Out of Egypt

A Highwind in Jamaica

2010-08-10T10:04:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I devoured A High Wind in Jamaica by Richard Hughes. One of the best books you probably have never heard of. For some reason this book has sailed beneath the radar of most high school and college curricula for decades. To be sure, it is a highly regarded classic, and even made it onto the Modern Library's top 100 Novels of the 20th Century at 71.

What's so compelling about this novel? As is my want with book reviews, I'm not going to attempt a plot summary (besides: Amazon got their B.S. in writing summaries). I'm not going to dwell on its wicked and unsparing use of clever irony, that it was visionary for its time, the subject matter, the ineffible prose that Hughes hews to his intent. For a study in great writing alone, each of the traits makes it worthwhile. Instead, I want to share why I personally think this book is so deserving the title masterpiece. Perhaps it's fitting with High Wind's opening, so teeming with biodiversity, that my admiration lies in the archives of zoological curiosities.

I once read about an uncanny documented phenomena in the animal kingdom: predator clans will on rare occasion adopt and take care of a member of their prey. No kidding, scientists have seen prey striding in front of their apathetic and unconcerned lethal companions with innocent bravado. They pay it no mind.

The canonical case cited concerned a rattle snake den and a field mouse. It is not known how a field mouse managed to insert itself amongst the population of snakes, but it had. Scientists documented it running about these deadly serpents in broad daylight, and they responded with which would be most accurately anthropomorphized as "bored affection".

Then one day a foreign snake crossed into their territory. It saw the field mouse, and instantaneously lunged critically wounding it. No one wants to pass up a free lunch. Almost immediately the rattlers which had formerly looked after this mouse pounced, tearing it to shreds.

The Bas-Thorton children are tossed from their Jamaican kingdom and find themselves captives of pirates after a series of random natural disasters and the maladroit negotiations of a bungling sea captain. They succeed in befriending the pirates and absorb them in their games and fancies. You can't call it Stockholm Syndrome because the children are hardly cognizent of the greater events governing the radical direction their lives have taken.

The lines blur from the outset as to who are the snakes and who are the mice, but the succinct conclusion brings it to chilling focus. The fact that we instinctively and painfully relate to each of the twists and characters makes the conclusion all the more unnerving.

It's a relatively quick read, and well worth it.

Lag BaOmer videos

2010-07-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

Okay so this happened a couple months ago and I took some videos but never got around to posting them. All of these videos were taken on the 22rd night of the counting of the Omer (Lamed = 30, gimmel =3 Lamed+gimmel= Lag, pronounced 'Log'). It's a special day in Judaism. Very truncated summary: we light bon fires (why? watch the 3rd video for one explanation) in honor of both the ending of the plague which had killed 24,000 of Rabbi Akiva's students and also the yahrzeit (anniversary of death) of Shimon Bar Yochai, one of the greatest teachers of Torah in the first and second centuries c.e.

I wandered around Har Nof from bon fire to bon fire singing and talking with different people. I met a guy who gave a great vort (literally a word, but it means a nice explanation that explains a deeper concept), and I recorded what he said. He speaks quickly and peppers it with some hebrew, but the gist of it is still pretty extractable.

This is a short video of one of the bonfires along Nissim Road

This is me, and one of the guys I met singing the lyrics to song in the previous video:

This is vort on the significance of burning fires, Shimon Bar Yochai's vision of the world, and how it underlies a lot of Judaism (hard to understand, but from the english you can still get a good idea).

Living just enough for the city

2010-07-16T06:02:00.000-07:00

So this summer has seen it's share of excitement and boredom.

I'm currently working for my favorite organization in the world, MEOR. The MEOR Foundation was responsible for the trip I went on in summer 2008 when I was first looking into Judaism. In hindsight it was the most life changing experience for me.

At the time I never could have foreseen it, but as fate would have it I am now working for them full time this summer. It's still a small organization so I have several large areas of work to accomplish and they might bleed into my second year of Machon Shlomo.

The key goal is to really get MEOR out in the world more. It's the best kept secret of the last 4 years, and we're trying to generate much more exposure through use of social media.

We've completely revamped our facebook presence: www.facebook.com/gomeor

And we're looking to expand the community dialogue through this and other channels. There's so much work to be done, and there are just so few people on hand to do it. That's part of the fun too though, because I get to see the product of my labor and know that I'm making a significant contribution.

More as we move along.

love,
Jordan

Running

2010-06-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I lost my running shoes and in the week that followed I felt a real sense of loss. I found it perplexing I would feel so down about it. I could easily supplement my workout regime with more gym time. I've been running for a long time, off and on throughout high school and college. My parents were runners. While I have played other sports, I've always considered running my thing too.

For me running isn't deep or philosophical. I see the potential for meditation in a long forest run. There's certainly a physical and spiritual freedom when you're running alone. But I usually spend the time thinking about petty disputes or math problems.

It is probably the simplest physical sport in existence since it's a modified formula of walking. As soon as kids master walking, running to their destinations is the next logical progression. It's natural fun. It get's you where you are going, but faster! It's the integral component to most sports and games. It's hard to explain, why people love getting themselves so sweaty by elevating their velocity for a set period of time, but it's really enjoyable. I just got a new pair of Asics. To work them in, I sprinted up and down my street for a mile and half. It was exhilarating. I flew down the street and felt like Hermes as I raced the cars and buses passing by.

I can still vaguely recall my lonely high school days. After classes ended on the crisp electric fall days, the cross country team would begin its practice. I'd go running all over Washington Township. My hands glowed red from the cold. The drab brown leaves crunched beneath my feet. My shins knocked against the pavement of the road or the woodchips in that park trails. Often it would rain, and my extremities would just freeze. The races were always punishing, and always forced me to find some hidden reserves around the 2.5 mile mark.

At times I never felt so miserable, and in hindsight I was never happier during my adolescence.

Who is powerful?

2010-04-30T07:02:00.000-07:00

I asked a friend who was his favorite President.

He answered George Washington.

I thought for a second, and said fine, but you have to tell me why.

"Because the people offered to make him a king, and he said no."

Well said.

Growth

2010-04-23T01:10:00.000-07:00

Last night I took a long cab ride back from the Cotel (Western Wall). Since I'm in Yeshiva all day, it's rare that I get to converse with someone new in Hebrew. My growth in Hebrew may be stunted, but I'm still climbing. These days I am able to understand a lot of what they are saying, although I usually respond with ambiguous but apropos responses on the general topic of conversation. I relish the new dialogue with a stranger especially when I steer the conversation toward vocabulary words I want to implement.

"Have you calculated your taxes yet? I calculated my taxes last month, while I was home. And I jumped in the air when I finished the calculation."

He told me he had once lived in Milwaukee for two years. I told him that I also had family in Wisconsin, and asked him how he liked the winter. He told me that he had never seen so much snow in the winter. I told him he was not alone; that's what everyone says when they come to Wisconsin.

~~~

Real growth is difficult to quanitfy. It is hard to articulate a feeling of change when it is often so subtle you don't notice yourself.

Here are some pictures I've taken around the Yeshiva.

Learning Hebrew, means breaking the teeth.

Learning to be a Sofer requires time and patience, and a good teacher.

The second stage of a rough draft that I first posted a couple months ago. Some of the ideas I'd like to express in a final project will hopefully grow organically out of the ones here.

My etrog sprouts are beginning to bloom. This summer I hope to start a compost pile and perhaps even cultivate some of these plants outside the Yeshiva.

The sky was completely overcast, except for this strip on the horizon. It looked like the sky had been ripped open.

None of this would be possible without Rikki's food. Here is one of her soups in making:

Out of Egypt

2010-04-07T06:43:00.000-07:00

Of all the Jewish holidays, Pesach is one of the few still widely observed. The traditional Seder brings families together to partake in foreign and seemingly pointless rituals for an evening. The guide for the Seder is an equally puzzling Haggadah that seems to just lump confusion on top of ambiguity. As one would expect, all the meaning, beauty and purpose become obscured by vain theatrics and spacious room for people to purport their own specious ideas about the meaning of the Holiday.

Pesach is a time when we abandon many of the comforts of our normal lives to relive the slavery in and exodus from Egypt. The Seder is designed to communicate this story to our children, so they know how we became the Nation of Israel. The Haggadah liturgy repeatedly informs us of the personal gratitude we should feel for all the miracles that G-d performed for our ancestors. However, be it alienation or apathy, this clarion call falls flat in this generation.

It's hard not to feel completely alienated from a history more than three thousand years ago. How do we connect to these people that we've never heard of or met, in a land most of us have never even visited? It would be a mistake to think the gap could be bridged by watching Charleton Heston play Moses in the Ten Commandments.

But an even bigger mistake would be to deny the validity of the question. Why should we be thankful for something we never even personally experienced? I heard an inspired answer from my friend Reuven Billowitz that I want to share.

It's a well known fact of modern biology that over the course of 7 years' time, your body will regenerate every single cell that composes it. That means that if you look at a picture of yourself from 7 years ago you are essentially staring at a completely different person. Of course, this fact is preposterous and completely neglects the human experience. Steering clear of discussions of consciousness and the self: suppose you broke your foot in ninth grade (as I did) and are looking back on the experience as a college graduate. If you saw a picture of yourself with a cast, it would never cross your mind that you are not that very same person who broke his foot all those years ago doing the grape vine in gym class. We can apply this same understanding to the Haggadah.

As the Israelites left Egypt and approached the Red Sea, it parted and the people were ushered through a veritable birth canal. They emerged into the Wilderness as the House of Israel. What took place was the birth of a Nation. Israel is analogous to a person. Just as an organism is far greater than the sum of its individual cells, a nation is much more than the collective constituents that compose it. Just as you are that same person who broke his foot all those years ago, so too the Jews today are the same nation that was taken out of Egypt.

It doesn't matter the affiliation: Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Messianic, Orthodox, or atheist. Any Jew living today is part of this manifestation. What this should mean to each Jew, I really can't say. But there is undeniable power in a unique people that have survived thousands of years both in their homeland and spread across the world. And if there is power there, why not draw strength from it?

Zichrono L'Vracha

2010-03-16T13:50:00.000-07:00

To those who actually look to my blog regularly, I humbly apologize. The following is a small eulogy for one of my favorite writers, and it's undergone heavy revision for more than a month.

~~~

J. D. Salinger was a ghost.

I could only approach him through his printed works. He shrouded himself and his ideas in an appealing urbane aesthetic. Salinger was elusive; the only glimpses you can catch of him were fleeting at best. He hid himself in the small nooks and crannies of his stories, the small moments, but the stories were almost entirely small moments.

Like most adolescents that befriend Salinger, I made his acquaintance in high school. My first pass through The Catcher and the Rye was enjoyable, but by no means a special experience. Then I read it again with the guide of an incredible English teacher, and Salinger won my adoration.

But it wasn't until my freshman year of college that I found in Salinger a soul mate. The first time I came home was Thanksgiving break and only because the whole college was closing up for the holiday. My sister drove me and my hefty laundry bag all the way down to Exit 3 of the New Jersey Turnpike. I gritted my teeth the whole way. My relationship with my parents was not at its best, and I didn't want to be at home. For a suburbanite, the escape from the situation was natural: I drove myself to Barnes & Noble.

I prowled through the fiction section and my eyes locked onto a slim white volume called Nine Stories. I grabbed it from the shelf and settled myself on one of the comfy chairs in the back of the store. Not even 4 pages into the first story, it became a perfect day for A Perfect Day for Bananafish. I read well into the night. I had the Beatles' Revolver on repeat on my isolation Pod, convinced Paul McCartney's "For No One" was about Eloise from Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut. The store announced for the last time that it was closing while I stood in line at the cashiers' counter. I walked out with not just Nine Stories, but Raise High the Roofbeam Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction and Franny and Zooey too (I subsequently discovered that my mom had already bought these books years ago when she was in school).

At home, my multivariable calculus homework lay neglected on the ottoman. The Glass Children were in the living room, and they commanded my attention. Their broad intellectualism, quasi-spiritual crises, idealism, eastern philosophy, and diction made me nostalgic for a life I never had. I wanted to throw on a tweed jacket over an oxford buttondown, move to the Upper West Side ca. 1952, and discuss Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling in a dimly-lit jazz bar.

But it was deeper than that, because the Glass children were grasping for something deeper, something pure. They longed for a transcendence from the mundane. They were coping with the loss of their eldest brother, Seymour (who commited suicide at the end of one of Salinger's most brilliant and enigmatic short stories to be published in The New Yorker, A Perfect Day for Bananafish). Whatever voids I felt in my own existence, I assigned them to whatever was bothering the Glasses and Holden Caulfield.

As my college years rolled along, I turned to Salinger again and again for solace. In my senior year, I picked up Zooey hoping to relive the faux-nostalgia and perhaps even mine treasures I had missed on the previous readings. However, once I reached the extended dialogue between Zooey and his mother, Bessie, in the bathroom, I had to put the book down. I couldn't bear to witness the brilliant Zooey berating his mom with patronizing cruelty. With all his intelligence, it seemed that all he did was mock the people closest to him.

What happened? Did I somehow miss the blatant misanthropy on the first four passes through the story? All the elegance and smatterings of Eastern philosophy and Buddhism struck me as impractical and out of touch with reality. I thought I had an unbreakable intimacy with Salinger, and now I felt alienated by his writing. It felt like an ended relationship. In the beginning you can talk to the other about anything, and after it's over you can hardly find a thing to say.

Salinger was a ghost long before he passed away. Hidden away in rustic Cornish, New Hampshire, he spoke only occasionally to his world audience. Maybe he was just as alienated from us as I was from his writing. But to the outside world, it appeared he was dead. Little did we know he spent all those years of solitude writing to himself and no one else, a heart stirred to beating life.

Salinger's writing ignited me with a directionless passion and so, with what seemed to be no alternative, I chased after him. On a bright summer's day, I drove from New Brunswick to Princeton looking for him in the unpublished stories of Holden Caulfield that he entrusted to the Firestone Library. I remember that day sitting on the roof of the library on one of the trimmed but prickly green grass pastures, a nice cool breeze tossing my hair. I was far enough from the street that the fiddling crickets could be heard more clearly than the street traffic. The sun's rays warmed my skin and seemed to freeze time. I decided then to give up looking for Salinger. The lovely weather and locale convinced me to just be happy with the moment. And then like a good ghost he came to me and I've kept his words close since: Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of holy ground to the next. Is he never wrong?

Just go to bed, now. Quickly. Quickly and slowly.

Z''L.

Et in Arcadia ego

2010-01-03T05:22:00.000-08:00

Last week I finished Tom Stoppard's Arcadia. My family and I saw one of his more recent plays a few years ago off-Broadway. And what I understood through the characters' thick accents and layered dialogue, I enjoyed immensely.

From my limited experience with his work, Stoppard seems enormously appealing for two predominant reasons. The first is his effortless touch with intellectual topics that he explores in razor cunning badinage. The second is his method of incorporating abstract forms of storytelling into his drama/comedies.

Take Arcadia. The whole play is set in one room juxtaposed by a 180 year time difference, 1993 and 1809. The characters both then and now casually discuss determinism, Fermat's Last theorem, chaos theory, thermodynamics, etc. Props from one time frame remain in the other. Two characters, played by the same actor, even ferries some of these props back and forth through the temporal divide.

I could have read Arcadia simply for his poetic treatment of maths and physics concepts, but Stoppard goes further. Rather than simply discussing the concept of chaos theory, he bends the idea into the structure of the play itself. The action begins in a unified starting point (the room) but quickly biphurcates into chaos. At the climax of the play the chaos converges as Stoppard piles the present and past on top of one another. Both characters in the past and the present share the stage. Their dialogues momentarily overlap in perfect synchronicity, before again diverging into the inevitable far-flung entropy. Kudos to anyone who can weave poetry out of my college physics experiments.

The title Arcadia is taken from the Greek word for a pastoral utopia. It's the name of the gardens visible from the window of the isolated room in which the plot unfolds. It's a word most commonly seen in the latin phrase Et in Arcadio ego, a statement by Death meant as a memento mori. It tinges the upbeat comedy with the biting edge of tragedy. For Stoppard, it seems that life is worth living for the sacred moments of order which span the engulfing gaps of chaos-filled life.

There's a lot to talk about with Arcadia. The dialogue, themes, characters, structure, and ideas all shine brightly. So much so, that it's not worth it to relay a plot synopsis but rather share some of the fruits I found most poignant. At the risk of depreciating the currency of the word, the play is simply brilliant. Stoppard is a master of his craft, and awe is really the only proper response for Arcadia.

Read it.
~~

In other news, our Yeshiva is winding down on its four-day weekend after 2 months of intense learning. Since I completed Aliyah in mid-November I have put off many of the next steps in the process. So I decided to use this mini-vacation to complete many of these tasks. This morning I ran back and forth over Jerusalem so I could complete many of these tasks. I'm glad to say it was a productive morning and I now have a bank account, a Teudah Oleh, a specific health insurance plan (I was already covered but it would be a big mess if something happened to me without a card), the initiation of my aliyah payments.

I also started part one of Robert Caro's four-part biography of Lyndon Johnson on the recommendation of a friend from my ulpan this summer. The whole series thus far spans over 2000 pages. I'm only 90 pages into this first 800-page tome, but I can see why it is considered a classic.

His research on Johnson, from his family history down to the topography of his ancestral lands in Hill Country Texasis impeccable. Only by such exacting and intimate research could he get away with tearing down the myths and essentially assassinating Johnson's character. What makes the book so compelling, beyond the biography, is Caro's use of LBJ to meditate on greater themes of humanity and American history. Johnson's singular pursuit for power and the rise of South-western influence on 20th-century politics are not just historical events but deeper reflections of the human soul.

As he stated in an interview with Kurt Vonnegut: "I was never interested in writing biography just to show the life of a great man," saying he wanted instead "to use biography as a means of illuminating the times and the great forces that shape the times—particularly political power."

odds and ends

2009-12-25T05:11:00.000-08:00

Life is spread pretty thin these days, but I've never enjoyed myself more. In college, I would force myself to get up in the mornings because I felt guilty if I slept past 8:30. These days when I wake up at 6, and I can't wait to get going (after I shrug off the sleep).

It takes some getting used to, and to help me help myself take care of everything that I want to do during the week I've made myself a schedule which I hold to pretty consistently. Easier than typing it all up, I just took some pictures (for those who can't read Hebrew, I'm sorry. And for those who can't read my handwriting, I'm also sorry).

During Sukkot I thought it would be a great idea to make a bonsai tree out of an Etrog (citron). So I bought one in Meah Shaarim and have been watering the seeds diligently. I've been rewarded with three sprouts.

I've also started training to become a Sofer (a writer of Jewish scrolls like the mezuzah, tefillin, and the Sefer Torah). It's fun to learn, and a good way to relax and still be productive. I like the idea of channeling artistic passions into the focused calligraphy of Judaism. The other idea is to really make Judaism a part of me, and make myself part of its ongoing tradition.

After Hannukah we must burn all the wicks used in the oil menorahs (we're not allowed to simply throw away something that was for a mitzvah).

Here's of a sketch of my latest art project:

And for those who knew me when, a proof that some things don't change.

Take care.
Kol tuv.

Closing of the American Mind (the book review)

2009-11-26T11:32:00.000-08:00

Last night I finally closed the book on The Closing of the American Mind. It's not a particularly long book (383 pages) but Allan Bloom packs enough philosophy within its cover's to inundate the Caspian Sea. For those not familiar with the short and skinny: He was one of the foremost western philosophers of the latter 20th-century, translated Plato's Republic, and wrote numerous commentaries and interpretations on classic works of Western thought. His decades-long experience in teaching higher education and unparalleled understanding of philosophy make him an undeniable force in any consideration of America's philosophical and moral climate.

Closing begins with a preface from Bloom's colleague and close friend from the U of C, Saul Bellow. Bellow essentially spells out in layman's terms the take-away themes from the book for those unable to penetrate Bloom's more esoteric harangues. Honestly, I deem it worth skipping, but perhaps there is some entertainment value in watching Bellow reflect praise intended for Bloom onto himself.

In his Introduction (titled: Our Virtue), Bloom wastes no time stating America's fundamental problems. In his classes he would routinely ask students what they would do if they were a British magistrate watching an Indian village funeral procession. Would they interfere when they saw the widow forced onto the funeral pyre, or would they restrain themselves, not wanting to impinge on their culture? Are the values and beliefs of these Indian villagers any less valid as yours?

He reflects the virtue of openness through the prism of books music, relationships, race, sex, self-centeredness, and equality. With a voice both philosophical and droll, Bloom explores each topic in turn with unerring exactness. He disparages the schools which try to purify the constitution of its "highly flawed, racist, and class-interested" founding fathers.

The middle of Closing drifts into the deeper philosophical foundations of our current predicament, generously ladling from the soups of Rousseau, Nietzsche, Plato, Tocqueville, and with some healthy doses of Hegel, Weber, Freud, and Heideggar. I have not made a serious study of any of these philosophers, and found myself often plodding through these denser sections. After the heady philosophy section, Bloom opines on the dysfunctional state of the university, and his first-hand experience at Cornell. Certain black students threatened the faculty with guns for the unfair, racists standards they had imposed. For him, both students and professors fall into Marx's overused dictum: history always repeats itself; the first time as tragedy, the second as farce.

What I found most jarring about Closing was the accuracy with which he described my understanding of reality, history, politics, and rights. I was always confident in America's inherent moral superiority, derived from our all-seeing openness to different cultures. I never considered that being open to anything had closed my mind to everything. And I really think that is Bloom's sine qua non. Americans suffer a fallacy of openness. We are indoctrinated in moral relativity from grade school, and are intellectually emasculated in our supposed lives. Closing made a splash when it was originally published in 1987, and 22 years later it has become even more socially relevant. I recommend this book to anyone who is honestly interested in challenging their personal philosophy.

The faces of Simcha Pt. 2

2009-10-23T04:24:00.000-07:00

As the sun closed on the last day of the festival, Succot, some friends convinced me to walk to Meah Shaarim for an annual concert given by none other than Yaakov Hillel, one of the generation's leading Kabbalists. He is the Dean of Yeshivat Chevrat Ahavat Shalom in Meah Shaarim/Geula, and apparently also a rock star.

I was originally hesitant to leave the opportunity of a quiet evening with my book (Closing of the American Mind by Allan Bloom). My friend, and chevrusa (trans.: study partnert), Vladimir Fefer spent the better part of a half hour convincing me why it was a necessity that I go.

Vlad had gone last year and it was one of the best decisions he made for the year. Using his quasi-mystical incantations and lyrics, Yaakov Hillel transfixed the crowd into one harmonious mind. Vlad informed me, when one person dropped his glasses, instantaneously a five- foot vacuum dilated around him. Like the Borg, with a shared mind oriented to the collective. Once he located his spectacles the vacuum closed around him.

The prospect of a cumulative 2 hour walk didn't sit well with me, but Vlad's extended plea ultimately stifled my more troglodytic tendencies. We set off around one o'clock ante meridiem after the last member of our outfit returned to the Yeshiva. To pass the time, Vlad and I mentally reviewed our Gemara along the way.

As we approached Meah Shaarim close to 2 in the morning, hundreds of people from toddlers to elderly were out walking. And as we approached the epicenter of the concert, hundreds of ultra-orthodox men stood chatting on the outside of the shul with a pungent aroma of cigarettes weaving in the cool night air. Sunflower seed shells scattered in small piles on the road (smoking and eating sunflower seeds are the new Israeli national pass times).

We shoved our way into the (Hexagonal Closest) packed Shul. The field of vision was entirely filled by the black and white Charedim (lit.: tremblers (before G-d), fig.:ultra-orthadox Jews). Any traces of colored clothing had already dissipated upon entering Meah Shaarim. Moving soon became impossible, at least motion of our own volition. Once in the central hall, we became subject to the waves of humans swaying back and forth. Our buddy system quickly deteriorated as we dissolved in the crowd like sugar into tea.

At the far front of the hall was a stage with Yaakov Hillel and a sizable posse of thirty chassidim. A few had microphones, and positioned off-stage right was a backing band. Most were singing from small esoteric siddurim (lit.: orderings, fig.:prayer/song books). I was not familiar with a single song, a rarity for Jewish musical outings.

I don't know how many concert reviews I'm going to do since I'm packed away in a Yeshiva all day. The music was other-wordly, and certainly worth the trip. But the concert was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for an entirely different reason. The crowds were so overwhelming (90 degree heat with, 4 layers of clothing (undershirt, tzitzit, shirt, and jacket) is a formula for massive amounts of perspiration). After a half hour of trying to nullify my ego in the jumping and swaying of the greater crowd conscience, I had enough.

I signaled to my buddy, Vlad, that I was heading out, and began the arduous push outward. My other friend, Danny Solganik was on the same page as me and also chose the moment to duck out, and we began the long walk back to Har Nof together.

The faces of Simcha pt. 1

2009-10-17T14:14:00.000-07:00

To properly describe the last four weeks would be an exercise in futility. The Jewish nation passed through the month of Tishrei which contains some of the heaviest hitting holidays: Rosh HaShana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah. The pious Jew undergoes a whirlwind of emotional states as s/he declares G-d king, begs atonement, seeks the eternal and rejoices in the yearly completion of G-d's Torah.

Most Yeshivas take a temporary and necessary pause to properly absorb these holidays. In my time off I was privileged to see and participate in several extraordinary exhibitions of Jewish simcha (happiness).

In previous generations, consumate writers would likely harken to the challenge of describing their experiences and feelings relying solely on their writ. Living in the age of digital cameras I can and do lay most of this burden upon the many videos I took while providing simple explanatory captions. Having just finished On Writing Well by William Zinsser, I am a little dissapointed with myself. It's a perfect opportunity to hone my abilities and dodge the pitfalls and platitudes which hound bad writing. But with the start of zman (lit.: time, fig.:session) breathing down my back, I think I will just share some of the less shaky videos.

~~~

Last Wednesday my good friend, Rabbi, Mashgiach Ruchani (fig. Spiritual guide) Reuven Billowitz called me over to Ezrat HaTorah, a chassidic neighborhood in Jerusalem. Reuven was in Israel for Sukkot and his brother-in-law funded the writing of a Sefer Torah for their community. He called to invite me to the Hachnosas Sefer Torah (fig. the completion of the Sefer Torah). I hopped in a cab and arrived just in time for the final letters of the Torah.

The Torah was completed in the Rebbe's home. There is a Mitzvah to write a Sefer Torah so the last few letters are divided amongst as many people as possible.

And when completed it is hoisted for all to see. Everyone in the room proclaims: V'zos ha-Torah asher Moshe lifnei Bnei Yisrael al pi Hashem b'yad Moshe (lit. This is the Torah that Moses placed before theChildren of Israel, according to G-d through Moses' hand).

The Sefer Torah is then taken outside and escorted by a large procession. Charedim both lead and follow the Torah dancing to the Shul that will be it's home. Children with torches walk in front lighting the way.

Once at the Shul the real dancing begins as the men encircle the many Sifrei Torah of the Shul and each other.

The Rebbe gives the new Sefer Torah a proper entrance.

The dancing can be exhausting for some. (Pictured: Reuven's youngest son Tzvi, 3 year competitor for cutest kid ever)

We finished with a fine banquet in honor of the occasion. I was very lucky to get such an intimate glance at one of the most important aspects of our continued tradition. The Torah has been preserved immaculately for thousands of years; every letter is cherished. The wisdom and meaning held within it would immediately vanish if we ever neglected its sanctity. Watching the birth of a Sefer Torah is not unlike the torches the children use to escort it to its new home. It provides light for the coming generation of Jews in a age of encroaching darkness.

Honestly, I was happiest to spend some time with my friend Reuven, a person who lives in constant fulfillment of the deepest and dearest principles and Laws that the Torah teaches.

~~~

In other news I finished the second of my pair of shoes which I started in late March.

The first shoe was taken from the original cover of the Catcher in the Rye. This second one was inspired by Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. I read a lot of his work throughout college. He's known for writing incredibly dense books which prevent challenges on many fronts for their diction, obscurity, structure and themes, not to mention discerning the basic plot.

For a long time I was uncertain of just what I wanted to do for the second shoe. But I'm pleased overall with the effort. I'm still developing sensitivity to the canvas medium and fine-tuning my skill with a sharpie, but the progress is palpable. I think I'll be ready to start professionally within a few months.

Note: I haven't edited this post since I need to go to sleep. If you read it in this unpolished state and find some distasteful errors, my humblest apologies.

Beginnings

2009-09-18T00:06:00.000-07:00

For those unaware, the Jewish calendar is about to undergo a flurry of holidays. As the sun sets on Jerusalem tonight we will be welcoming Rosh HaShanah. For the last three weeks I've been learning different mishnas and gemaras on the different ideas, themes, connections, and halachas (Jewish laws) that make Rosh HaShanah one of the holiest days of the year.

Living in Jerusalem this last month, I've been privy to a unique electricity that charges through the stone streets. Shofar blasts emanate from unseen street corners. Jews everywhere commit themselves to Tshuva (~repentance), reconciling neglected debts and mending broken relationships. At sundown, the Jews coronate our G-d as Melech (King) over the world.

There's so many ideas to speak about for such an auspicious occasion, and Rosh HaShanah has literally a network of satellite ideas seemingly estranged from one another but actually deeply intertwined. Some meanings can be uncovered with a superficial analysis and others require deeper analysis.

I'll describe one here to give a taste. The only Mitzah (commandment) explicitly mentioned in the Torah for the day of Rosh HaShanah is to blow the Shofar. The most simple and obvious question to ask is “Why?”. Rosh HaShanah commemorates the day that G-d created man in his “six day” tour-de-force universe creation. The lashon (language) says that he made man from the earth (indeed the word Adam or אדם actually means dirt). The pasuk (verse) then goes on to say that he breathed life into man through his nostrils. The Mitzvah of blowing the shofar is the only mitzvah of the 613 in the Torah that involves breath. There is no commandment to breathe (my Rosh Yeshiva says that the unspoken commandment of the Torah is to not be stupid; so we don't need a mitzvah for derech eretz (common sense knowledge)). As I mentioned above, Rosh HaShanah is the holiday where we declare G-d, as ruler of every aspect of the universe. It's our sincerest desire that everyone in the world recognize the fundamental truth that G-d is responsible for everything, especially our existence. Our blowing of the shofar is a way for us to give back the breath G-d used to create us, and to transform it into a clarion call proclaiming his sovereignty. Pretty nifty.

There was also a wedding last week, which I was regretfully unable to attend due to my recently sprained ankle. Contributing to the simcha of a wedding is a big act of kindness in the orthodox Jewish world. It's our responsibility to help make it the greatest night of the bride and grooms lives'.

Lot's of people come up with small shtick to entertain the bride and groom. The chassan (groom) happened to be an ophthalmologist and my friend Danny wanted to do a juggling shtick. So he asked me to color some hard-boiled eggs as eyes.

Here's the result:

The united states

2009-09-03T09:03:00.000-07:00

I've been back in the states for less than 48 hours now, but I've managed to accomplish a lot of my goals. Yesterday I rose around 5 o'clock and journeyed up to New Brunswick to visit my alma mater. The road work on Route 18 which had hampered pretty much every driver who traversed its winding macadam has finally found completion.

For as long as I can remember, from my first visits to Rutgers in high school to visit my sister and friends the construction had followed that road around like a bad habit. But now Route 18 is great. Really great, actually.

But Route 18 aside, I managed to visit and talk to many of my close friends in New Brunswick before heading up to the City.

~~~

I also finished my mom's second shoe during my transatlantic flight. I worked fairly intensely to finish it on time. I'm really pleased with how they both came out and how remarkably close they are to my original vision. Here are the pictures of the pair:

On Malts

2009-08-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

On Malts

I'll be back in the United States for five days in the beginning of September. With only a few weeks left before this auspicious sojourn on my native soil, I've found myself contemplating some activities to mark the occasion. A list of diversions of sorts, in a nation founded with the explicit intention of providing its inhabitants the freedom for such pursuits (a stroll through central park, alma mater, etc.). And in these thoughtless meanderings, I've invariably criss-crossed over one immutable, irrefutable, undeniably convenient and salient advantage which Brother Jonathan holds tauntingly high over Israel's splendorous crown.

Single Malt Scotch Whisky.

Each word requires an effort to enunciate, and indeed must be spoken to convey the full and exact meaning of the phrase.

Now admittedly, if people over-work their livers through binge drinking, then I've given mine the equivalent of a cushy government job. Indeed, I didn't even partake of libations until well after they were legally permitted to me. But in my humble and limited jaunts into the wine-dark seas, I have hit upon this bottomless treasure chest which continues to reveal glorious aspects of itself measure by 25-ml. measure.

Now it certainly isn't impossible to purchase Single Malts in Israel. However, for a college graduate earning effectively zero income, the prospect of paying two to four times the bottle value simply leaves me wilting like an aging southern belle of antebellum temperament .

So I've resolved to write the following short and simple treatise. I want to crystallize in writing my yearning and anticipation for the reunion with this most choice kindred spirit. I want to shine a small light on a world rich in complexity, beauty, and history that is largely hidden from one's normal purview. I want to provide an easy-to-understand introduction on the definition, history, process, science, and art of Single Malts. I want to give the reader an appreciation for single malts. What started in an august barley field of the Scottish lowlands several decades ago to the regal amber-hued potation should not be impudently guzzled, but contemplated, savored and enjoyed. I want to write this all down now, as I sit in a state set to expire. This is a lover's ode, my Song of Solomon, my swan song.

A caveat before we begin. As with most young loves, passion often betrays naiveté. Rest assured, as with any subject which passes under my lens, I strive for the utmost factual accuracy from reliable sources (or wikipedia if I'm feeling lazy). Translation: feel free to pass off any of this valuable trivia over drinks as though you've known it for years, and feel confident that you will not suffer the deep social embarrassment of being corrected by a more knowledgeable colleague.

So let us begin.

Etymology and History

What is Whisky? Better yet, let's start with the etymology. What is “Whisky”? The term's origins are found in the Gaelic term “usquebaugh” which means “Water of Life”. Go figure. Over the centuries, people neglected the -baugh, leaving the “usque” free to phonetically finagle itself to our modern “Whisky”.

“Whisky” or “Whiskey”? Scotland has an international protection on the word “Scotch”. There are many countries which produce whiskey, but only whisky from Scotland is called Scotch. These can be tasty and unique, but they are generally not called Whisky (emphasis on generally, for there is a fierce debate on the slippery 'e'). There are other qualifications a Whisky must satisfy to earn its proper title, which we'll touch upon as we continue our journey.

Alright, so what is it? Whisky is a broad classification of alcoholic beverages which are distilled from fermented grains. These grains include rye, wheat, corn, and barley. SMSWs are distilled from barley exclusively (although there exist single malt rye whiskies).

To historically pin down when the Scots began distilling their Whisky is up for debate. The earliest written record (an entry in the Exchequer Rolls to be precise; a sort of financial account record for the Kingdom of Scotland) dates back to 1494, just 2 years after the Jews were exiled from Spain by Ferdinand and Isabella. Early distilleries operated almost exclusively within Monasteries. Monks primarily prescribed whiskey in medicinal capacity, as the drink was well-reputed as a good cure for the small pox. Perhaps there is a historical basis for the naiveté I mentioned earlier.

In modern times there are five main regions known for their distinct styles of Single malts. The Highlands which contains the Island and Speyside malts, Islay, Campbeltown and Lowlands all contain active producing distilleries. The lion's share goes to the Highlands which boasts several scores of distilleries.

A book could be devoted to Whisky's history, and has (many times over), but we must press onward.

The Process

Taking a leaf from Michael Pollan's The Omnivore Dilemma, I'd like to follow a bottle of Single Malt Scotch Whisky from its humble beginning as a thatch of barley field to the day that it finds a good home where it will be cherished to its final drops. At each stage we will see how such a specific drink can have so many colorful and distinguished variations. For indeed, in the 19th century there existed more than 300 distilleries in the Highlands alone.

Our story can start either in England or Scotland. If the season is Spring, then a slim majority of the barley comes from Scotland, and in the winter, the vast majority comes from England. There are certain features which are sought for from the barley, but these characteristics would only be of interest to biochemists. The barley is usually harvested by professional “maltsters” according to the exacting conditions and specifications of the Distillery.

What do we mean when we say malting exactly? After the barley has been harvested, it soaks in water for 2 days, stimulating germination. Through germination, the barley produces many of the necessary enzymes which will transform long starch chains stored int the grain into simple sugars.

This process is brought to a halt, and the germinating barley is next dried. The method of drying is one of the first ripe opportunities to influence the eventual taste of the whisky. Different distilleries employ different methods to dry the germinating barley (electric, oil, kiln, etc.). The barley is placed in a dry sauna and flushed with heat from coal, oil or electricity. Most distilleries add a certain amount of peat smoke to give the final product a smokey flavor (if you've ever tried Laphroaig, pronounced: La-froig, then you know just how much phenols can affect the ultimate flavor).

The next stage is to mash up the barley into a coarse flour and add hot water. This catalyzes the enzymes released in the germination stage to break down the long starch chains into familiar sugars like glucose and maltose. Everyone's favorite unicellular fungus, yeast, is added to the mix (called the 'wort') to convert those sugars into alcohol and carbon-dioxide, making for a grainy, sweet, alcoholic liquid known as the “wash”. For those of you familiar with how beer is produced, you'll have undoubtedly noticed the similarities between the two processes at this point (in fact the ABV (alcohol by volume) is anywhere from 4-7 %). Speculation: In fact, I see no reason why the highly ambitious amongst us could not actually produce their own whisky from beer they purchased so long as they follow the steps outlined below.

I emphasis highly ambitious because up until now, most of the steps in our stairway to Whisky could be replicated in a suitably outfitted kitchen. What separates distilleries from kitchens is the next step. Not so shockingly, a distillery now begins the process of "distilling" the wash. The object goal of distilling a wash is to extract the alcohol from the wash from the yeast, water and remaining sugars. To do this, the wash is placed in a giant copper pot which is heated to a temperature that evaporates the alcohol, but also leaves the water behind. This concentrate is really what we're after. All distilleries put the wash through several phases of distillation, most do two cycles, and a few do three. At the end of the distillation stage, the ABV is around 60-75 %.

The giant copper pots, known as “stills” are essential to the development of the scotch's final feel and flavor. The geometry, size, and hull thickness all play roles in shaping the future of the whisky. Distilleries will go to great lengths to replicate older stills with utmost precision so to preserve its unique taste, body (how the whisky feels in the mouth), and bouquet.

This “new make spirit” is now ready set to be barreled. Most distilleries age their whiskys in used oak casks which they buy from American whiskey and bourbon distilleries (a small fraction are sherry casks; sherry an anglicization of the Spanish town, Jerez from where they were originally taken). The barrel influences our whisky in several dimensions transforming the body, flavor and color.

To be called “Scotch”, the whisky must sit in the barrel for at least 3 years by Scottish law. So the nature of the barrel has a long time to slowly chemically transform the whisky adding hints of vanilla and woody notes, darkening the spirit, and texturizing the body and viscosity while also filtering some of the coarser elements of the spirit. The great majority of whiskys are aged much longer than this, sometimes sitting in the barrel for several decades. As the whisky matures in the cask, its ABV decreases. The alcohol shed each year in the barrel is known as the “angel's share”.

The last step for our whisky is to be bottled. Unlike wine, once our whisky is bottled the aging process ends. So purchasing a 15-year Glenfiddich and letting it sit for a few years in your liquor cabinet will not make it an 18-year Glenfiddich. For consistency, most distilleries will blend from several different age barrels to deliver a more consistent drink. The age-label on the bottle is the youngest in the mix. If all the liquor in the bottle comes from the same cask, then the bottle will be labelled “single-cask”.

The only remaining steps after export and import is driving to ye old local purveyor of drink, and making your purchase.

Drinking and Philosophy

Humphrey Bogart's dying words: “I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.”

That's a big admission from a big man. Bogey hails from a bygone class of man which esteemed wit, and action. SMSW isn't a drink for a fraternity party, and is not to be used as a mixer. It's a drink for genuine celebration and good company. A good night (or day) will find its way to scotch in a discreet way, evolving naturally from the occasion's upward trajectory.

In order to do the experience right there are some ideas that are fairly necessary to keep in mind. Drinking scotch isn't an opportunity to improve your swilling skills. You need a glass with some curve and convexity to it. Once the scotch is poured into the glass the bouquet immediately start to collect within the bowl of the glass and the more curved the glass, the better you can detect the different aromas (Because smell plays such a large role in taste, drinking scotch while sick or stuffed-up is not recommended),

Despite the temptation to do otherwise, one must let the scotch sit for several minutes. There's more than one way to smell too. Alternate between light wafts and deep breaths. Just try to capture and isolate the aromas; learn and appreciate them. To really begin a quest into scotch means trying different ones and figuring out what you like, and what you like is hidden in the aromas. You can roll the glass in your hand. A wide bottom to the glass lets your hand warm the whisky to slightly above room temperature. One can even add some water (never so much that the glass is more than 1/3 full since it will throw off your smelling). All these techniques serve to coax hidden aromas from the whisky and bring the bouquet into bloom.

The professionals will spend anywhere from 15 minutes to a half hour engaging in this “waltz” before tasting. I don't go this far, and if you are new to malts I don't recommend it either unless you happen to have a guide who can turn it into a learning experience.

At this point you're probably ready to just drink already. Good, the anticipation is a big part of it. I like to take a small swig and let it wash all over my tongue to get a feeling for the flavor. Then a big long taste to get a feel for the body and texture. Continue smelling intermittently and refill when appropriate or necessary.

Not every scotch will thrill you, some might not even agree with you. It's important to remember there is a veritable universe of choices. I'm a strong believer in self-exploration but this guide just wouldn't be complete without some basic recommendations.

Speyside 10yo
Glenlivet 18yo
Dalwhinnie 15yo
Aberlour 10yo

Note that older age does not mean better value, or even better taste. And whatever you do, do not let your mind equate a steep price tag with a superior malt.

Conclusions

We've scratched upon many topics in this short guide while generally eschewing the depth. There is much more to learn and enjoy than the simple contents of this guide. Learning more is not hard and recommended. There is a wealth of information on the internet and in the book store. Most Liquor stores carry enough handles to whet your appetite. The door is open.

As much as I enjoy whisky, it's special status, it's holiness comes keeping saving it for the right moment in time. The Hebrew word, “Kadosh” means “holy” but also means “separate”. Those things which we ordinarily deny ourselves achieve a special status in our mind's eye. We're creatures which toil from day to day. It's what brings us the most and realest satisfaction. And nestled between the long day's toing and froing are times where we can relax and reflect in good company. For these holy moments, there's a quaint Yiddish phrase I've been warming up to:

Baineh le-Baineh iz a trink bronfn oykh git.

In the meantime, a shot of whisky is also all right.

Working Man's Minyan

2009-08-05T06:36:00.000-07:00

I've started the Haifa Ulpan, and thus far it's been a rewarding experience to speak, write, read, and practice Hebrew all day long. I'm recovering much of the vocabulary I lost over the last two months of relative dormancy in Hebrew study. I live on a modest diet relative to my Yeshiva. The view from my dorm window affords me a picturesque view of the city by the sea (Debussy's Claire de Lune on repeat).

Today I had to walk down several flights of stairs to the parking lot level of the campus building where I have class everyday. The Beit Knesset (Synangogue) is little more than a bomb shelter with a Sefer Torah burrowed into one of the refortified concrete walls.

Just last week I was davening (praying) at Machon Shlomo, a premier Yeshiva in one of Jerusalem's most posh religious neighborhoods, Har Nof. The scholarly elite, millionaires, movers, and shakers of the Jewish world frequently pray in our Beit. The dress code is pretty straightforward, black, white and a snappy fedora (the hat can be any color you want, so long as it's black).

Here I sat in this bomb shelter Beit with the proletariat Jews, men of the working class. Their clothing dirty from the day's work of tending to the University. Their kippas were knit years ago and have rarely moved from their heads since. I sat reading Mesillos Yasharim (Path of the Just by Moshe Chaim Luzzato) waiting with the other seven for another two to complete our minyan (a group of ten Bar Mitzvahed Jewish males). A call is placed from inside the Shelter, and within moments two more Jews enter.

After Mincha finishes, the Gabbai gives a Dvar Torah (a pithy speech on an aspect of the Torah or Jewish philosophy). The men adjourn to their work, and I return to my studies.

~~~
We read and translated a story from our text book today, pictured below:

I thought it was touching and so I'll poorly translate for those who can't read the Hebrew:

A tourist visited Jerusalem. He walked through the streets and saw that all the walls and houses were built from stone. He approached the wall of the ancient city and saw that it was made of stone. He departed from the city to the surrounding mountains, and looked all around. He saw stone in the mountains and paths, and wondered why all of Jerusalem was made of stone.

During his return to the city, he turned to an old man and asked "maybe you can explain why there are so many stones in Jerusalem?"

The old man answered him, "In each generation of Jews that come to Jerusalem to pray and cry at the Western Wall. With all their tears they feel their hearts turn to stone and fall. This is why Jerusalem is so full of stones."

By itself, the story is demonstrative in Jerusalem's importance to Jews if not a touch on the sentimental side. However, the accompanying illustration deserves accolades. It takes the story's punchline and gives it a witty Zionist twist. The religious Jews are seen crying and depositing their stones in the wheel barrow of the young and aspiring Zionist, complete with his work boots, shorts, and cova tembel ( lit.: dummy's hat: 1950s headgear for Israelis). A great symbol for the dynamics of the modern state of Israel.

I leave the deep interpretations to you.

2009-07-30T12:42:00.000-07:00

Wow, a new post following so quickly on the heels on the last. I'll try not to make it a habit. Although to be fair to myself, this is one the few times in the last month and a half that I've had the down time to sit, write and communicate.

I've finished the STEP program. After a month of intense study, I have picked up some basic Gemara (the extended part of the Talmud) reading skills which will certainly be a great benefit in the coming year. In a few days I'll be heading up to Haifa for a month for an intensive ulpan (hebrew learning program). In the last week I've been mostly scrambling about Jerusalem to meet with the Jewish Agency and Nefesh B'Nefesh to finish up my Aliyah application. Having completed STEP, my time table has been freed up considerably (see my old schedule below).

I still make time to learn the weekly Parsha (Torah portion) every morning and read some Mussar (Jewish ethical philosophy). But now when I come back from town in the afternoon I learn Quantum Mechanics for two hours (from Sakurai) with my friend Gary who also learns at Machon Shlomo. As far as quantum textbooks go, I can't say I'm thrilled. But as my friend Javier said, and I felt his analysis was particularly true "it get's the job done". Although I've only skimmed Shankar (the other seminal grad text for QM) I feel like it would suit my mathematical tastes a little more.

I just finished The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt by Edmund Morris, which was simply a momumental biography. It's certainly lengthy (780 pages) but it's incredibly exciting and a fast read. I sprinted through the last 300 pages in a few days. I'm looking forward to reading the sequel (of a planned trilogy), Theodore Rex. Before reading The Rise, I was mildly interested in TR from my high school days in AP history. Mr. Barnshaw, my history teacher was a big fan and passed on the bug. TR stands as probably the most brilliant president we've ever had and is responsible for much of American culture as we know it today.

In between reading TR and Aliyah stuff, I've been putting the finishing touches on the first of a pair of shoes I'm doing for my mom. Here are some pictures:

If you've been following my blog, or know her personally then you know she is an incredible stained glass artist.

She asked me to make her shoes with butterflies and flowers (a subject I was not too thrilled about at first).
So I tried to capture that aspect of her artistic expression in this shoe (and I'll finish hopefully the pair by the end of August).
I use regular sharpies on canvas shoes.
And I try to capture an aspect of a person's personality to make them personalized.

Layla tov.

What is the What is the best.

2009-07-29T04:55:00.000-07:00

So I meant to write this book review about 5 months ago, and as time passed it became buried under a long list of tasks with varying degrees of more and less importance.

It's not often I get up on the pulpit about books. I certainly love reading but I don't like recommending a book to anyone unless I found it especially inspiring, intriguing, brilliant, compelling, or some combination there of.

For those that know my personal tastes, this might also come as a surprise because I have often expressed resentment for this man's writing, but David Eggers shines as brightly as a super nova in his novel, What is the What.

The novel is actually an autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng. Years prior to its publication, Deng met the writer David Eggers and they began the task of transforming Deng's experiences as a Sudanese-refugee and subsequently an immigrant in America into a work of art.

The novel is Deng's experiences narrated by him after he has been living in America for several years, but the prose is all Eggers.

The story begings with Deng in America. Hoodlums break into his apartment and subdue him and steal all his belongings. Deng starts speaking to his captors to himself (one could spend an hour just admiring how Eggers structured this brilliant form of narration; it plays so naturally). Deng shares his formative years, growing up in a pastoral agricultural Dinka village in the south of Sudan. Through Deng's young eyes we witness the beginning of the Second Sudanese Civil War.

For those of you unfamiliar with anything to do with Sudan prior to the Darfur conflict (which last I checked is fixing to placed on the shelf next to the Free Tibet movement), the Second Sudanese Civil War was one of the longest and bloodiest conflicts of the 20th century, lasting from 1983 to 2005 and resulting in the deaths of more than 2 million people.

Deng is transformed into a Lost Boy virtually over night as he ripped from his village when Murahaleen (Arab) raiders come to tear his town asunder. The raiders run the standard playbook for pillaging and wanton savagery, as Deng struggles to escape. In doing so, he is launched on an odyssey across the wilderness of Sudan and the conflict that would engulf his nation for more than the next two decades.

Eggers' achievements in this autobiographical novel are monumental. It's a modern epic which stands tall amongst the forest of the genre. Eggers' seamlessly weaves Deng's present and past in an honest and plain voice that somehow manages to paint a vivid landscape of war-torn Sudan and the refugee camps of Ethiopia.

What is the What is a deeply satisfying read. It grants the reader a unique perspective, a portal through time and space, the experiences of a nation, and the life of a boy existing there and then and here and now.

My yarmulke is off to you Mr. Eggers.

Living and learning.

2009-07-09T07:15:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

I'm currently learning at Machon Shlomo in Har Nof, Jerusalem. It's absolutely incredible, and gets better daily. It's hard to categorize and describe the learning environment. A brief and accurate description of the nature of Yeshiva is certainly hard to come by. But to give you a day in the life, here's my daily schedule.

6:40 to 7:10 a.m. I wake up, wash up, brush teeth, etc.

7:15 to 8:15 I daven Shacharis (morning prayers) with the Yeshiva students.

8:15 to 8:35 I read and try to understand the week's parsha from the Torah.

8:35 to 8:55 I eat breakfast with the guys.

9:00 to 10:00 My tutor and I read through and understand the morning's gemara assignment. This generally constitutes learning how to read and understand Aramaic and how to parse the logically serpentine statements of the Talmud.

10:00 to 11:00 I review this assignment with my chavrusas (the other students).

11:00 to 12:00 The students and I participate in a shiur (lecture/class) from a rabbi who flushes out the superficial arguments as well as the deeper ideas, intricacies, and understandings.

12:00 to 12:15 I use this time to read and meditate on works of Mussar (Jewish ethics and character development).

12:15 to 1:15 We receive a lecture on a particular topic from different unparalleled and brilliant rabbis, or a lesson on Halacha (Jewish law).

1:15 to 1:35 I daven mincha (afternoon prayers).

1:40 to 3:00 (sometimes 4:00) I have a siesta to eat a home cooked lunch. I usually play a game of chess with my friend Seva (who is also my chess teacher) over lunch and then devote the rest of the siesta to taking care of logistical necessities such as filing forms for ulpan, and aliyah. I also use this time to work on art projects or drawings. I read more Mussar and take care of any shopping I need to do.

3:00 to 4:00 I have an ulpan in which we learn the underlying structure of Hebrew, (very fascinating for a mathematician).

4:00 to 7:15 I do the same as in the morning but a different section of the Gemara. In the morning we learn Baba Kama which deals with understanding and classifying property damages (much more intriguing than it admittedly sounds) and in the evening we learn the second perek of Brachos (literally: blessings). This deals with all the situations that arise from times to pray and if someone misses their opportunity.

7:20 to 8:20 I eat dinner with the guys and relax in this interim.

8:20 to 8:40 I daven Maariv (evening prayers).

8:40 to ~12:40 I answer correspondences, take care of more business, read the news, read books, read achewood, exercise, launder my clothes, shower, apply for citizenship, or draw (usually some combination of most). If there is nothing else taking place; there are sometimes weddings to attend. Two nights ago we made a kumzitz (bonfire) where we sang, roasted potatoes, told stories, smoked hookah, drank, etc.

As one can see from the schedule, I'm learning how to make as much of my time as possible. It's amazing what a person can accomplish if they just devote five minutes here and there. e.g. Every time I go to the bathroom, I read a page from Vitruvius's De Architectura, a seminal text on Architecture. I've already experienced the benefits from this approach and recommend it for anyone wanting to start anything.
~~~

A few weeks ago, I woke up before Shacharis and happened to catch a glimpse of this cloud nestling in the valley of Har Nof. This is the first and only time that I have seen it happen, so I snapped a few pictures of it.

Last Shabbas, we went up North, and on the way I decided to sketch some of the scenery.

We also went hiking and I took this short video of these fish diving after the pieces of bread we tossed in the water.

In the Holy Land

2009-06-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

Hey friends and family,

I'm back in Israel. I've been here for almost 2 weeks now. It took me two days of travel to get to Israel (I had a twelve hour lay over in Kyev, Ukraine). I arrived at 2:30 in the morning, and in the first 24 hours I had to get a cell-phone, move all my belongings to Har Nof, Jerusalem, unpack, repack for the Birthright Trip that occupied the last ten days. I had just over 24 hours after my arrival, to prepare. I took a Nesher back at 3:00 in the a.m. to Ben Gurion Airport to great the kids on the birthright trip.

A few words about the trip: I was sincerely blessed to get this job. My friend Rachel Greiff called me a few days before my flight and asked me if I would be interested. A half hour later, I got the job. The Torah study program I'm doing doesn't start until the 24th. And from the time I touched down, I would have had a full 20 days to tour, hang out and visit friends. By staffing the birthright trip, I got to tour for ten of these days for free while chilling and growing with 43 incredible people the whole time. It was certainly hectic, but I was able to help many of the students connect with their Jewish identities.

I've only ever participated in a birthright trip. So given my relative inexperience with the whole staffing component of the trip, I was proud to hear that many were very satisfied and felt that I really helped "make" this birthright trip the experience that it was.

I took essentially no pictures on the trip; I have already been to some of the places that we visited, and for others it would not have been advisable to bring a camera.

I do however have one picture I would like to share:

This cup has been with me for the last 14 years. I got it when my parents took my sister and me to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey circus. They bought me water ice that was served in this cup and I've been using it ever since. It has accompanied me throughout all my journeys at home and abroad. I'm slightly devastated that it has cracked (in transport) since it is essentially the oldest relic of my past that I still carry with me, and use regularly.

That's all I have to say about that.

Jewish art

2009-05-31T13:36:00.001-07:00

For the past year I've been learning with my two Rabbis, Yossi Sirote and Yehoshua Lewis. These men compose two-thirds of the Rutgers Jewish Experience trifecta (the third being the one and only Rabbi Meir Goldberg), an organization which lives and breathes through their indefatigable efforts in the Rutgers community. They give shiurim (classes) and learn one-on-one with the students weekly.

It was a long and productive year filled with much growth. I'm now leaving for Israel in two days to continue what we started a little more than a year ago. I will take up residence in Har Nof, Jerusalem to learn at the prestigious Machon Shlomo Yeshiva; something I could not have achieved without their help.

Had I immediately resigned myself to graduate school, I'm sure I would have found much happiness. Mathematics is really one of the most fulfilling disciplines; but it would have been at the cost of neglecting many potentially life-changing questions and unbounded personal and spiritual growth.

In any case, I wanted to show my appreciation. So I made some drawings. I took a lot of "work-in-progress" pictures, but for both I forgot to take pictures of the final products before I gave them to Rabbis Sirote and Lewis.

Anyway, here they are:

This first one is of Ethiopian Jews, it is fairly complete as shown here.
I've always been fascinated by the story of the Falashas, a small community of Jews in Ethiopia who kept the Torah for thousands of years unbeknownst to the rest of the world.

The second picture comes from a picture from the cemetary of Josefov, the Jewish quarter of Prague. The cemetary has gravestones dating back to the 13th century and is the resting place of the Maharal. This is still a far from complete version but the best I have:

These were my first forays into Jewish art. It feels oddly satisfying to enter my own small memes into the vast and vibrant culture. If you want to see the finished copies, visit Rabbi Lewis & Rabbi Sirote in Highland Park.

Taking Flight

2009-05-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning marked a milestone in a project that I have undertaken several months ago. After watching the film Waking Life for the second time, I began making the conscious effort to begin lucid dreaming.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept or too lazy to read the 2 paragraph introduction to Wikipedia's entry, I'll give a brief description. Lucid dreaming is simply the act of becoming conscious in your dreams. A person's consciousness generally plays a role in most dreams, but it's generally on autopilot. The same way a person "spaces out" while their awake, a person spaces out in their dreams just letting the stream of consciousness pull them this way and that. If the analogy makes any sense, then you can think of lucid dreaming as the conscious thought you experience when we are awake and engaged in active thought.

It should be noted that it is much more difficult to enter a state of lucid dreaming than it is to just start concentrating while you are awake.

I'm not going to explain how to lucid dream here; there is a wealth of tutorials on the internet, specifically on youtube (and watch Waking Life). It is mostly reliable and accurate from what I have read and tried.

Since I started this project, I have successfully dreamed lucidly 7 times. The first time that I achieved the state it lasted for maybe 20 seconds. I was standing in a large formal room, and I looked at the clock on the wall. The hands were literally bouncing around the face of the clock, which helped me make the connection that I was in a dream. And after the realization, I was able to control what I did and what took place around me.After that first experience, I came up with some goals to accomplish through lucid dreaming.

The first challenge was to fly. Most children have dreams in which they fly, but most lose those dreams by puberty. I spent the next 6 lucid dreams learning how to get this ability back. It's not easy. At first I would jump and manage to hover briefly before my mind would tell me that gravity still binds me to the firmament of my dreams (not unlike Neo's experience in the Matrix). But yesterday, I successfully took flight and it was more exhilarating than I imagined.

So what's next?

Now that I can fly, I'm designing/drawing a training island that I can travel to from wherever I am in my dream. I will use this island to experiment and learn various activities and master new skills.

I will learn a Talmudic dispute between Rashi and Rambam, and summon them to the Island to argue one another.
Play Quidditch
360 degree vision was mentioned in Waking Life, and I also want to make it my goal too.
Solve highly visual math puzzles from the Putnam.
Make plants grow spontaneously.

I'm also open to anyone's suggestions for activities, and feel free to contact me if you want some advice on how to start lucid dreaming.

Dial M for Mezuzah

2009-05-07T13:15:00.000-07:00

So as alluded to in the 3 sentence header, My life goals and plans have undergone a dramatic makeover during the last 9 months. Einstein's relativity does its share to make me somewhat ignorant of the widening gaps between the people close to me and myself. About a month ago I re-encountered a family video from my cousin Anne's wedding. My cousin Yolanda took the initiative to capture a family portrait through interview, and I got a chance to a red-shifted version of my former self.

Yo: What do you plan do your life?
me: I hope to become a mathematical physicist... and basically keep myself stuck to books for the rest of my life.

Whoa, not so fast younger-Jordan, you might just want to read through that lease on the ivory tower before signing.

So what's the point? This is simply a preamble for what I actually want to say. As I mentioned above, I'm guilty of sometimes losing sight of the growing disconnects between me and others (and sometimes myself). All the more reason to make special mention of my mom.

Despite the drastically different turn my life has taken, she remains supportive. But the word supportive doesn't do her justice; I could just as well be talking about an I-beam. While we we're not yet at a full understanding of each other, she has actually spent hours laboring on my behalf to create beautiful works of Judaica that I want to share with the world (any creative talent I can claim for myself, I inherited from her).

Here are two great examples:

The first is the Chanukiah she made last winter:

This is the mezuzah she just finished for me:
You better believe Zach and I affixed it to our doorpost:

I've since informed her that she will be making all of my Judaica operating around this theme.

Even though I don't really like hallmark holidays, happy early mother's day.

Thank you.

Austin, Texas

2009-04-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

I was in Austin, TX this weekend. My cousin Tony Ledvina just married the lovely and wonderful Adrienne Cowan. A large chunk of the Ledvina family came down to celebrate at the reception. I relished the opportunity to hang out not just with my sister and Adam who I have not seen since Thanksgiving, but my uncles, aunts, cousins and their children.

But more about, Austin...

Austin is an up-and-coming city with a distinctive personality. It's downtown scene is pretty happening, with plenty of restaurants, bars, petty cabs, and ladies of the night. They call themselves The Music Capital of the World. Every building on Sixth Street has a musical venue. Their annual music festival, South by Southwest (SXSW) hosts over 1,400 different performers and generates more than 110 million dollars in revenue for the city.

The local color runs in many different hues with plenty of yuppies and hippies. Sunday evening, my family and I walked from our hotel to the park beside the Congress Ave. Bridge to watch the resident bat community emerge from its recesses (a daily occurrence that can last up to an hour). Thousands upon thousands of bats take to the sky a half-hour before sun down. They spend the night hunting for food, and return to the bridge before day break.

I took some video of the bats, please forgive the less-than-eloquent commentary:

Austin was a fun city, plain and simple. If you find yourself in the area, definitely check it out.

shoes made for walking

2009-04-19T16:54:00.000-07:00

So true to my word, here are some of the shoes I've been working on for the last several months.

A little explanation. Last year I bought a pair of canvas shoes, and after walking around in them for a few weeks, I felt the strong urge to enhance them by drawing all over them. I personally loved the result and wore them everywhere I walked.

Months after the smoke had cleared, my father mentioned his desire for a pair. Around Thanksgiving break, 2008 I finally got around to drawing a pair for him as well. It took me several months to finish (the limiting reactant being a mix of indecisiveness and laziness), but both he and I were pleased with the result.

Here are some of the pictures (courtesy of Denise Ledvina):
After I completed his shoes, I went to work making a new pair for myself. Unlike my last pair, I only don these new shoes for the Sabbath and holidays (and despite the infrequency, I've already managed to accrue some faint wine stains from Eliyahu haNavi's cup which fell to the floor during the second Seder!).

This image was taken from the first edition cover of one of my all time favorite books, the Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. Here is the actual cover in case you're curious:

That's all for now. I'll post more pictures when I have finished the second shoe. I've contemplating doing some free-lance work if you're interested in having a pair.

Hello, World!

2009-04-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

Hello friends,

As explained in the heading, I'm about to embark on a priorly unanticipated journey. For most of my life, I was quite sure of my life's course. I would ascend the ivory tower and stay there until my bones calcified. I planned to nestle in the warm embrace of Academia. Working toward tenure, building respect in my research area within an international community, and attending conferences in far off countries.

If asked about those ambitions today, all I have by way of response is the old Yiddish proverb (as though there is another kind):

"Man makes plans and G~d laughs."

Supplanting these ambitions is a previously uncharted course. I will be returning to Israel in early June. And after a few weeks of sight-seeing and couch-surfing I will begin learning in the summer program at the yeshiva Machon Shlomo in Jerusalem. I hope to be fluent in Hebrew by the end of the summer, and to that end will be participating in an ulpan (language immersion program) at Haifa University in August. In the fall I will return to Machon Shlomo for the year. In my spare time, I will be building a non-profit organization (more on this later).

Every second I think about it, I feel the tinge of excitement on my skin and in my bones. Morgan Freeman's last lines in the Shawshank Redemption capture the feeling well:

"I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain."

As my mom will readily inform you, I have a fairly flaky track record when it comes to blogs. As a good-faith token, I'll publish some of my recent art projects within 24 hours.