Sunday, December 04, 2016

Song of Elmallah, Part VI, introduction

I keep putting off completing the last book of The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. It just needs revisions to some of its poems, so I went to look at it tonight, and behold, I found another reason to put off working on it! I read the introduction and thought it was so good, I decided to post it here. (I suppose if I didn't like my own writing, I wouldn't write.)

Gottverdamnerung: In the End ov Time
You Will Soon Be Leaving Me, Too

How suddenly I feel thrust out of Heloise’s arms, with whom I’ve lain these many years, trying to complete my Knowen of her. How cruel and sudden death is. We know it’s coming; we expect it; there are moments of dread. And then death divides us! Our bodies are irrevocably separated; our hearts cloven with an unimaginable wound. Our tears fill but a cup. It overflows.
A semi-transparent filter has darkened the world. Everything is the same, but the tone is more somber. How many layers of these filters are lain upon our Souls until all light is filtered away? I love Heloise, and she is no more.
I have thrown rock and soil upon her, and walked, broken, away. I call out to my God, “Where is Your Moment of Bliss?” There is no answer. Again I must remember I am here, down here, in the world, in Ertha. Here I am, and like a child who cries out to a parent and receives no response, I cry louder. I sob. My Parent stands ready in the next room, but this I must do, without help. We both grieve at my sorrow.
They say a ladder was extended from heaven, and angels descended and ascended. This was a dream. In reality, angels may descend, but once we have touched Ertha, once we have kissed her or cursed her, a filter darkens our eyes, our hearts, our Souls. No more can we find the ladder. If it is there, we cannot see it. If we reach out to it, we cannot hold it. Its rungs will not support our heaviness of heart.
So, what is there to do? I must build a ladder! Some say the ladder is there, and I must merely climb it. They call it Torah. Others say climbing is merely a matter of faith. With faith, all will be accomplished, they say. They refer to new books extolling a man. What is the difference between faith and illusion? Those that talk so boldly are full of illusion. And it grieves me, for Ertha is full mostly of illusion and very little faith. Our Sacred Books are not a ladder. They are but incomplete instructions. Each of us must build. And each must improvise.
But wait! A wonderful realization has just now struck me. This is not only the work of angels. Everyone is building! Some are still searching for the first tool. Others have amassed materials but can fashion nothing. This work is hard. Having too much creates an impossible burden. With too little, nothing holds together.
Heloise, you have helped me fashion a rung in my ladder. For this you are inscribed in my Soul, and you are made holy. Who now will hold me in her arms? Will her kisses be so sensuous and eager? Will her body tremble with a pleasure that reaches to the Moment of Bliss? Shkheenah, will You love me so sweetly again?
And you, my dear reader, my leader who has followed me so far! You too, will be leaving me soon. But I will not leave you!
~Elmallah

Thursday, December 01, 2016

Atternen Ju: altered states

The time is about 1170CE. The place is north of Damascus. Our hero and his wife are making their way to Khazaria or Poland, or who-knows-where, and lo, before them, the Euphrates...

Here's a prose, standard English version of their trip.


Here on these shores we eat the last of Sheik Sinon’s hashish cakes. As we climb aboard a rottin’ boat, our ferryman, Urshinnab, assures,
“Yea, I’ll take you’s all the way up this Euphrates to its source, even to that other world, that Aden where these shores end.”
Anyways, that’s the claim he makes. Batkol frowns and looks around. Marsh and silence. We slip from shore.

Languid ripples bend away. Reeds and muddy shoals and cranes. A breeze. The willows tremble and sigh, wavin’ their arms, ‘Come here. Forget.’ Beneath them, the women washin’ clothes see us and wave and begin to dance, swayin’ hips and sway of arms. And now the plane trees murmur dreams. The rustle of leaves like brushes on drums, and the birds in a chorus, warble refrains as the women bow to the ferry boat,
“Hail, ye holy spirits. Ascend.”
The birds take flight to accompany us; angels and egrets alight on our boat as the River Redemption flows to its source.

We lie on the prow. The azure sky descends. I touch it. It ripples and bends like water, zigzag arcs shoot out in a spray of color wherever I touch, as I dissolve in the liquid air. Our little ferry stretches out, and with it, like rubber, we elong into giants sailin’ an island upstream.

We pass beneath a willow tree into a masjid*, tiny and cool, with an intricate dome of inlaid tiles, polished sapphire, jade, and gold. What artist drew such a perfect design? The dome echoes a choir in song; must be a thousand angels of praise. Sudden the dome in a thunder explodes. Birds, leaves, branches, sky. A flock of warblers scatter away and a rain of leaves flutter down....
* a little mosque

I wake from a dream. Astonished, I blink. I wake again and the world is new. I am in a boat. What river is this? I wake again. I am in a boat. From far away a woman stares. I know her face. I wake again. Heavy breathin’. I am in a boat. Far away... I wake again. A woman sittin’ far away. She speaks. Her words a waterfall, a low rumble. I wake from a dream. I am in a boat. Music echoes from far away.
“You are Butkoel,"
I think I say. Am I dreamin’? I wake again. She murmurs, but all her words are garbled. I try to explain... She bursts into laughter. I wake from a dream. I am laughing. I close my eyes and see rivers that ripple into words down a page, mosques built in an arbor of trees.

I wake from a dream of rivers and boats. The world is a boat. It rocks on waves, and sooner or later what is standing, falls. It make me dizzy. So that is wy.... 

I wake from a dream. But am I awake? Do I hear singin’ or Batkols voice? She stops laughin’. I listen close.

Splish... Splish... Gurgle ... Splish. The world empties of sight and sound. Just a vast mosaic of blue sky. The splish and gurgle and the ferryman’s wheeze. And then in the silence I hear it again what I’ve heard many times, I don’t know when -- a sigh, a whisper, a word, a phrase that comes like shadow dance on the waves; a voice on the river or a Voice of the Lor singin’ itself, faint as a breeze, singin’ itself through the ages of me. Verses that slowly remember themselves. Mysterious lyrics. What do they mean?
‘In symmetry of love and decay...
‘Hear me; touch me.
‘I care not what is true.
‘And I betray what is coy.
‘I’ll lead you where you want to go,
‘And leave you, cold, alone...’

Who is this woman? Potiphar’s* wife? Or Lilith callin’ from the farther shore? How do I know her temptin’ song? Again and again, but now it transforms,
‘In some, the degrees of love...
‘Come, hurry, touch me carnally.
‘Refuse echoes.
‘Cling to what is ekht...
‘Redeeming you who are called, alone.’
* Beraysheet/Genesis 39:1-20

“Batkol, do you hear her luring me?”
“I hear a khazzen* blessin’ us
“That we might flourish in our new land...
“‘*Et semmukh Duvveed uvdekhah...*’”
* cantor; prayer leader
*-* 15th blessing of the Sh'monah Esray

Comes twilight and towerin’ palisades rise with mysterious patterns in the rock.
“Glyphs writ before Noah’s time.”
“Genealogies and weird tales?”
“No one can read it,”
Urshinnub says. For a moment they all read themselves, like the earth revealing her secret life,
“Bow to me you little men and I will uncloak myself for you...”
Strange, her language rumbles and booms across the water;
“Be dismayed by your abashment lickin’ my dust*.”
Then silence. There on the highest ridge where the sun is sinkin’ into the haze, a fortress.
“That is Rumkale**, abandoned since the time of Job. We’ll stay the night as its royal guests.”
Our ferryman beaches the tiny skiff. Exhausted, we climb to her who calls.
* others say: crack
** pronounced ‘roomkallay’, the ‘oo’ like’book’

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Anti-Semitism: Harbinger of Political and Social Decline

 I recently completed a research paper entitled Anti-Semitism: Harbinger of Political and Social Decline. I uploaded the complete paper to www.academia.edu with this abstract:

This article is an analysis of Jew hatred (anti-Semitism) and its debilitating impact on society and governance. It first looks at religious Jew hatred, showing how Muslim Jew hatred is the underlying cause of the Arab-Israel conflict, and how it is also a measure of the dysfunctionality of Arab governments. The paper then turns to ideological-leftist Jew hatred, and the psychological processes that allow bigotry to get embedded into politics. The paper concludes with a brief review of political parties in Europe that are promoting Jew hatred and the fragility of those countries where Jew hatred is most prevalent.

Here are the opening paragraphs:
I. Introduction

For those who are paying even modest attention, it is clear that anti-Semitism, conspiracy theories about Jews, and anti-Zionist hatred of Israel, the "Jew of nations," has been on the rise for two decades.

However, such a general statement provides an unfocused starting place for analysis. In this essay I will look at the problem more closely, teasing apart its three primary strands:
1. religious anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism
2. political/ideological anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism
3. nationalistic anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism
I will begin this analysis with religion, the most historically prevalent form of Jew hatred, and for the sake of brevity and honesty, from here on out I will dispense with euphemisms, and refer to anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism as Jew hatred.


II. Religious Jew Hatred

Religious Jew hatred must be differentiated into its Muslim and Christian forms. Muslim Jew hatred appears to be no worse today than it has been for many decades, certainly since 1948, and probably since 1900 in conjunction with the rise of Zionism. However, saying it is no worse today than it has been for a century is really saying that Islamic Jew hatred is 1. state-promoted; 2. inculcated in the home, school systems, and news and social media; 3. virtually unrestrained; and 4. greatly influenced by Nazi ideology. The ADL’s 2014 study of world anti-Semitism (1), and current events documented on MEMRI’s website(2) verifies the extent and viciousness of this hatred, its profound disconnect from historical evidence, and the comprehensive lack of honesty that dominates opinions across the Muslim world.

(1.) Executive Summary: http://global100.adl.org/public/ADL-Global-100-Executive-Summary.pdf;
    Full report: http://global100.adl.org/
(2.) MEMRI’S home page: http://www.memri.org/middle-east-media-research-institute.html;
MEMRITV: http://www.memritv.org/; MEMRI media archives: http://www.memri.org/media-archives.html

The consequences are far reaching and highly disturbing. This is surely the underlying cause behind the Arab (and Muslim) refusal to make peace with Israel. Ironically, many people get this backwards. Many people think Arab and Muslim Jew hatred is an effect of conflict with Israel. In fact, it pre-existed and generated those conflicts. The Arabs 1. refused to accept Jewish immigration to Palestine before 1948; 2. refused to accept Israel’s right to exist in 1948; and 3. refused to negotiate with Israel after the ‘48, ‘56, ‘67, and ‘73 wars, and with the exception of Egypt and Jordan (who have made a frigid peace with Israel) at no other time have Arabs come forward and simply accepted Israel’s right to exist. The Palestinian conflict with Israel is a direct result of this refusal to tolerate the existence of a Jewish nation in the Middle East.

Yet Israel’s existence emerged at the same time and as a result of the same historic events that created every other Middle Eastern nation. Every Middle Eastern country was created in the aftermath of the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, an empire that had colonized this region for over 500 years. And not a single nation created by European powers in the aftermath of the Ottoman collapse had ever existed at any time in history, with the exception of Israel, Lebanon, Egypt, and Yemen. Therefore if Arabs question Israel’s right to exist, they need first question their own nation’s right to exist! Of course, that kind of logic is never applied because Jew hatred is emotional, not logical in its foundations.

The depth and breadth of the problem mitigates against the possibility of any meaningful and enduring Israeli-Arab peace any time in the foreseeable future. So long as the vast majority of Arabs hate Jews and Israel, any government that makes peace with Israel will be implementing a policy that will undermine its stability. Sisi’s government in Egypt is particularly vulnerable at this time, as it warms to Israel while struggling economically.

But this widespread, overt, and unashamed Jew hatred in the Muslim world does not only affect Arab-Israeli peace efforts. Indeed, that is only the tip of the iceberg. The existence of widespread Jew hatred in society reflects a society that is socially, politically, economically, and morally fractured and dysfunctional. Where Jew hatred is overt and widespread, general hatred, discrimination, and social fracturing are equally overt and widespread. And a society torn by these fractures will surely be dysfunctional.

Look at any Arab nation and you will see the result of long-term, unaddressed, and unmitigated Jew hatred. Algeria, Libya, Egypt, Somalia, Mali, Sudan, Eritrea, Lebanon, the Palestinians, Syria, Iraq, Kuwait, and Yemen are all in social and political free-fall. Turkey, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, though mostly non-Arab, are all 90%+ majority Muslim, and are all either torn to pieces in social and political conflict, or dominated by aggressive dictatorships that hold the pieces together with a ruthless police state (as did Syria, Iraq, and Libya for many decades).

Monday, September 19, 2016

Atternen Ju, on the road from Tiberias

This short scene (3 stanzas), I present, first, direct from the heavens, and then in "normal" English. It takes place as the Eternal Jew and his wife Butkoel decide to look for a better place to live, after experiencing decades of economic and social decline in Tiberias. Ironically (I guess), it takes place just outside of Damascus, about 1170 CE. But it could be last week or last year. If that's ironic.


Meenwielz the lan it seemz gro dark.
Shimmerree shaddoez; waverree hilz.
Wut aelz us that yu skip like ramz?
Sun so brite; blienden us.
Fyureyes heet; choken gasp.
Dus haengen in the thikken aer.
We haz tu fors arselz tu breeth.
A gus a win, sullen, meen.
Travvellerz tern asside, allone,
Rest in the uvvennish shade uv a tree.

The ro emteez. A villij up ahhed.
Thers. Silens. A moeshenles werl.
A wel ahhed. A moen. A kof.
A gus. A kreek. A gate. It sweeng.
Iz that a kry? Beyon the gate.
A chile. An erchin liez a dus.
Kryz aggen, naree a breth.
Butkoel goez in. “Waerz yur mah?”
Blaenk stare. Dus-wite fase.
Mask a terrer. Mask a deth.

Silens. Butkoel noks the dor.
Skweeks open. “Hay. Hello?”
Silens. Dark inside. Ar iyz
Ajjust. The flor. Boddeez sprawl
In blak haloez; skarlet ej.
Skreemz. Butkoel. I almoes swoon.
Rush. Owtside. Butkoel grabz
The chile. Silens. Bak in the street.
Mor howzen. Mor ded.
A graybeer sits in a pool a blud.
    “Giv me the chile,” iz weeree kummand.
    “Sheez wun a mine. Thaer awl mine.
    “Now. Be gon. Nevver kno
    “Wen thayl retern.” “Hu ar ‘thay’?”
Butkoel asks. Aggen, “Be gon.
    “Revenjez bernen hot an long.
    “Beware the sown a hors. Be gon.”
He take the chile. Layz her down
In iz lap. Hiz sitz in blud.
    “Be gon.” The sun. A skorch the lan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile the land seems to grow dark. Shimmery shadows; wavery hills. What ails us that you skip like rams? Sun so bright; blindin' us. Furious heat; choke and gasp. Dust hangs in the thickened air. We have to force ourselves to breathe. A gust of wind, sullen, mean. Travelers turn aside, alone. Rest in the ovenish shade of a tree.

The road empties. A village up ahead. Thirst. Silence. A motionless world. A well ahead. A moan. A cough. A gust. A creak. A gate. It swings. Is that a cry? Beyond the gate. A child. An urchin lies in dust. Cries again, nary a breath. Butkoel goes in. “Where's your ma?” Blank stare. Dust-white face. Mask of terror. Mask of death.

Silence. Butkoel knocks on the door. Squeaks open. “Hey. Hello?” Silence. Dark inside. Our eyes adjust. The floor. Bodies sprawl in black halos; scarlet edged. Screams. Butkoel. I almost swoon. Rush. Outside. Butkoel grabs the child. Silence. Back in the street. More houses. More dead. A greybeard sits in a pool of blood.
    “Give me the child,” his weary command. “She's one of mine. They're all mine. Now. Be gone. Never know when they'll return.”
    “Who are ‘they’?” Butkoel asks.
Again, “Be gone. Revenge burns hot and long. Beware the sound of horse. Be gone.”
He take the child. Lays her down in his lap. He sits in blood.
    “Be gone.”
The sun is scorch the land.

Thursday, September 01, 2016

In the Land of the Hashashin

Here is the latest scene in The Atternen Juez Talen. It takes place in what is modern Syria. At the time (around 1165 CE) the region was loosely controlled by the Seljuks, and it bordered Crusader (Frankish) territories. The scene begins in Homs and ends in the mountains. I have translated the poetry out of MetaEnglish, and into prose.


The rav replied with a weary sigh,
“Ever the search for a better place and a better time and a better spirit, but the world runs backwards away from the Lor, and the soul, like a man, grows weary and old. So our great feats and heroic deeds are all behind us, and unless God will send a savior, all is lost. Best to stay near the Holy Land, so when satan sets us ablaze, our passage through the furies is brief and the salvin’ land can restore us right quick.
“But I will send a sh’liakh* with you to find you a guide thru Assassia’s lands. Without a guide abandon hope ye who enter, to reach Hama.”
* agent, representative

Chiseled stone and fired brick wall us in through our narrow maze; and awnings and balconies over our heads. Neither light nor air, as the heat bakes the sewage in the street befoulin’ our feet.

A courtyard. Our sh’liakh taps on a door and we wait in the thick shadows and stench. Shuffle. Eyes peer through a crack.
“Is Master Bilal acceptin’ guests?”
The door creaks and we slip from the gloom into utter darkness as the door creaks shut. “Wait.” Footsteps shuffle away.

Slowly our eyes adjust in the dark. A tiny room and a moldering hall. Damp the air, like to breed disease. Shuffle. A tiny and wrinkled man in a white robe and a white beard. “Come.” His slow unsteady steps, like a dirge of death he leads us down the hall and down a coiling stair, like a narrow cave into the maw of the moldery earth.

There like a king of the underworld, crosslegged, sittin’ on a prayer rug, an idol of stone, its arms as thick as any man’s legs; neck like a tree trunk and a massive head made larger still by a shock of hair and  ringlets of beard that tumble and boil into his lap.

The idol talks and my heart near stops.
“Who’re you servin’ up to me, Yacoob? Offerings meant to burn in the Old Man a the Mountain’s grove?”
Our envoy smiles and climbs the stair, leaving us alone in this devil’s den.

A cascade of shock and fear and rage tumbles down the edge of me --
betrayal by that Yacoob scum or by his rav an evil sect in Homs like Sodom’s predators I remember that white robe priest serpent coiled in Palmyra’s ruins that demon boy down his cave I’m bound and gagged by Berber thieves hit him stab him gouge his eyes an idol that devours men this the idol that I serve my scarlet sins these harlot jinns is this justice my reward *v’uttah tzuddeek ulkoel habbah allanu,kee emmet ussetah, v’unnukhnu heershunnu*...--
*-* the vidui, the confession at death;
     this the last line: You are righteous
     in all that is come on us; You create 
     truth; we, wickedness.

“You two ain’t in Damascus now, and its little men and little cares. You jus’ moseyed into the lion’s den; the asp, it slithers; jackals swarm. And you, all blind, would trip along. Your sugary times is behin’ you now. Now is the tastin’ a fear and blood.”
Like a rumble from the guts of the earth, or the sound of thunder down from the hills, or maybe like a wolf’s growl when it sees you sittin’ in its lair, my thoughts continue their cascade while he growls and while I talk.

“We heard the road is straight from here -- Hama, Aleppo, Gaziantep -- and Seljuk soldiers secure the way.”

“Seljuk guards? What a pile! Offal pours from the mouth a the king and the people grovel and eat it up. Hashashin rule this countryside. There’s no imam or sheik or prince safe in sleep or on the street, safe indoors or safe with troops, but the Ismailis have their way. Aleppo is seven days from here, in the daylight and on the road. Thrice that time if you wanna live.”

“So we must find our way by night on goat paths and through wadi beds?”
He frowns like I’m some addled goose.
“I’m the way and I’m the light, and I’m the one that you’ll serve. Or else fuck off and take your chance and end up Ismaili slaves. Unless they choose to cut your froat. I leave tonight jus’ after dark. When you hear the muezzin’s call you bes’ be here. I won’t wait.”
The ancient white-robe leads us out.

And then that monologue returns,
...betrayal never trust that bull what is lie and what half-true...

Call to prayer to the faithful, with all their doubt and all their crud and all their fears and all their sins, sunk in illusions, sunk in muck. Most get sorrows, some get luck. The door creaks and we go from the gloom into utter dark as the door creaks shut.

“Carry this!” and he shoves a skin full of water into my hand. “And this!” A sack of white cheese and figs, raisins, olives, nuts and seeds, as he eyes Batkol like a horse to ride.

I have been in this place before. Bilal is here, Batkol, of course. No moon. No clouds. A star-flicker sky. A candle flickers in a hut nearby, and fades away with the deja vu.

I have a dagger strapped to my calf and my walkin’ stick will serve as a club. Butkoel has a blade in her walkin’ stick and a well-stropped razor in her belt.

We never sleep at the same time. Eye on Bilal; hand on my knife.

Fearflash. A sack over my head. A rope tightens around my neck. I try to shout but only gag, and gags beside me. My hands are bound. Then a shootin’ pain flames through my head.

My head throbs in blindin’ sears. I can’t see. I can’t move.

Kicked in the back. A bucket of swill splashes on my chest.
“Wake up you dog.”
“I can’t see. I can’t breathe.”
“Shut up. Who’s that woman with you?”
“My wife, Batkol. Where is she? Is she okay? Where is she?”

“You wanna see her? You wanna see us cut her froat? You wanna see her bound and raped, red hot iron jammed in her eyes?  You wanna see her safe and whole? You better talk.”
Searin’ pain across my back. I twist and howl. Sizzlin’ smell, my back charred. I howl and cringe.
“Who’s that woman?”
“My wife, my wife.”
“Her name?”
“Batkol. Really, Batkol.
Again the searin’ white-hot pain.
“Her name?”
“Batkol. Batkol. Batkol.”
“What kinda name is that -- Batkol? That ain’t no name. Who is she?”
“Batsheva Koltov. A Hebrew name. Batsheva -- the favorite wife of Da-ood, the prophet king. You know of him. Koltov, like ‘good in every way’. Made short to Batkol, which our Talmud says means ‘a voice from the Lor,’ ‘an inspired call.’ It’s not a Christian or Zoroastrian name. Not Seljuk or Persian. It’s a Hebrew name.”

Noise. Maybe the irons being cooked.
“Batkol. Believe me. Just Batkol. It’s a Jewish name. We’re not from here...”
I babble on for awhile. No use. Silence.
“Where have they gone?” I moan.
In fear and pain; mindless moans; horrors thinkin’ of Batkol’s fate.

Rattle of chains dragged on the floor. Grunts and panting, ‘ooof’ and ‘ecch’.
“Who’s this man and who’s he serve? You lie to me, we’ll cut his froat.”
“He’s my husband, Saadya Mishon. He don’t serve no one ‘cept maybe the Lor. We’re not from here, nor been here before. Runnin’ from the Franks and their harsh oppressors, to the far north, to Poland’s lands where we hear they welcome even us Jews.”

“She says you’re a Jew. Prove it to me.”
And I get a kick in the burn of my back. In the depths of the pain all I can say,
“*Sh’ma Yisroyel. Uddoniy Ellohanu, Uddoniy ekhud. Borukh shaem...*”
Silence. Whispers. Another kick.
“Whatsat mean in Arabic?”
*-* the most basic statement 
      of Jewish identity/faith

“Listen Israel. The Lor our God, the Lor is one. Bless the name, honored... er, also like ‘revealed’, like ‘present in our world’ or at least our soul...”
“Shut up! Sheikh, what to do?”
“ Remove the sack from his head; untie his hands. Unbind her from lash and chain. Let him read from these books in his bag. Her, we’ll test her in other ways.”

As they drag her away I blurt out,
“ Sheikh, she reads as good as me, and she bound those books, the ones I wrote. Test her right here. Show ‘em, Batkol.”

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Visions and Revisions of Florence

Nancy was invited to present some research at the Kunsthistorische Institute in Florence earlier this summer. It's a pretty enough town but I'm not a big fan of tourist havens. Summertime in Florence? Outa control. Still...

2 views of the Duomo:



Tile in the Baptistry:


Candy, eye candy:



2 views of a garden:



A bike:


My obsession with masonry persists:



The San Niccolo hills:


Thru a portal:


2 views inside a shop:



She's the one!



And this from a short trip to Sienna...


Thursday, July 07, 2016

The Madeleine Amulet: Producing the Amulet

This brief video shows the process of designing, drawing, calligraphing, painting, and illuminating an amulet for my sweet little kabuchki Madeleine.


Brick entranceway

I'm closing in on finishing my next video, showing the production of the Madeleine Amulet. In the meantime, I work a couple of hours each day on the chain gang, breaking bricks. Here are 4 images of the progress.

Progress, as of day 19:



Now the fun part, designing the central area. Here's what I've got so far:


Now just imagine if the black granite were lapis lazuli...


Back to reality. Fortunately, there are no kids in the neighborhood, or I might have inspired them with some new, creative uses of language.


Sunday, June 05, 2016

Creating Reality as Opposed to Simply Being Part of the Creation

This short essay is part of a collection of essays in a work-in-progress entitled "Prolegomena to a New Spiritual Psychology".

If our own thinking determines, or at least has a part in shaping the reality we live in, that is, in determining the nature of that reality, and is not just a sub-function of a pre-existing reality; if it is possible that we have a part in shaping reality, then there is no stronger argument for pursuing a spiritual life, a life of purpose and meaning, a religious life. Pursuing a religious life means choosing a trajectory towards the good, towards justice and morality, towards Adonai/God. This means that inwardly thru our beliefs and thoughts, and outwardly thru our acts of compassion, justice, and creativity, we are trying to build a human reality that reflects the Jewish conception of Adonai. But tho this conception is quintessentially Jewish, its fulfillment is in no way limited to Jews.

If we accept such a possibility and choose to pursue it, then faith alone is not sufficient. Nor are good works alone sufficient. If we are creating this reality through our thoughts as well as our deeds, then both our beliefs and our actions are critically important. Thus, to reject God or exclude God from our conceptions is to pursue an incomplete, broken, and ultimately dysfunctional model. Without God, one is inevitably left with the Machiavellian/Darwinian world of blind and random nature, devoid of any inherent ethics, justice, and purpose.

[A note on atheism:] While it is undeniable that one can be deeply and consistently ethical without actively believing in God, consistent ethical behavior (as opposed to situational, self-serving ethical behavior) ultimately rests on a belief in values that transcend personal needs and personal gain. And to believe in such “transcendental” values ultimately means our inner logic is founded on some sort of God idea. Many ethical atheists prefer not to pursue the logic of their beliefs, but in the end their atheism really rests on a religious, God-based foundation. Ideas such as “for the good of society” or “for the good of humankind” or “for the good of the earth” are all ways of submerging God into one’s beliefs without having to acknowledge God.

Thursday, May 05, 2016

Designing the Madeleine Amulet

This 2 minute video shows the design stages in the production of an illuminated amulet, The Madeleine Amulet. It also describes the conceptual foundations of the images I developed for the amulet.


Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Eternal Jew: walking the 18 blessings

Composing The Atternen Juez Talen, I conceived a scene in which the events he experiences reflect the 18 blessings of the Sh'monah Esray. "Sh'monah Esray" means "18", and it is one of the names of a core part of Jewish liturgy comprised, originally, of 18 blessings (19 blessings now).

So, here's our hero on the road from Tiberias (Tiveria) to Khazaria (north of the Black Sea) and the year is about 1150 CE. To make his passage easier he and his wife Butkoel (a shortened form of Batsheva Kol Tov) try to become anonymous by taking on the role of shepherds.

This stage in their journey emulates the Kedusha, the third of the 18 blessings. In the Kedusha one reaches the pinnacle of holiness, elevated to angelic levels of awareness....

(A note on the format:
I have translated the poetry and converted it into prose to help the reader navigate my modified (dare I say, elevated) English. Thus, a prose paragraph in "old" English followed by the same text as poetry in metaEnglish.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The border on the Seljuk lands is like a desert nomad’s cloak -- ill kept and full of gapin’ holes. Seljuk Syria, that’s our goal. A two day haul thru dried out streams, wadis where branches of long dead oaks reach from their graves to pluck your eyes.

     The border on the Seljouk lanz
     Iz like a dezzert nomadz kloek --
     Ill kept an fule a gapen hoel.
     Seljouk Sureyah, thats ar goel.
     A tu2 day hawl thru dry owt streemz,
     Woddeez ware branchen a long ded oek
     Reech frum thaer graven tu pluk yur iy.

And not two weeks after that, and we’ve acquired our kingly robes to seem the shepherds we must be. Hooded cloaks of felted wool -- like walking ovens in the sun; fur-skin boots packed with felt to ease the blistering rocky road -- a rancid stench soon reeked from them; each a staff to walk by the way and help convince hungry wolves to tear necks in other folds; and naturally a willow switch to help convince a head-strong goat to join his happy flock again.

     An nor a tu2 week after that
     An we akwiyerz ar keenglee robe
     Tu seem the shepperz we mus be.
     Houded kloeks a felted wool --
           Like wokken uvvenz in the sun;
     Fer-skin boots pakt with felt
     Tu eez the blisterres rokkee rode --
           A ransid stench soon reeken them;
     Eech a staf tu wok by the way
     An help kunvins the hungree woolv
     Tu taren neks in uther foelz;
     An nacherlee a willo swich
     Tu help kunvins a hed-streng goet
     Tu join iz happee flok aggen.

Soon enough we become like goats ourselves. We see the world thru a goat’s eyes: tufts of weeds and low-hung leaves direct their path, movin’ at the slowest pace of twelve distracted, hungry beasts. Any patch of dusty turf allures their dull and beasty eyes. Passin’ this rich and varied world our eyes serve only our yammerin’ guts; a berry here, a nut there, a dusty weed looks succulent; in a death-dry wadi, a puddle of mud now appears like a cup of wine.

     Soon ennuf an we bekum
     Like goet arselz. See the werl
     Thru goetee iy: tufs a weed
     An lo-hung leevz derrekter path,
     Muven at the slowwes pase
     Uv twelv distracken, hungree beests.
     Ennee pach a dustee terf
     Allorz thaer dul an beestee iy.
     Passen this richen vareyes werl
     Ar iyz serv nor ar yammerree guts;
     A baree heer, a nut thaer,
     A dustee weed louks sukyulen;
     In a deth-dry woddee, a puddel a mud
     Now appeern like a kup a wine.

Come to a village without a name. Just one dusty lane lined by walls; the mud plaster crumblin' in piles, or cracked and buckling from the mudbrick core. Behind the walls and at open gates dogs bark; children too. Comes a young mother, babe at breast, hardly a tooth in either mouth. Sees us and slams and bolts her gate. I hears her spit three times and croak, “Accurst, accurst, accurst, a jinn! This home be rid of satan and sin.” Weren’t sure if she meant us or her, but the goats got the message and scurried on, and we too scampered, goatfully.

     Kum tu a villij withowten name,
     Jes wun dustee lane liend by wawlz;
     The mud plaster in krumbellee pielz
     Or krakt an bukkelz frum the mudbrik kor.
     Behien the wawlz an open gaet;
     Dogz a bark, an childer too.
     Kumz a yung muther, babe at bres,
     Hardlee a toothen eether mow.
     Seez us; slammen a boelter gate.
     I heerz her spit three tiem an kroek,
           “Akkerst, akkerst, akkerst; a jin!
           “This hame be rid uv saten sin.”
     Wernt shor if she meen us or her,
     But the goets got the messij an skerree on
     An we too skamperz goetfulee.

Passed a well along the road. Butkoel turns off to look in it; turns the handle, and disgusted says, “Broke and corroded all this place.”

     Past a wel allong the roed.
     Butkoel ternz of tu louks in it;
     Ternz the handel, a disgusted say,
           “Brake an kerroden in its plase.”

Passed some ruins in a rocky field. Didn’t notice till the goats all stopped to nibble clover by the rubble of a wall. Behind, on a patch of mosaic floor: a Roman caesar stands by his throne; his foot on the head of a local king. And this graffiti etched beside:“Zion, your abusers won’t endure. Their ruin will be swift to come, and sure."

     Past sum ruwenz in a rokkee feel.
     Didden notis til the goets awl stops
     Tu nibbel klover by a rubbeld wawl.
     Behien, on a pach uv mozayek flor:
     A romen sezer stanz by iz throne.
     A fout on the hed uv a lokel keeng.
     An this graffetee echen besiedz:
           “Ziyon, yur abyuzerz woen endor.
           “Thaer ruwen iz swif tu kum on shor.”

*Stopped beside a church along the way. Well, we squatted on our heels and listened to them pray.* (*-* California Dreamin'.) Psalms and supplications, like sobbin’ wails, then a preacher’s voice like a crackin’ whip replacing the sobs with his pounding fist. “Our curse will resound as long as we live, against you, Zengi**, warlord and dog. Our mouths will spit, and our tongues will sneer, and our hands will lay snares in your fields and stumbling blocks in your blind ways, until you tremble and until you fall. And we will drive you out of our world. Cursed are you, Zengi dog.” (** The Zengi were local Turkic governors serving the Seljuks, soon to be overthrown from within by Saladin.)

     *Stops besiedz a cherch allongen way.
     Waal, we skwotten on ar heelz an lissen tu em pray.*
                         *-* Mommahz an Poppahz, “Kallaffornee Dreemen”
     Salmen suplakkatenz, like sobben waelz,
     Then a preechennes vois, like a krakken wip
     Replasen a sobz with the pownded fist,
           “Ar kers iz rezownd az long az ar livz
           “Aggens yu, Zengee* wor-lorren dogz.
                         * Lokel Terkish govvannerz serven the Seljouks,
                          an soon tu be overthrone frum within
                          by Salladdin.
           “Ar mowz ar spit an ar tung iz sneer
           “An ar han iz lay a snare in yur feelz
           “An a stumbellen blok in yur blienden wayz
           “Until yur trembelz an until yur fawlz
           “An we wil drive yu owten ar werl.
           "Kerst ar yu, Zengee dog.”

Such a Kedusha is what we heard sittin’ in the shade and walking by the way. Inverted like Dante's climb thru hell, the World of Light reversed in our atoms, and we, once angels, now with animal eyes. There we wept, aware of ourselves.

     Sech a Keddueshah* az we ar herd
                         * Therd blessen uv Shmonah Esray,
                         holenes uv the Lor az experen by Hem aenjelz
     Sitten in the shade and wokken by the wayz,
     Invertenz like Dontayz klime thru helz,
     The werlz uv lite in Addom reverst,
     An we, wuns aenjel, with annammel iyz.
     Thaer we wept, awware uv arselz.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Another book conservation project

I recently took on a project to restore a lovely book of international folktales collected by Danny Kaye in the early 1950's. The book's cover was breaking away from the book body, but fortunately the paper and sewing were in good condition. Here are a few pictures, showing the book before, during, and after conservation.

As part of the project, I also produced a pdf booklet, showing a more complete collection of images of the conservation process. The whole project took about 10 hours, altho producing the booklet consumed more than 3 of those hours.

Front cover, before and after. Not a huge change. Pencil marks and spots removed, and stains made less noticeable.



The bottom of the spine was quite worn. Matching and replacing/repairing this fabric would not have generated any structural enhancements, and it would have been difficult, time consuming, and costly, so it remained undone. Choices, eh?


The cover's edges were very worn on the bottom and front, and the corners had become rounded and mushy.



I stabilized the corners and edges, and restored the color (more or less) using non-fugitive India ink. In a one step process, the ink, made of shellac, seals and hardens the mushy edges, while adding color. With a little experimentation I produced a combination of colors that matched the existing cover papers fairly well.



Inside, the hinges were splitting, exposing old, deteriorated gauze, which was all that still held the book body in the cover. The end papers (the "Starry Night" design), naturally, were ripped the length of the boards. The edges were all crinkled and squirreled up, but fortunately, with a little care, I was able to unravel them. The results weren't bad.



Once I cut the gauze, I could get at the inner spine of the book, first to clean out the old, acidic paper, gauze, and crud, then to build a new hinge, using unbleached muslin and Japanese paper.






Naturally, attaching the new hinge can be a bit tricky and stressful, but all went well. The book is now firm, tight, and structurally sound. Storing it in an acid-free box would further enhance its longevity.

Sunday, April 03, 2016

Drash on Shemini, butterflies, and elephants

Drash on Shemini, butterflies, and elephants
23 Adar II, 5776
Shemini, Viyekra/Leviticus 9:1 - 11:47


Todays’ portion is Shemini. ‘Shemini’, '8', refers to the 8th day in the consecration of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary. This sidrah is usually known for its two mysteries: the death of two of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, while lighting incense; and the laws of Kashrut concerning what animals can and can’t be eaten. Neither the reason for the death of Aaron’s sons, nor the reasons not to eat certain animals are explained, and they remain much discussed mysteries to this day.


Since you can find plenty of discussion about those two topics all over the place, I decided to focus on other matters: an extremely minor detail with a butterfly effect, and an elephant in the room.


Butterfly FX:


We read that if a small animal like a mouse or chameleon dies and falls on something, that something will become impure: verse 11:35 (Fox translation):
“Thus, anything upon which their carcass falls shall be tamei, unclean. An oven or 2-pot stove is to be demolished; they are tamei and they shall remain tamei for you. (Thus they cannot be made pure, tahor again.)


Well, a chameleon falling on your oven can be a problem, right? Really! An oven or stove is a major appliance and no one wants to have to destroy the whole thing, take the parts out to the hazmat dump (so they don’t make anything else impure), and then have to go out to some over-crowded, under-pleasant strip mall to buy a new one.


Well, the sages of old were discussing this very problem, and in the process they created one of the most famous, conceptually remarkable, and literarily brilliant midrashim of all time (a real butterfly effect, eh?). We know this midrash now as “The Oven of Akhnai.” It goes something like this:


We have been taught: Say a man made an oven out of separate coils of clay, placing one upon another, then put sand between each of the coils; such an oven, R. Eliezer said, is not susceptible to defilement, while the sages declared it susceptible.


So what’s the issue here? [My answer: an oven’s an expensive piece of equipment; is it possible to make one that can be fixed rather than replaced. But the real problem here becomes a disagreement that leads to a power struggle between the sages...]


            It is taught: On that day R. Eliezer brought forward every imaginable argument, but the sages did not accept any of them. Finally he said to them "if the Halakhah (body of Jewish law) agrees with me, let this carob tree prove it!" Sure enough, the carob tree was uprooted (and replanted) a hundred cubits away from its place. "No proof can be derived from a carob tree," they retorted.
            Again he said to them, "If the Halakhah agrees with me, let the channel of water prove it!" Sure enough, the channel of water flowed backward. [Visualize frowning and yawning as the sages respond...] "No proof can be derived from a channel of water," they rejoined.
            Again he urged, "If the Halakhah agrees with me, let the walls of the house of study prove it!" Sure enough, the walls tilted as if to fall. But R. Joshua rebuked the walls saying, "When disciples of the wise are engaged in a halakhic dispute, what right have you to interfere?" Hence, in deference to R. Joshua they did not fall, and in deference to R. Eliezer they did not resume their upright position; indeed, they are still standing aslant.
            Again R. Eliezer said to the sages, "if the Halakhah agrees with me, let it be proved from heaven!" Sure enough, a divine voice (bat kol) cried out, "Why do you dispute with R. Eliezer, with whom the halakhah always agrees?" But R. Joshua stood up and protested, "It (the Torah) is not in heaven" (Deut. 30:12). We pay no attention to a divine voice because long ago at Mount Sinai You wrote in the Torah, "After the majority must one incline" (Exod. 23:2).
            R. Nathan met the prophet Elijah and asked him "What did the Holy One do in that moment?" Elijah: "He laughed, saying 'My sons have bested Me; My sons have bested Me.'"


So we have here a number of remarkable phenomena. Perhaps most importantly, the rabbis override the Voice of God, and are allowed to get away with it! Also of great interest, we have an assertion of democratic principles that even Jefferson or Paine might not have been so bold as to make. What else do we have here?


Let me answer this through an example. Suppose we are sitting around arguing matters of Torah. Reb Ramon, our hazan, declares that we need to add Musaf to our Shabbat prayers (we don’t do Musaf at Shirat haNefesh). The rest of us disagree. Reb Ramon makes lots of arguments but we blow them off. Finally he says, if God wants us to institute Musaf, let that oak tree prove it by jumping across the street. What do we do? We immediately pull out our cell phones and dial 911 to get an ambulance for Ramon who must be having a breakdown. When we’re working in realtime, adults don’t usually suspend their disbelief.


Elephant FX:


And so, may I introduce to you Ganesh, the elephant in the room. When reading holy texts we are inclined to suspend our disbelief.


In today’s portion, verse 9:23, we read (using Fox’s translation):
... and the Glory of Adonai was seen by the entire people. And fire went out from the presence of Adonai and consumed, upon the slaughter-site, the Olah offering and the fat parts. When all the people saw, they shouted and flung themselves on their faces.


We read this and what do we say? “Oh yeah, I’d have thrown myself down too. Wow. Amazing!”


Two verses later at 10:2 the text describes the demise of Nadav and Avihu:
And fire went out from the presence of Adonai and consumed them (Nadav and Avihu), so that they died, before the presence of Adonai...


We read this and what do we say? “Whoa. Why did God kill them?”


Or, way back in Beraysheet/Genesis we read, “God said to Abraham, kill me a son...” (Reb Dylan’s translation) and we think, ‘How could God demand such a thing?’ Etc, Etc.


We read this book, almost every one of us, like fundamentalists. We read the text, and believe it is true and accurate, and events happened just like what’s written; we believe people said just what’s written; and we believe God talked in human language and said exactly what’s written. Are we out of our minds?


But to mention this, of course, is virtually blasphemous. It got Rabbi Avuya excommunicated for questioning God’s justice, and it got Spinoza excommunicated for questioning the truth of the Torah. Nowadays, of course, we don’t get excommunicated (at least in most congregations), but if we’re asking these questions, we’re almost certainly not spending much time reading Torah (why bother?). We probably don’t come to shul more than a couple of times a year, if that (again, why bother?). Indeed, we probably have no use for religion or God whatsoever.


This is a dilemma! Indeed, it has 70 faces just like the Torah. It’s important now for you, the reader, to try to articulate what the problem is, before you read the four ways I articulate it.


My articulations:
1.         Living in a world of suspended disbelief causes us to become non-credible to many adults, and more troubling, to our children, whose minds are awaking to the productive rigors of evidence-based thinking (multiple sources of evidence or repeatability). On the other hand, if we reject the verity of the Torah, we ultimately reject the foundation of Jewish thought, Jewish practice, Jewish community, Jewish identity. But what if you feel like me: to be a Jew is a privilege and an honor! Throwing out the Torah is not an option.
2.         We are compelled to ask, ‘why are things different these days?’ Why did God talk to people long ago, but not to us? Are we the problem? Is Torah the problem? Is God the problem? I’m guessing most people would say the problem is the Torah. Is it possible to redeem this Torah? Is it possible to make it believable once again? But it needs to be more than believable; it needs to be insightful. Is that possible? But it needs to be more than insightful; it needs to be inspirational, even to a sceptic, even to our kids, if it is to stand as a genuine holy book, and if it is going to continue to be as life-changing and as world-changing now as it was in the past.
3.         How do we create and teach the intellectual and spiritual tools to help us more directly experience and understand God? What are we God-believers doing to open the doors of perception? If God is real we should be able to repeatably open those Divine doors, at least a crack. We’re not doing that now at all. Prayer, for all of its many virtues, is not a tool that can help us to experience God, in my opinion. It may help reinforce our faith; cool our overheated brains; help us develop concentration skills; teach us spiritual and religious insights; help us build community. But I have almost never seen it open the doors of perception
4.         And finally, this corollary problem overlaps our problems with text and God: is God an active agency for justice in the world today? Is there a Divine causality behind all the good and the bad that happens in the world? Is God an active force turning history? The traditional answer is, “absolutely; unconditionally; in everything!” But we moderns then ask, “where was God during the Shoah? And if not then, when?”


Let me offer up a couple of ideas that may help us begin to address these problems.


First: over a half century ago Erik Erikson proposed the theory of the psycho-social stages of human development, a theory that has since become virtually canonical. I think we can use Erikson’s model to postulate stages of growth in human civilization. I would suggest that we, as a civilization, are emerging from childhood into a kind of early adulthood. In our childhood we may have been happy and satisfied to believe in a God that is near, loving, and always enforcing the rules. We were largely credulous, and we had, if I can mix religious metaphors, a Santa Claus view of God. It appears that civilization is growing beyond that now, although, obviously, not uniformly. A more sophisticated understanding of God and the value of faith is concurrently beginning to emerge, although people who have abandoned religion are rarely aware of this.


Second: how can we talk about God if we’ve never really, honestly experienced God? I have no patience for, nor interest in hand-me-down versions of spiritual awakening. People that claim that God surely exists need to provide personal credentials that are more than a collection of feel-good experiences or curious coincidences that have been invested with “the intentions of God.” Consider this quote from Cormac McCarthy’s, The Crossing:
“He heard the voice of God in the murmur of the wind in the trees. Even the stones were sacred. He was a reasonable man and he believed that there was love in his heart. There was not! Nor does God whisper through the trees. His voice is not to be mistaken. When men hear it they fall to their knees and their souls are riven and they cry out to Him and there is no fear in them but only that wildness of heart that springs from such longing and they cry out to stay his presence for they know at once that while godless men may live well enough in their exile those to whom he has spoken can contemplate no life without him but only darkness and despair.”
While McCarthy doesn’t seem to understand that there are many ways to experience the Divine, and many degrees of intensity in this experience, his demand for authenticity in asserting that experience is compelling.


Third: have our spiritual senses grown dull? If so, we need to be teaching ourselves and our children how to sharpen those spiritual senses, and how to appreciate the complexity of what we call God. We need to develop in ourselves a more nuanced, multi-faceted understanding. But we also need to hone our innate ability to sense the subtle workings of God in this world. Every civilization that has emerged on this planet has been grounded in a sense of the Divine. This stands as compelling evidence that we have an innate sense of God and spiritual matters within us. Therefore, if we can make 100 tons of metal fly, we should surely be able to develop tools, physical and mental, to help us discern, even if dimly, the Divine within and beyond us.


Finally, our children need to know that God isn’t going to step out of the sky to tell them what to do. Neither will God come down and spank them when they’re bad. We don’t now have the sensitivity and skill, and we may never have it, to comprehend Divine causality as it works in this world. In any case, harking back to the McCarthy quote above, we may be able to live and thrive in this world with no religion and no sense of God, but our lives will be deeply enriched by a knowledge of our Divine Essence, and we will surely be immeasurably transformed if we have the privilege to experience that Essence in its power and grandeur. Of that I am certain, having been, myself, greatly transformed!


Let us therefore turn our energies to help develop the skills to sense the Godness embedded in this world.



Two out-takes:


So, it seems we stand in two worlds, often at the same time. Now, that wouldn’t be such a big problem if we didn’t care that so many people have walked away from religion, and if we didn’t care about our children walking away from our faith, our traditions, our sense of calling, our community, our identity. But we care. I hope we care. Anyway, I for one, care!


So how then do we tell the story of God talking to our ancestors in such a way that it is still believable, and doesn’t sound like folklore and fairy tale? How do we tell it, not with a stick – ‘you have to understand things THIS way or you’re bad’ – but with real and convincing insight? So how do we read this book in a new way that doesn’t rely on suspending belief, but actually inspires belief? What do we do? You tell me.