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Friday, April 29, 2016

Stone Mountain Revisited

Barely a week after we moved into our home in Sandy Springs, Georgia, the Weekend edition of the Atlanta Free Press arrived at our doorstep.  Tucked within its pages was a full-page ad for a Scottish festival at Stone Mountain. In oversized letters, the ad's banner read:" Meet Your Clan Members Here   ." The “C” vs. “K” notwithstanding, I found the invitation startling. 

You may recall the reference to Stone Mountain in Martin Luther King Jr.’s renowned “I Have a Dream” speech: “Let freedom ring from the Stone Mountain of Georgia.” King’s reference alluded to the November 1915 Stone Mountain gathering of the hooded charter members of the Ku Klux Klan to create a new iteration of the Klan.  
Stone Mountain is now carved with the largest bas-relief in the world depicting the three key Confederate figures during the Civil War: Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis.I find this quotation by Jefferson Davis to be especially revealing:

The slaves in their present condition in the South are comfortable and happy; they see them advancing in intelligence; they see the kindest relations existing between them and their masters; they see them provided for in age and sickness, in infancy and in disability; they see them in useful employment, restrained from the vicious indulgences to which their inferior nature inclines them.
“Meet your Clan Members Here” and “Meet your Klan Members Here” seem to overlap with far too much ease in the South. Our comfortable suburban lifestyle overlays a history of profound evil. I am reminded of a line from a Yehuda Amichai poem: “And already the demons of my past are meeting with the demons of my future.”  My sense is that, in the south, the demons of the past have not yet been expunged, truly recognized or, for that matter, accounted for as demons.
I am intrigued that, just this year, the state holidays Confederate Memorial Day and Robert E. Lee’s birthday have both been struck from the Georgia State calendar and quietly replaced by the generic term “State Holiday.” In commenting about the change in holiday designation, Brian Robinson, a spokesperson for Georgia Governor Nathan Deal, said the state still intends to celebrate the days even if it doesn’t “spell it out by name.” “There will be a state holiday on that day,” he said. “Those so inclined can observe Confederate Memorial Day.”  It is hard not to hear a coy concession to political correctness in his remarks.  Tim Pilgrim, a leader of the Georgia division of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, said he was concerned about the shift. “We don’t want Georgia to turn its back on history,” he said. “They can’t erase and remove our history. That’s unacceptable for us.”[2]  Precisely my point.
One would be wrong to draw broad generalizations about the South and Southerners, where, as in any region, you will find the best and worst of us.  I have been so fortunate to meet people of extraordinary kindness and warmth here. 
Additionally, racism in our nation or the history of prejudice and social and economic injustice is not unique to the South. The frightening release of racial hatred during this presidential primary season speaks of the unfinished business of collective nation building required in our country.  In these past months we have witnessed the frightening exposure and embracing of our inner demons along with the concurrent subjugation of our better angels.
Stone Mountain represents a striking and frightening metaphor for the normalization and glorification of hatred and racism that is so enmeshed in the history, culture, consciousness and sub-consciousness of the South, and more broadly, our nation. Approximately 260,000 travelers from across our nation and around the world fly in an out of Atlanta each day[3].  Most of them will spot Stone Mountain as they approach or leave Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.  What will they see? What will they think about?  Will they see a glorification of an age marked by profound moral evils or will they think about man’s inhumanity to man and commit themselves to ensuring that the demons of our past do not also represent the demons of our future?




[1] https://www.archives.gov/press/exhibits/dream-speech.pdf
[2] http://www.ajc.com/news/news/confederate-holidays-booted-from-state-calendar/nnFFF/
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hartsfield%E2%80%93Jackson_Atlanta_International_Airport

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Suburban Zen

Our home and yard are shaded by a canopy of beautiful tall trees; pines, poplars and oaks that provide valuable shade during the oppressive Atlanta summers.  Unfortunately, as summer turns to autumn, the trees also deposit a cache of leaves that, in the weeks before Rosh Hashanah, begins as a lovely wafting of greenery and elevates by mid-November to a vegetative torrent and, I would add, torment.  As a dutiful suburbanite I spend each Sunday during this period accompanied by my electric leaf blower, rake, broom and Costco leaf bags blowing, pushing and bagging.  It is not a task that lends itself to a sense of accomplishment as, invariably, as soon as I have moved the last bag to the curb a breeze wafts through the neighborhood and leafy stragglers descend to litter the driveway. 

Not wanting to make leaf collection my sole preoccupation during these months, I have adopted a mantra, which I call suburban Zen: “There are always more leaves”.

Perhaps this is the lesson of the sixties – my sixties that is (I won’t try to fathom the lesson of the 1960’s).  No matter how hard we work, our lives seem to tilt towards entropy.  We literally and figuratively rake, mow, sweep and brandish our hot air but “there are always more leaves”.  Or as Rabbi Tarfon would say upon viewing his lawn: “You are not obligated to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it”. 

Perhaps this is also a lesson for the High Holy Days. It is a messy, unfinished, oft frightening leaf-filled world, perhaps more so every day. Even if we can never solve every problem, resolve every conflict and address every local, national or global challenge; we need to keep raking.

This is our partnership with the Almighty; she will continue to provide trees and leaves and we must keep raking.  And that’s the good news.  

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Musing About Israel on Campus

In my political naivete, I considered the Boston University Hillel Student Board’s decision last December to accept the BU Chapter of J Street U as a Hillel affiliate a rather innocuous affair.  In transactional terms, the decision meant very little: The BU Chapter of J Street U would now be able to hold programs in the Hillel building at no cost and could place our logo on their publicity material.  However, as is the case for any BU Hillel affiliate, any program that the J Street U Chapter holds in our building and any publicity material where our logo appears must be vetted by Hillel’s student board and professional staff.  Additionally, we insisted that the student leaders of the Boston University J Street U chapter agree to Hillel International’s Israel guidelines as part of their affiliation agreement.

Thus, I was totally unprepared for the tidal wave of fury that engulfed us: Calls from furious parents – some of who didn’t even have students attending BU (one parent in particular who repeatedly called me a “son of a bitch”). Letters from donors asking their names be taken off our mailing list; vicious – perhaps libelous attacks in social media. 

We are past the raging, but disquieting aftershocks remain: One student continues to seek every available opportunity to lash out at Hillel and me on social media.  I learned recently that there is a cohort of students who will no longer come to Hillel and have taken to having Shabbat dinner on their own.   Our fund development efforts have taken a significant hit. 

It has been painful and difficult for me.  How dare others challenge my commitment to the land and people of Israel?

A revelatory moment occurred several weeks ago when I sat with Avital, a wonderful, thoughtful student and AIPAC activist.  She spoke of how J Street presence at Hillel is difficult, painful for her.  Not because she doesn’t like the students involved in J Street U; but J Street’s stance on Israel is an anathema to what she believes – and what she believes with such passion.  For her, and for many, J Street U is a foreign body in the Jewish community politic. I say this with no value judgement.  Liberal leaning Jews can scoff at this but they are mistaken not to recognize the hurt and betrayal many of our students and parents feel at J Street U's presence on campus.  One student I spoke with called it “a cancer”.  And while, some may scoff at this as harsh and hyperbolic, many members of our Jewish communities view J Street’s politics as profoundly, perhaps existentially destructive to Israel and the Jewish people. Equally, there are those who view the building of Israeli settlements in the West Bank as existentially destructive to Israel.  While we have the right to disagree with others; we cannot tell them they don’t have the right to feel that way. 

Later that week, I sat with Holly, a senior who is about to graduate with both an undergraduate and master’s degree in economics.  I had known of Holly since I began my efforts at BU and had seen her a number of times at Hillel Shabbat dinners.  Holly was the alleged firebrand activists who, as the founder of and first president of the chapter of J Street U at Boston University, had a reputation among Hillel activists as being far to the left on Israel politics.  My conversation with her revealed a remarkably thoughtful and insightful young woman.

She spoke of her upbringing in Michigan in a home that was politically centralist-left. She came to BU and got involved with BUSI – Boston University Students for Israel, BU’s mainstream Zionist group, eventually becoming the organization’s president.  As a sophomore she became aware of J Street U and brought a chapter to campus.  At this point, she became the focus of verbal abuse and bullying in social media.  She was, essentially excommunicated and driven from the Jewish community.

Holly’s ostracization drove her from the Jewish community, led her to abandon her more centralist views on Israel and pushed her into positions and student groups that were more stridently opposed to Israel’s policies.  And, within in those groups, peer pressure drove her to engage in with a cohort of students who were even more radically anti-Israel. However, she soon became disenchanted with these groups and, in a recently published article, she wrote about how she came to question the Open Hillel moment: “While demanding that the pro-Israel community tolerate pro-BDS groups that they find offensive, many Open Hillel leaders are intolerant of pro-Israel voices that they dislike.” Holly’s feeling towards Israel have now swung back to what she describes as “center-right”.  She is reconnecting with Hillel and the Jewish community. 

Like Avital, Holly is remarkably thoughtful and bright.  She is a thinker who engages with ideas and issues with curiosity and fervor.  We spoke of her intellectual and political journey; a journey that is ongoing.  Holly’s experience is profoundly instructive; this is a university; a place for intellectual journeys.  Collectively we are figuring things out; testing out ideas, trying on identities, exploring new ways to frame and think about the world we live in.

Based on Hillel International’s Israel guidelines, Boston University Hillel “will not partner with, house, or host organizations, groups, or speakers that as a matter of policy or practice:
  • Deny the right of Israel to exist as a Jewish and democratic state with secure and recognized borders;
  • Delegitimize, demonize, or apply a double standard to Israel;
  • Support boycott of, divestment from, or sanctions against the State of Israel”
While adhering to these guidelines, Hillel must also remain a space where students can explore and discuss ideas openly and thoughtfully.  Students who are exploring ideas that may challenge our politics and policies must be welcome around our Shabbat dinner tables and our lounges.  They must be welcomed into our offices for discussions of meaning and passion.

The college campus is so often referred to as a “battleground” by some organizations – and this certainly makes for good fund-raising copy.  Without question, Hillel does have a responsibility as the campus representative of the Jewish community to assertively advance a pro-Israel agenda: to push back, with all available resources, against students, faculty and outside groups that seek to advance an anti-Israel agenda. Israel activism, awareness and providing students an array of opportunities to build personal connections to the land and people of Israel must be central to our mission and practices. But Boston University is not a battleground, it is an educational institution and our young men and women aren’t soldiers but students involved in a critical period of intellectual and emotional growth.  Perhaps the gravest danger we face is that students will not feel comfortable exploring ideas and seeking to make sense of complex issues within Hillel’s literal and figurative walls.

Avital and Holly teach us that, within Hillel, there must be ample space for students to pursue intellectual and political journeys.  For our Jewish communities to turn them aside when they are exploring with thoughts and ideas simply risks alienating the Jewish community’s most precious resource. It is counter-productive to our efforts to secure a Jewish future.                                                                                                                                                        
The campus is, in fact, a microcosm of the fissures that are growing among both Israelis and Jews around the world.  Perhaps the difficulty lies in the word “microcosm”.  As a scaled down entity we do not have the luxury cloistering ourselves in denominational or political communities.  On campus, we all eat in the same kosher dining room and daven together on Shabbat and Hagim. 

Open discourse and disagreement about Israel and the politics of Israel and the Middle East is so highly charged because so much is at stake.  This discourse has the capacity to bring out the worst in us.  Nevertheless is it essential; and essential within Hillel’s walls.  Avital teaches us that passions about Israel will be strong and raw and we should not be afraid of strong words and emotions.   Holly teaches us that we must allow our students the space to explore new ideas and pursue intellectual journeys.  Her experience warns us of the dangers of ostracizing or alienating those who are asking challenging questions.  Let’s agree to disagree with each other with vigor and passion.

Finally, I would submit that our attention to the politics of Israel on campus and to the threat of anti-Israel activism should not obfuscate a far more serious challenge: The vast majority of our students have very little or no personal connection to the land and people of Israel and the vast majority of them are frighteningly uninformed about Israel, its history and culture.  They have very little understanding or grounding on the politics of the Middle East or of the history that framed current political realities. Why is it that on a campus of approximately 5,000 Jewish students I cannot fill 80 slots on our semi-annual Taglit Birthright trips (a frustrating reality that is fairly consistent with the experiences of other Hillel professionals)?  Finally, in as much as we have inexorably linked Israel with Judaism, students’ weakening personal ties to Israel and weakened capacity to weather anti-Israel rhetoric risks further eroding their tenuous Jewish identities.

This spring I took a small group of Jewish and non-Jewish students to Israel on a 10 day Volunteer for Israel Spring Break Trip.  We arose early on our first day in Jerusalem and walked to Machane Yehuda the, sprawling outdoor market that, on the eve of Shabbat, bustles with activity.  All of us were delightfully overwhelmed by the blending of cultures, the cacophony of sounds and aromas and the rich array of fruits, vegetables, spices, baked goods and other edible delights.  We walked down Yaffa Road, enchanted by the public displays of joy, frivolity and, at times, raucous celebration of Purim in Israel.  We made our way through the Jaffa Gate into the Old City joining thousands of Jews around the world at the Kotel, Western Wall.  The next days we marveled at the Dead Sea Scrolls and the richness of Judaica and Jewish life on display at the Israel Museum. 

Travelling into the Negev we were billeted on an army base where we spent four days cleaning automatic weapons, sheathing tanks in protective rubber covers and restocking warehouses.   

We learned many things on the army base, for instance we witnessed firsthand the hard work and daily grind of maintaining a defensive readiness.   But perhaps the greatest lesson was the humanness of Israel soldiers; most are young adults just like our students who listen to rap music, hang out in groups and flirt almost endlessly.  The older officers were avuncular and warm and treated our students with kindness and thoughtfulness. Our students will no longer see Israelis and the Israel army as faceless soldiers who can be subject to broad and inaccurate generalizations.  They will always see them as Yosef, Eli, Yonatan and Yael.

Our students saw and experienced an Israel and a Judaism that is vibrant, rich, diverse and alive; rich, intertwined cultures, wonderful food, the joy of holidays and Shabbat; deep spiritual connections and a religion that is powerfully relevant.  They met and came to love Israelis who are warm, funny, funky and, most of all, profoundly human.  Whatever side of the Israel debate these student choose their thinking and their discourse will be grounded in a personal connection, a personal appreciation and, perhaps, a personal love or Israel.    And, in the context of our Israel debate, this is the true victory.



Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Live from Sar-El - Somewhere in the Negev

Day is dawning on our second full day on the army base.  Our students remain asleep after a long day of work that ended with a night of excitement.
The army base, located somewhere in the Negev, is as it described in the Volunteers for Israel information booklet; Spartan at best.  We occupy army barracks; each room with four very basic spring frame twin beds covered with a razor thin foam mattresses.  This blue paper film covers the windows in lieu of curtains.  On our first day, the students and I were given very used but clean army fatigues, threadbare sheets and army surplus sleeping bags. 
After breakfast, we joined the soldiers on the base at the flag raising ceremony.  We learned the Hebrew commands for “attention” and “at ease” and our students followed diligently.  I sang along quietly with a recorded rendition of Hatikvah. 
Our group was broken into two with each group given a different work assignment.  My group spent the day clearing, cleaning and re-shelving supply huts.  Tables, boxes of rations, jerry cans (which the Israelis called “Jerrykanim”) and a broad assortment of supplies were hauled from shelves, wiped down and either moved to other shelves or to another location.  It was, in essence, cleaning the garage, an activity I avoid at all costs in America.  Of course, the difference was that we were organizing and rearranging articles required to effectively make war, and given our admiration and care for Israeli soldiers and the Israeli army, there was a far greater sense of seriousness to our efforts.  Among the items we moved were boxes of army rations, automatic rifle cartridges and camouflage netting for tanks.  Clearly the need to access these items quickly during a conflict is of great urgency.
We worked alongside two Israelis one in his twenties and the other quite older and we communicated through my profoundly limited Hebrew, hand gestures and two or three English words; “okay”, “good”.  
Last night, at 1:00 a.m., our students were woken up from deep slumber by Yael our group supervisor (minahelet).  A bit of framing is called for: Nineteen years old, Yael is approximately 4 ft. 10 inches and I’d be surprised if she breaks 90 pounds.  Yet at 1:00 a.m., Yael assumed the fierceness of a hardened drill sergeant.  And as she barked at the students to wake up, don uniforms and get in line, I found myself cowering (even though I knew this activity was coming).  The student lined up outside and Yael ordered them to come to attention and roughly chided them for taking so long.  She warned them not to talk or laugh.  I anxiously awaited cries of protests or students storming back to their room in anger or tears; however our students, these American young men and women, most from affluent American homes, accustomed to a sheltered and comfortable life all complied, stood at attention, ran through the midnight air and crawled through bushes.  And when it was all done, with Israeli marshal music playing on her mobile device, Yael formally inducted them as Sar El volunteers and placed blue ribbons in their epilates. Each student got a light punch on the shoulder as an initiation. And to my further surprise, and to my great delight, every one of them, even the non-Jewish students were honored and proud.
We learned many things on the army base: We learned that chocolate milk served in a plastic bag is quite yummy but has a tendency to spill all over the table if left unattended.  We learned that Israelis treat paper napkins like we treat precious jewels – they are handed out sparingly and with great reluctance.  After much practice, Pat learned to say “At yafa me-od” (You are very pretty) – and then proceeded to say it to every female soldier he encountered and, additionally, to Yael’s mother on the phone.  We learned that Israeli soldiers were just like us: teens and young adults who listen to rap music, hang out in groups and flirt almost endlessly.
But perhaps the greatest lesson was the humanness of soldiers; the above mentioned adolescence of most soldiers; but also the genuine warmth and good humor of officers who treated our students with such kindness and thoughtfulness.  We spent time with Yosef who is studying business administration at a local community college and Eli, a non-commissioned officer who, at the approximate age of 60 worked harder and lifted heavier objects than new recruits 1/3 his age.  And we all came to love the diminutive and delightful Yael with her sweetness balanced by the steel of an Israeli soldier.  This is perhaps the greatest value of the Sar El experience; human connection; human warmth negates objectification.  Our students will no longer see Israelis and the Israel army as faceless soldiers who can be subject to broad and inaccurate generalizations.  They will always see them as Yosef, Eli, Yonatan and, of course, Yael.
 

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Life in the Slow Lane

In the first week in my tenure as interim director of Hillel at Boston University I walked to Best Buy to cruise the Labor Day sale.  Students and parents rushed through the aisles of Best Buys snatching up air conditioners, iPad, TV’s and stereos.  A small microwave oven for $54.00 beckoned me as did a flat screen TV for $189.  But I demurred.  A simpler life beckoned me.

My small one bedroom apartment on Bay State Road is the definition of Spartan functionality.  It has all I need but very little more.  In the days ahead I will return to my well-furnished and provisioned home in Atlanta but here in Boston, life is much simpler. I have two double beds, one love seat, three chairs, two bar stools, two end tables, coffee table and a 6x8 rug.  I have a set of four each of dishes, eating utensils, mugs and glasses.  I have, as of yet only used two of the dishes, one of the bowls and one of the coffee mugs.  Oddly, I have managed without my precious expresso machine.  I have yet to do the laundry, but when I do I will fill my pockets with quarters and trek downstairs to the washer and dryer, which shares a small room with the buildings boiler. 

Everything takes a bit longer.  I make stir fry for dinner.  In the absence of a microwave oven I boil the rice.  Impossibly, it takes 6 minutes rather than one.  There is no dishwasher and so I wash each dish, utensil, pot and glass by hand.  I sweep the small kitchen floor and hand wipe it with a spray cleaner and a small rag.  That deliberate quality of life is pleasant; perhaps, functionally meditative; slow down, embrace the quieter moments. 

Without a Boston-based car, I walk everywhere.  Trader Joe’s is a 20 minute stroll as is Whole Foods.  The walk over is pleasant.  The returning walk with hands filled with groceries a bit less so. The dry cleaner is four blocks, the drug store six.  My commute to Hillel is a 10 minute walk.  I discovered that my iPhone is tracking my steps and I am averaging about 12,000 a day – about 4 miles. 

I sit on a park bench along the Charles River and watch sleek shells with determined rowers glide by.  I walk along Beacon Street admiring the beautiful Victorian era row houses.  I rent a bicycle and pedal to Harvard Square buy a used book and read while sipping coffee.  After a long, difficult day at work I grab a bottle of light beer, head into the bedroom (the only air conditioned room in the apartment) sit on an old office chair, place my feet on the bed, my computer on my laps and watch a movie on Netflix on the 14 inch screen.  It seems overly indulgent.

Perhaps the simpler life will get old soon.  I will long for the convenience of a microwave; the comfort of the full size leather sofa in my den, the convenience of a car and the mindless pleasure of a large flat screen TV.  But a quieter, simpler life has its pleasures.  These pleasures are all in the moment – and none are taken for granted.  It seems to me that is a core message for Rosh Hashanah; enjoy life in the moment for the simple pleasures it offers.  In the absence of the layers of possessions that surround us we become more attuned to gentle joys of God’s creation; trees, a soft breeze, new and old friends, our loved ones.  Among those great pleasure is our own journeys of thought, imagination and wonder.  Today is the birthday of the world, enjoy.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Apples Honey and Augie the Doggie

Generally speaking, other than a honey stained necktie and some extra pounds, I carry little of sustaining residue from indulging in apples and honey on Rosh Hashanah.  Clearly it is yummy but, without question, there is a quality of magical thinking to this custom and belief that eating apples and honey will advance happiness in the year to come.  The same can be said of Tashlich[1] where we presume that tossing stale Cheerios or Wheat Thins into the Chattahoochee or Charles absolves us of our past misdeeds.  Thus, as the New Year approaches, I find myself thinking about Augie, or as we like to call him Augie the Doggie. 

Augie was irresistibly cute when we spied him a year ago at an adoption event; large brown eyes, oversized paws and an expression our son Jacob coined the “Sarah McLachlan face”, after the pathos oozing commercial for the ASPCA. And so we brought him home.  All seemed fine those first days; he was unusually docile, but we chalked that up to the pain medication he was taking for his broken tooth – acquired we learned when attempting to chew his way out of a metal cage.  And then we left him home alone. 

Upon returning, we couldn't quite figure out why large portions of his body were covered with white powder – until we spied the open pantry, whose contents, had been turned into a war zone with Cheerios, sugar, Wheat Thins and, of course, flour strewn all over the floor. 

Augie was dutifully locked up in a large dog cage for our next excursion out of the house.  Channeling Krypto, he bent the bars and broke out. And, in a display of profound industriousness, he ripped out all of the window screens, knocked down the accumulated knickknacks on our dining room hutch and relieved our bedroom wall of a framed lithograph.

More restrictive measures were called for and, as we headed out for a Saturday evening dinner with friends, we locked him in the downstairs bathroom; after all, what damage could he do.  Further demonstrating his destructive acumen, he ripped and ate through the dry wall, knocked a framed picture off the wall shattering its glass and chewed the ends of the vanity doors. 

We were about to give up.  Perhaps we had made a huge mistake.  We took him to the vet who told us about “Separation Anxiety” a common condition among rescue dogs.  He prescribed Prozac and guided us on how to build Augie’s trust and confidence by leaving him for very brief periods and gradually increasing the time away.  Astonishingly, I had found a pet more neurotic than I am. 

A year has passed since our house destruction ordeals.  Each morning begins with Augie jumping into our bed to announce the arrival of morning – and more importantly breakfast time.  His morning kibble is followed by Prozac wrapped in American cheese.  Whenever possible, Augie and I go hiking in Big Trees a local wooded preserve.  Off the leash, he follows close behind as we hike the trail, stopping to drink from the stream.  He sits at our feet as we read or watch television.  He is slowly transforming from a sullen, frightened pet to one that is becoming more outgoing and playful.  We say that he is “discovering his inner dog”.  Last month, for the first time, he chased a squirrel.  Unfortunately, my wife Jo happened to be attached via the leash at the time.  Caught totally off guard by this unexpected “dogged pursuit”, she took a nasty spill, broke a finger and a tooth and needed 5 stitches in her chin.  She is still in physical therapy.

What does this have to do with Rosh Hashanah and apples and honey? Here’s what we’ve learned from Augie the Doggy: The sweetness in life comes not from consuming or possessing things but in investing in, engaging and enjoying the company of others – humans and otherwise.  Psalms 133 teaches us:  “Hiney ma tov u’ma-nayim Shevet ach-im gam ya-chad”; "Behold, how good and how sweet it is for friends to sit together”.  The sweetness in life is in the company of others.  Thus, the question is not what will make this year sweet but who will. 



[1] Tashlich: the custom where, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, Jews cast some form of grain (e.g. bread, rice, Cheerios) upon flowing water, as a metaphorical representation of casting out one’s sins,

Sunday, April 6, 2014

The Carnegie Deli

April 1, New York, NY -- The Carnegie Deli, the landmark delicatessen the heart of midtown Manhattan has featured celebrity named sandwiches since it first opened in 1937.  The “Don Rickles” features pickles, salami, Romanian pastrami, chopped liver and a thick spread of hot mustard.  The “Woody Allen” features corned-beef, pastrami, coleslaw, mayonnaise and young chicken.  However, according to manager Anthony Shapiro, one sandwich has not caught on: “No matter what we do, very few customers order the “Hillel sandwich”.  Featuring multiple slices of raw horseradish atop a mound of pate made from nuts, apple sweet wine and other ingredients, all heaped on a dry matzah cracker, the sandwich just does not sell. According to Jessica Kurtz, who post on the kosheryummy.com website:  “fusion dining is absolutely au-courant, but having said that, the core ingredients of the dish must have one essential characteristic, they have to taste good.”

Given the value of the Hillel brand in the hospitality industry, much new thinking has gone into raising the appeal of the eponymous sandwich.  The Carnegie Deli Foundation brought in a team of chefs from the Poughkeepsie Culinary Institute who proposed creating an “Open Hillel Sandwich” where diners would be invited to add their own ingredients such as olives, capers and humus.  Hillel sandwich aficionados responded “sounds tasty, but when does it stop being a Hillel sandwich?”   A small group of concerned consumers responded by creating the “closed Hillel sandwich” with a second piece of matzah on top to prevent the addition of unauthorized ingredients.   A third group proposed a “safe Hillel sandwich” removing the unappealing slabs of horseradish, the nuts from the charoset for those who might have allergies and the wine to prevent inebriation.  Commented one Hillel sandwich traditionalist:  “Goodness, what’s a Hillel sandwich without the alcohol and nuts?”


Culinary experts remain hard at work seeking a Hillel sandwich that will have broader appeal while retaining essential ingredients.