I am distressed that I will never discover the correct spelling of the word “Tikatevu”. Oddly, Microsoft Word offers no suggestions. Fortunately, a cut and paste web search on Google reveals 29,300 hits. Having not checked them all, I cannot be sure that a percentage of them do not refer to an ancient Mayan sacrificial ritual or a Scottish game of dog tossing.
It is revealing that 29,300 individual web users have posted a site with the word “Tikatevu”, and it confirms the arrival of web-based Judaism. I understand that there are now avatar-based Shabbat dinners and Seders (“Sedarim for the purists among you – 78,900 hits on Google). While this may be a viable alternative to the Jewish tradition of having extended family converge on your home for 3-days to consume 300 pounds of matzah and 476 eggs, I would not attempt a bris in this fashion. A Google search on the phrase “How to perform a bris” offers 206,000 selections. This is troubling.
I digress. During this period of profound reflection and soul searching I punctuate my personal search for meaning by typing “Shanah Tovah Tikatevu” at the end of every email. This is an act of profound devotion, only matched by wearing my Saucony ProGrid Omni 8 running shoes on Yom Kippur. Since I do not run, this will be the most time I spend wearing them all year. I think they will look fabulous with my charcoal suit and red tie.
I do miss the annual ritual of sending and receiving high holiday cards and the accompanying family tradition of hanging them from the bamboo roof of my Sukkah (“Shach” – 102,000 hits on Google) to have them fall immediately when it rains on the first night. Sadly, in this era of e-greetings, these cards from friends and family have been replaced by photos of Judaica clipped from the calendar of Epstein’s Funeral Home in Smyrna, Georgia.
I sometime pine for a simpler, less electronically charged Judaism. I remember with such fondness the intimate, if somewhat claustrophobic, confines of the Jewish Center of Bayside Oaks when the High Holidays found Richard Fruchter and me singing soprano in the choir, Dan Kauffman duchaning (1,280 hits on Google) in a deep resonate bass voice and Rabbi Hertzberg uttering his memorable words “shhhhhh” while all the men stood outside smoking Kents and Lucky Strikes. These were halcyon days and they have accounted for no less than 7 months of my psychoanalysis.
Thus, as a Jewish community that Facebooks, blogs, texts and tweets we send our greetings of affection and good will for the year 5770 to friends and family around the globe. We are one, and if texting brings us closer it is a good thing. Thus, this year, in lieu of sending out greeting cards, I opened my Twitter page and typed in “Shanah Tovah Tikatevu”, a phrase that was well below the 140 character maximum. Unfortunately, I immediately received 47 requests to be followed on Twitter by Scottish dog tossers. A new strategy was called for and thus I endeavored to pen the perfect 140 character Twitter High Holiday message. Here is the progression:
“L'shanah Tovah. May you be inscribed in the book of life.” 58 characters.
“L'shanah Tovah. May this new year bring you and your family much joy and peace.” 120 characters.
“L'shanah Tovah. My best wishes to you and your family for a happy and healthy new year”. 97 characters. This is harder than I thought.
Finally, I nailed it: “L'shanah Tovah. May this New Year bring much peace and happiness to you and your loved ones. With love the Raphael family and Goldie the dog.” 140 characters on the button.
As we say in the vernacular: “Ken Yirbu.” Look it up on Google.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Road Test
Jacob took his road test at the Sandy Springs branch of the Georgia Department of Driver Services approximately two years after he first received his Learner’s Permit at the Westminster Branch of the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration. Our move to Atlanta, and the requirement that he begin the process anew, was the primary reasons for the delay. Our sense of dread was, most probably, lurking somewhere in the background as a further deterrent.
It was all planned out: I would pick Jacob up at his school at 1:30 pm. The drive to the Department of Driver Services (DDS) branch would take 10 minutes. Jacob would have ample time to fill out the requisite forms and calm himself down before the time for the test arrived. At 1:20 pm I finished writing an email, looked at the clock and realized to my horror that it was - 1:20 pm. Driving like I hoped Jacob never would, I arrived at his school at 1:23 pm. He was nowhere to be found. The receptionist intercommed the Economics teacher – to no avail. The administrator barked into her walkie talkie; to no avail. I pleaded to be allowed to go search the halls; to no avail. Finally, at 1:40 pm he emerged from the stairwell apologetically – providing a fine alliterative pairing to my state of apoplexy.
“I forgot”
Again, driving like I hoped he never would, we arrived at the DDS at 1:50 pm. Two lines and three forms later, at 2:05 pm, we were ready. No, that is a misstatement; all the required administrative requirements had been carried out. I am still not ready
As Jacob completed the last of the forms, I went outside and moved the car from the parking space to the curb in front of DDS, and stood outside and waited.
The examiner came first. I was expecting a state trooper with badge, Smokey the Bear hat; Glock and pepper spray dispenser. Instead, he was a slight, middle aged man with a goatee, yellow knit shirt and a warm smile.
“Is he ready?” He enquired.
So many answers swirled through my head. But this was not the time for honesty.
“Yes”
“A Prius” “What year?”
“2007”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s great”
“Is he nervous?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Don’t worry, I calm them down. I sing Frank Sinatra to them.”
“I’m not sure whether that would make things better or worse”
He smiled.
Jacob emerged from the building and, after a brief inspecting of the lights, horn and turning signals he and the driving examiner entered the car, strapped on seat belts and drove through and out of the DDS parking lot. Not quite knowing what to do with myself, I lingered outside on the curb in the August in Atlanta humidity.
To say that I was nervous doesn’t quite get at the complexity of my emotion state at that time. “Is he ready?” What kind of question is that? The crucial question is "am I ready? Is this another test along the path to normalcy? How far has he really come? How much will my auto insurance go up? I pondered this emotional Gordian knot as I made my way to the bathroom. As I exited, graffiti on the wall provided a valuable perspective and put things in their place: “Wash your hands asshole”.
I opened the book I had brought with me to pass the time but could not find the concentration to read a single word. Instead, I practiced my Torah reading for the next day. “Thou shalt not abhor an Edomite, for he is thy brother; thou shalt not abhor an Egyptian, because thou was a stranger in his land.” I looked for meaning in the verses, but could find none.
After fifteen minutes, I spied the Prius returning to the parking lot. It disappeared behind the rows of cars and then, Jacob emerged, walking toward me, looking solemn. I prepared words of condolence.
At three feet he broke out in a grin and proclaimed: “I passed”
We hugged
As the examiner passed by he proclaimed: “He did very well – he’s ready”
Not quite knowing what to say, I responded: “You’re a mench” (Yiddish – you’re a good man)
“Gay G’zint (Yiddish - “go in good health”).
It’s a strange world.
Jacob and I returned to the DDS office to complete the requisite form filling, photo taking and fee paying. As he stood in line I e-mailed Jo, Alya and Naomi: “Holy Shit – PASSED”
Fine minutes later, Jo responded “OMG”
My Facebook post: “Under the joint heading of miracles and profound anxiety attacks Jacob just passed his road test. I don't know whether I should say a Shehehiau (a prayer of thanks for reaching an auspicious occasion) or Gomel (a prayer for making through a dangerous time). I don't know whether to celebrate or throw up. I know; I'll drink heavily.
We drove home looking for a suitable ice cream place to celebrate. As we drove, a wishful litany, written 15 years ago, repeated itself in my head: “Jacob will go to school and he will have friends. He will join a soccer team and play an instrument. He will be bar-mitzvahed and will go out on dates. He will drive a car. He may not go to MIT, but he just might. But then again, that will be his choice.”
We’re almost there.
It was all planned out: I would pick Jacob up at his school at 1:30 pm. The drive to the Department of Driver Services (DDS) branch would take 10 minutes. Jacob would have ample time to fill out the requisite forms and calm himself down before the time for the test arrived. At 1:20 pm I finished writing an email, looked at the clock and realized to my horror that it was - 1:20 pm. Driving like I hoped Jacob never would, I arrived at his school at 1:23 pm. He was nowhere to be found. The receptionist intercommed the Economics teacher – to no avail. The administrator barked into her walkie talkie; to no avail. I pleaded to be allowed to go search the halls; to no avail. Finally, at 1:40 pm he emerged from the stairwell apologetically – providing a fine alliterative pairing to my state of apoplexy.
“I forgot”
Again, driving like I hoped he never would, we arrived at the DDS at 1:50 pm. Two lines and three forms later, at 2:05 pm, we were ready. No, that is a misstatement; all the required administrative requirements had been carried out. I am still not ready
As Jacob completed the last of the forms, I went outside and moved the car from the parking space to the curb in front of DDS, and stood outside and waited.
The examiner came first. I was expecting a state trooper with badge, Smokey the Bear hat; Glock and pepper spray dispenser. Instead, he was a slight, middle aged man with a goatee, yellow knit shirt and a warm smile.
“Is he ready?” He enquired.
So many answers swirled through my head. But this was not the time for honesty.
“Yes”
“A Prius” “What year?”
“2007”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s great”
“Is he nervous?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Don’t worry, I calm them down. I sing Frank Sinatra to them.”
“I’m not sure whether that would make things better or worse”
He smiled.
Jacob emerged from the building and, after a brief inspecting of the lights, horn and turning signals he and the driving examiner entered the car, strapped on seat belts and drove through and out of the DDS parking lot. Not quite knowing what to do with myself, I lingered outside on the curb in the August in Atlanta humidity.
To say that I was nervous doesn’t quite get at the complexity of my emotion state at that time. “Is he ready?” What kind of question is that? The crucial question is "am I ready? Is this another test along the path to normalcy? How far has he really come? How much will my auto insurance go up? I pondered this emotional Gordian knot as I made my way to the bathroom. As I exited, graffiti on the wall provided a valuable perspective and put things in their place: “Wash your hands asshole”.
I opened the book I had brought with me to pass the time but could not find the concentration to read a single word. Instead, I practiced my Torah reading for the next day. “Thou shalt not abhor an Edomite, for he is thy brother; thou shalt not abhor an Egyptian, because thou was a stranger in his land.” I looked for meaning in the verses, but could find none.
After fifteen minutes, I spied the Prius returning to the parking lot. It disappeared behind the rows of cars and then, Jacob emerged, walking toward me, looking solemn. I prepared words of condolence.
At three feet he broke out in a grin and proclaimed: “I passed”
We hugged
As the examiner passed by he proclaimed: “He did very well – he’s ready”
Not quite knowing what to say, I responded: “You’re a mench” (Yiddish – you’re a good man)
“Gay G’zint (Yiddish - “go in good health”).
It’s a strange world.
Jacob and I returned to the DDS office to complete the requisite form filling, photo taking and fee paying. As he stood in line I e-mailed Jo, Alya and Naomi: “Holy Shit – PASSED”
Fine minutes later, Jo responded “OMG”
My Facebook post: “Under the joint heading of miracles and profound anxiety attacks Jacob just passed his road test. I don't know whether I should say a Shehehiau (a prayer of thanks for reaching an auspicious occasion) or Gomel (a prayer for making through a dangerous time). I don't know whether to celebrate or throw up. I know; I'll drink heavily.
We drove home looking for a suitable ice cream place to celebrate. As we drove, a wishful litany, written 15 years ago, repeated itself in my head: “Jacob will go to school and he will have friends. He will join a soccer team and play an instrument. He will be bar-mitzvahed and will go out on dates. He will drive a car. He may not go to MIT, but he just might. But then again, that will be his choice.”
We’re almost there.
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