and kicking down. Kicking up is a peasant making fun of a king. It’s a person at a disadvantage poking fun at someone who can take them down. Kicking down is a person in a position of power making fun of those underneath them. It’s a bully disguising their hurtful comments as humor.

Area two-point-three

Let’s take a look at some evidence for this false outrage, as the news organizations manufacturing this controversy are playing into the fragile emotions of the GOP’s base.

First: Barack Obama received actual lynching threats.

I will remind you, twice-legitimately-elected President Obama is black. And black people were historically (as recently as May 20,2017) lynched. A lynching is a terrorist in-deed-but-not-name action which serves to warn an entire group of people — in this case black people, to remain underfoot.

Let’s see some of the “art” pieces that came out during Obama’s presidency, shall we?

Yeah. Pretty historically disgusting and racially charged.

But, aside from a few people I knew who quietly condemned these, there wasn’t any outrage against this in the mainstream media, in the GOP or even on Fox News (they were too busy giving air to conman Trump’s assertions that Obama wasn’t a legal citizen).

But one (female) comic has a terribly made up and bloodied head of their beloved eggshell-fragile emotional leader and she’s a TRAITOR DON’T YOU KNOW!

Area Two-point-six

Black people were historically hanged. This happened. It was a warning to other black people. This is as indisputable as the Civil War being fought for states rights to own gah-damn slaves. We do not, in this country, have a history of beheading white people who renege on paying their workers (I’m tempted to say ‘maybe we should’ but I don’t feel like dealing with the hate mail — besides Bannon’s no longer in power so I don’t really want anyone…um…Iron Throned…).

Let me reiterate: the effigies of Obama have real, historical precedent and served not only as a message to the President, but as a message to all black people, and arguably all colored minorities.

The poorly cast head of Trump has no historical precedent, serves only as a message to fellow liberals and Trump’s family of “screw this guy”. That’s all. It obviously wasn’t a threat, as it meets no legal definition of it. It was just marketing for a message. Simple as that.

Obama’s effigies in alleys and parks, in my opinion, went too far. Their effects drudged up recent history of white supremacy (and look, their daddy Bannon was in office for a few months!) and reminded black people of the danger they face daily. Anyone who doesn’t understand that is ignorant, either willfully or not.

Griffin’s public photoshoot with Trump’s poor-semblance (I just used “poor” and “Trump” in a sentence — that’s treason!) is just effective marketing and branding. Trump knows a thing or two about that.

Area two-point-eight

Bonus clarification, before I wrap this thing up:

Look at the Obamas’ reactions to the original effigies. It was silence.

Look at the Trumps’ reactions. It’s bullying.

Their actions lack as much class as their décor.

Area two-point-nine: the conclusion

Presidents have been having their image violated since we’ve had presidents. Period, end of story.

Obama was the first to have historical ties to his.

Trump is the thinnest skinned to be tied to his. And seriously, that blood was wack.

I think this whole thing is hilarious. The photos are pretty meh, though I found them hilarious because I knew exactly what they’d bring. And they delivered like Dominos to a college campus.

This outrage over a mediocre photo session is absurd, overblown, and hiding actual problems. So get over yourselves, pseudo-angry denizens, and go do something with yourselves.



Emor, 5777


Emor
Leviticus 21:1-24:23

There’s much to ponder in this parashah. Whether it’s the outlining of the festivals or the responsibilities one has when damaging another’s property; whether it’s the outlining of the priestly duties, or the suitability of animals for donations or sacrifices, there’s much to sift through.

I’m going to focus on a few relations here, starting with chapter 22, verse 23. “As for an ox or sheep that has mismatching limbs or uncloven hooves you may make it into a donation, but as a vow, it will not be accepted.”

There’s much to learn from this, and I feel it’s the crux of this parashah and a good tip for managing one’s life.

We’re looking at two different uses for the same animal under different circumstances.

The first is any ox or sheep in optimal condition: no blemishes, with matching limbs, and no problematic quirks, being used as a vow or a donation. This is an animal that can be used as a sacrifice offering or a vow.

The second is that an ox or sheep with physical problems can be used as a donation, something to help a synagogue or family, but not to fulfill a vow or as a sacrifice.

Let’s talk about vows in Torah. Vows go beyond promises. A promise in Torah is not taken lightly, a vow is even stricter. We go so far as to have prayers during Kol Nidre to ask for absolution from broken vows. Some people add “b’li neder” to their promises to remove any insinuation that it might be a vow, rather than a promise.

Our vows are held to a standard even higher than our promises.

Let’s look at this again: a sacrificial animal with physical deformities which do not detract from its healthfulness can be used as a donation, but not to fulfill a vow. Only the animals most desirable can be used to fulfill the oaths held higher than promises.

What does this mean? We are not allowed to shortchange or skirt around our oaths.

Furthermore, I believe this is why the Kohanim have so many stipulations. They are the ones who are allowed to mediate the tasks between Israel and Hashem that have been prescribed. They are the human vow of action to Hashem.

Let’s look at this today. We can see times when leaders make promises and give leftovers. Whether it’s promising to bolster education with a tax increase, and instead using that revenue to pay for contractors, or promising to support minorities and instead oppressing them: it’s endemic.

I get produce every other week or so from a group that rescues produce which is slated to be thrown away. Sometimes what they put out is moldy, slimy, and otherwise inedible. Sometimes it is perfectly glorious, crisp and fresh. They take the minimal cost for each box of produce and give it to various causes — which is good. Their inconsistency is not good.

Is there any wonder we have so much cynicism toward charities, leaders, and even each other? It seems that we live in a time when our word is taken lightly and the people brokering transactional promises are beneath the quality of our neighbors. I’m not accusing any of these being bottom of the barrel, but simply not as good as what we know we deserve. Again, I make no specific assertions of a leader being the worst ever, I am just stating that we deserve better.

Whether it’s cancer foundations cutting funds for companies that screen for their particular type of cancer, hate groups disguised as social movements, or companies looking to exploit both their workers and tax code, we have been made aware of long-standing traditions of deceitful promises.

Are we at an impasse? Are we, as decent humans, as those who want to help each other up and bolster our communities, silly for expecting our representatives to be better than us? I don’t want to be the smartest person in a room. I don’t want to be the most successful person in a group. I don’t want to be the best fencer on the strip.

I want to learn. I want to be better. I want to have someone to look up to.

This is why business coaches have business coaches. Vocal teachers have vocal teachers. Peer groups support and nurture each other with each member’s individual strengths.

That was the point of the kohanim. They were a group of priests who were there not only to broker our vows. They built up our religion through service. Service of ideas debated. Service of promises kept. Service of oaths and vows respected. They were to be looked up to, though we are not to be subservient to them.

What do I want to learn from this parashah? It’s not the minutiae of what we can eat, what we can offer, or who can take what. That’s a different lesson for a different day. Today, I want to learn that we not only can, but should, expect to see what we wish to be in those who represent us.

We were made in G-d’s image. Each of us is a tiny reflective iota of her being. Just as we put our best face forward in daily life to try and inspire ourselves to live up to our own desires, should we not do the same with those we delegate power to? Should we not demand our leaders be the icons we wish to, ourselves, be?

My prayer this Shabbat is that we find the wherewithal as a people to support our own potential by not shortcutting our vows to ourselves, our community, and our planet. My prayer is to bring people into our fold who not only inspire us, they kindle growth. There is an idiom: be the change you want to see in this world. Why don’t we not only embody that change, but demand it from the people we give the honor of representing us? Shabbat shalom.