Michelangelo and the Consulting Firm Circa 1508 AD

 

Consultant: Good morning, Mr. Angelo

Michelangelo: Excuse me?

Consultant: You are Mr. Angelo?. – Michael Angelo? Can I call you Mike?

Michelangelo: My name is Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni.

Consultant: Of course, Mr. di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni. Can I call you Mike?

Michelangelo: No.

Consultant: Very well. My name is Arthur Fastidioso, of the consulting firm of Fastidioso, Fastidioso, and Stucchevole. Our firm has been engaged by the Vatican board of directors to conduct an evaluation of your proposed painting of the Ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I’d like to ask you a number of questions.

Michelangelo: Yes, please.

Consultant: To begin, what is the goal of this project?

Michelangelo: The goal is to create a divine creation to the glory of our Lord.

Consultant: Yes, is that a SMART goal?

Michelangelo: Smart? What could be smarter than sanctifying a holy space?

Consultant: No, SMART:

Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, Time-Based.

Michelangelo: Excuse me?

Consultant: Let’s begin, creating a “divine creation to the glory of our Lord” is not particularly specific. This is the 16^th Century, and we can’t just move forward with dreamy, inarticulate goals. What will be in the creation, and how will it impact the “glory of your Lord?” We will need your KPI’s.

Michelangelo: Keppis? Isn’t that Yiddish for “heads”?

Consultant: No, KPI’s, Key Performance Indicators. How will you judge the impact of your efforts?

Michelangelo: I will create a masterpiece for the ages.

Consultant: Mr. Angelo, that is an output, not an outcome. A painting is an output. What changes in behavior will your painting create?

Michelangelo: The souls of thousands will be elevated, their spirits will lift up to God.

Consultant: Excellent, what metrics will you use to measure the elevating of spirits?

Michelangelo: Metrics?

Consultant: Yes, how will you measure changes in behavior and the movements of these spirits? Feet? Meters? Cubits?

Michelangelo: How can one measure the soul? This is very difficult for me. It is as if I am David facing Goliath. Wait, I have another idea.

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Discussion about this post

Roger Talbott

May 5

Hilarious! And spot on.

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Plants Grow Where They Belong

 

Having dropped my car off at Pep Boys for a tire rotation, I decided to take a stroll rather than sitting in

the undersized waiting room. I took an arbitrary left turn off Roswell Road onto an unknown street and followed it a bit. As I walked, my eyes were drawn to the array of left-leaning lawn signs -- these are my kinds of people, I thought to myself. Looking up, I spied an elderly couple unloading bags of cedar mulch from the backseat of a yellow Volkswagen Beetle convertible -- the husband was struggling with the weight of the bags.

I walked over, offered to help, and they thanked me. Having placed the bags strategically in the bed, we made introductions and stopped to chat. Ann asked if I was a gardener, and I said that I was. She walked me through her plants, told me of her weeding challenges, and spoke about moving her perennials to a place where they would better thrive. She then said something that struck me as an adage to live by: "Plants grow where they belong." I think that's true for all of us. Forrest, the husband, parked the VW in the garage and disappeared. Ann invited me in for coffee, and I accepted.

It was a small, well-lived-in home. The dated kitchen featured a working desk with a large flat-screen television mounted above it. Mystery books were stacked on the countertop. We sat in the living room and schmoozed. A large Bible rested on the arm of the sofa.

Ann is 84, is a member of a mahjong group, and belongs to a book club that she started 35 years ago. Speaking about the book club, she said, "The problem is that most of them are much more intellectual than I am. If a book is 'well written,' they don't care about the plot. If there is no plot, then I am not interested." Forrest, who never reappeared (apparently, he was having an allergy attack), is a tax accountant. They are both active in their church.

We spoke about mystery books, religion, and the state of our country. She said that she has never been so fearful for the future of our country. I said that I was hopeful that America would fight back. We had so little in common and discovered that we had so much in common.

After about 40 minutes, I told her I had to go pick up my car. She said, "But I never made you coffee." I said, "next time" and that she should call me when she is ready to spread the mulch on her garden.

Shortly after my visit with Ann, I happened upon a Hidden Brain podcast episode entitled "The Power of Tiny Interactions." - the light touch relationships we have in the course of everyday life: talking with the cashier at Trader Joe's, getting your skim latte from the same Starbucks barista on your way to work. According to psychologist Gillian Sandstrom, these tiny interactions can make your life "a little more joyful and maybe even a little less lonely -- they are a source of novelty and bring surprise and unpredictability into our lives."[i]

The time spent with Ann was a tiny interaction on steroids. It was filled with discovery, warmth, and humanity. It was a delightful moment of unpredictability amid my pedestrian chores. Chances are, I will never see Ann again -- although I am hoping that she will ask me to help her spread her mulch. Whatever happens next, she and Forrest are now part of my life and my story. And they have made that story sweeter and more interesting.

---

[i] My weekly interaction with the Postal Worker, who single-handedly mans the small post office near our home, is a perfect example of a sweet tiny interaction. He welcomes each customer with a smile and ends each interaction with a wide grin and the words "have a glorious day." (I so admire him for doing this hundreds of times each day.) During my last visit, I learned that he was a baseball player who was called to try out for the Orioles -- but only after he had enlisted in the Navy. He says he has no regrets.

Avuncular with a Capital A

Notes from the CZO,
Chief Zayde Officer

Sixty years ago (give or take), my cousin Jeremy (age 10) and I (age 12) sat impatiently in Uncle Myron’s study at the Jewish Center of Jackson Heights in New York. Uncle Myron, known to the congregants as Rabbi Fenster, lingered at the opulent kiddush, greeting congregants, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, shmoozing, and wishing all a good Shabbas. He did this every week. 

At long last, the study door opened, and Uncle Myron came in and began to remove his clerical robes. Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and a crying, despondent young boy entered. 

“What is it?” Uncle Myron gently queried. 

“I can’t find my tallis, my mother’s going to kill me!” 

“Well, since this is a matter of life and death, we can call her on Shabbat.” 

Even as a 12-year-old, I knew this wasn’t a matter of life and death, and I understood Uncle Myron’s intent. Judaism is in the service of humanity was the lesson he shared with me that day. 

How many of us have been blessed with aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends who have nurtured our Jewish souls, made us laugh, shared our joys, and guided us through difficult times?  

I love the word “avuncular” — according to Merriam-Webster: “suggestive of an uncle, especially in kindliness or geniality.” In my experience, it does justice to uncles and aunts. The Hebrew is even more powerful; the Hebrew for uncle is “dod”- the same word for “beloved.” 

Two years ago, in the weeks before his passing, I spent a Shabbat with Uncle Myron. He knew that his death was near, and in reflecting on his life, he wondered whether his years in the rabbinate had made a difference. I spoke to him of the thousands of men, women, children, and families who had learned from him and loved him. He scoffed at this, questioning his lasting impact. My answer to him was simple: “You held me on your lap during my bris, blessed me on my Bar Mitzvah, cried with me when we buried my father, married my wife and me, and chanted a prayer at my daughter’s wedding. You have been with me at every liminal moment in my life and then some. I have learned from you every day and continue to do so. If you question everything else, know the truly profound impact you have had on my life.” 

Let us honor and thank the aunts, uncles, friends, and grandchildren’s “special persons” everywhere for the love and blessings they offer to our children.

 

Thoughts from the CZO, Chief Zayde Officer October 7

The murderous terror attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, on the joyous holiday of Simchat Torah, painfully conflates Jewish history and the Jewish experience in one day. Ours is what the eminent psychologist Marshall Duke calls an “oscillating narrative” — a history and stories of joys intertwined with sadness and heartbreak.

Yehuda Bergstein/Shutterstock.com As Duke teaches, it is for us to share the oscillating narratives of our families and people. It is the sharing of these stories that builds emotional resilience in our children. It is this intergenerational sense of self that binds us to Jewish people and nurtures our individual and collective courage, will, and humanity. And so, as grandparents, parents, and aunts and uncles, we must share the painful story of October 7, 2023.  But there is another story we must tell. In the words of the author Mark Oppenheimer, the Jewish people represent the longest-running book club in history. This is what Simchat Torah exemplifies. We joyfully dance around our books, adorn them in fine cloth and silver ornaments, and kiss them as they draw near. The Jewish people are the people of the book, and our books guide us in a life of meaning, values, caring, and joy.

SIMCHAT TORAH Child Torah courtesy of the Union for Reform Judaism On October 7, 2024, we will gather as families and as communities to remember the horrific events of the previous year and mourn those we have lost. And on October 24–25, 2024, we will celebrate Simchat Torah, dance around books clothed in fine cloth and silver, and tell our children the stories of the people of the book.     David Raphael  Chief Zayde Officer, Jewish Grandparents Network

 

Notes from the CZO, Chief Zayde Officer Carpets Belong Inside

The rocking chair found its place on the outdoor rug on the porch as the final piece in the refurbishment of our home. I sat there comfortably, rocking slowly, enjoying the warmth of the day, offset by the newly installed ceiling fans. Hal, my recently turned three-year-old grandson, stepped outside, looked down, and said: “Carpets belong inside.”

I’d like to address two elements of this transaction:  Just months before, Hal was barely making full sentences. His language is now full and fluid. Beyond the sentence structure, his comment demonstrated a growing sophistication in his understanding of the world — where things fit in and how they fit together. Carpets belong inside, not outside.   That simple interchange between grandchild and grandparent filled me with awe and wonder. I was smitten, besotted.  The cognitive development of a child is a miracle; one that unfolds in front of our eyes. It is a miracle that, far too often, we take for granted. Those of us who live far from our grandchildren see this development in stop action. One visit our grandchildren are learning to crawl and, seemingly the next, they are running and climbing on a Jungle Jim. One holiday they are saying their first words and the next they are inquiring about the carpet on the porch.   Those who study and teach positive psychology speak about a “beginner’s mind,” the sense of wonder and awe one feels when seeing or experiencing something anew. I like to think of this as a “child’s mind.”   Grandparenting offers us an opportunity to rediscover and reconnect with our beginner’s/child’s mind. We watch with joy and amazement as our grandchildren grow and learn. Through their eyes, we see a world of mystery and discover the world anew. It is with this beginner’s mind — a child’s mind — that I am experiencing the miracle of child development.    More accurately, I now see the world through a “grandparent’s mind,” which is like a beginner’s or a child’s mind of wonder but accompanied by a profound sense of gratitude and hope.    David Raphael  Chief Zayde Officer, Jewish Grandparents Network