Israel and the Conversational Nature of Reality

The poet David Whyte often speaks and writes about the conversational nature of reality. It is an idea that what we believe we are, what we believe the world is, is constantly bumping up against the truth. The job of the poet, indeed of all of us, is to bring that truth into conversation with our deepest held beliefs thus changing ourselves and perhaps to some extent reality itself.

I’ve been thinking about Israel this week. Indeed, it’s hard to think about or write about much else. I am not one to process my deepest feelings publicly and, in any case, I don’t know that I could articulate them at this point. So, while I am still “processing” here are some of the actions and resources that are helping me come to terms with and make “sense” of what is happening.

• I reached out to many of my friends and colleagues in Israel with messages of love and support. I hesitated at first because I thought, the last thing my friends there need is to be responding to email but everyone seemed grateful that I had written. Throughout the week, I kept thinking of more people, I needed to be in touch with. Thankfully, everyone I have heard from so far is safe and their loved ones are safe. But everyone is no more than one step removed from someone who was hurt or is in danger.

• For the most part, I avoided doom scrolling the news. Instead of watching endless clips of violence and horror on CNN, I read the daily briefing sent out by the Jewish Federation of Greater Rochester. These 3-4 pages tell me most of the facts I need to know about what is going on. I am grateful I quit social media.

• I made a donation for humanitarian relief through the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington Israel Crisis Relief Fund. Please donate if you are so moved and are able. Money doesn’t solve all problems, but it can help with many of them.

• I’ve turned to the voices I trust. Chief among them the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem. The Institute’s two podcasts For Heaven’s Sake with Donniel Hartman and Yossi Klein-Halevi and Identity Crisis hosted by Yehuda Kurtzer often mirror and help me make sense of my own thoughts and feelings. I found the montage of American Jews living in Israel describing their experience on “Identity Crisis” in the early hours of the invasion to be particularly moving. You can find both on Apple Podcasts or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.

• I watched my favorite Israeli chef make this. Then I made it.

Umbrellas over Jerusalem. 2015

I was surprised by the number of non-Jewish friends who have reached out to me with words of support and comfort. Many of them know that I have many friends in Israel having been there more than a dozen times. Others aren’t sure about my connection but wanted to express support anyway and still others only know that I am Jewish and presume Jews care about Israel. It is understood that Israel and Jewry worldwide are inextricably connected.

Compounding the surrealness of the week was the email that I got from the German Embassy in Washington informing me that my application for citizenship had been approved and inviting my children and me to a ceremony to accept it. An odd juxtaposition, to be sure, since the same catastrophe that led me to be eligible to reclaim my grandparent’s German citizenship also was a major force in the founding of the Jewish State. Accepting German citizenship comes with a host of complicated feelings but more on that in another post at another time.

With my Shalom Hartman Fellow cohort at the Kotel (Western Wall). December 2018

I’ve been thinking a good bit about what Cole, the little boy protagonist in The Sixth Sense, said about the dead people he alone can see. “They see only what they want to see,” he tells his friend Malcom. How like these dead people are we! We tell ourselves that Israeli intelligence and its army are superhuman. That an invasion of Israel is impossible. That the terrorists are too disorganized and incompetent to mount a serious threat. We tell ourselves the stories we want to hear, reinforce those stories with the stories of others that confirm our biases and then shut out the rest. Not just about Israel or America but about so much of our lives. What it would look like if we were to occasionally engage in a conversation with reality?

The world’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.

Many Milestones: Observations from the Rear Flank of the Baby Boom

This week I achieved another milestone birthday. Like many milestones these days, it is not a number that ends in a zero or a five. Most of my milestone birthdays now are determined not by the decades and half decades of the anniversaries of my birth but rather but the stange and seemingly arbitrary vagaries of U.S. law.

Last spring, my wife and I were in a funky museum in Arizona (I think) along the famed Route 66. I was pleased to see that in this establishment the “senior” admission price was for those 60 and ‘better.’ The cost would be $5 each instead of $8 saving us $6 between the two of us.

“There are some advantages to getting older,” I said to the lady selling the tickets who seemed like she might qualify for a much higher threshold.

“It’s the only one!” she said with a disgusted look on her face.

I could see her point. Yes, getting older does have some benefits including discounted entry fees to museums and a few other attractions but let’s face it, not one of them (with the possible exception of grandchildren should one be so blessed) is adequate compensation for the aches and pains, the cognitive decline, and yes, serious medical problems that go along with getting older. As a doctor friend of mine kindly reminded me recently, “Getting old is a chronic disease.”

Nevertheless, when perks of seniority are offered, no matter how modest, I like to believe I can accept them with grace.

Here are three that come along with my new advanced age of 62.

1. Most places that offer a senior discount, begin offering it at 62. Yes, there are some that are as low as 55 and some as high as 65 but 62 seems to be the most common number. These discounts are rarely significant. Usually just a few dollars, but they make me feel like I am getting a bargain when I get to see something or do something for $10 that my younger friends have to pay $12 for.

2. I can buy a U.S. National Park Pass for $80 that will be good for the rest of my life. Previously, I bought a pass every year for the same price. Many years I didn’t get my money’s worth but I bought one anyway to support the national parks. Now I feel I have done my share and this next purchase will probably be my last. My wife has her own though one pass covers everyone in the party. If you are not yet old enough to buy the lifetime pass consider buying an annual pass to support the park service.

3. I can collect Social Security benefits, though I probably won’t for 8 more years.

According to the Social Security Administration 23% of men who turn 62 start to take their benefits right away. The percentage is slightly lower for women. However, there is a good reason not to. For each year you wait, your monthly benefit increases about 6% per year until you reach full retirement age (67 for me) and then an additional 8% per year until you reach age 70. After that there is no longer a benefit to waiting. This means that all other things being equal, it may pay to wait if you can.

If you are married and you were the higher wage earner, there is an extra reason to wait because if you die before your spouse, they will get your higher benefit instead of their own for the rest of his/her life.

If you are the lower earning spouse, waiting may or may not make sense. There is a great online calculator called Open Social Security that can help you create a filing strategy as a couple looking at multiple life expectancies. Most calculators don’t take marital status into account. For example, the calculator suggests that I should wait until age 70 to file but that Barbara should file now. She hasn’t yet but maybe soon.

More milestones lie ahead (God willing). The next biggie is age 65 when I am eligible for our national socialized medicine program Medicare. Barbara is two years ahead of me so I have begun to try to make my way through the labyrinth and am sorting through the options and decisions that will need to be made in the next months.

Part A, Part B, prescription drug plans, Medicare Advantage (mostly disadvantageous), Medigap or supplemental plans, co-pays, and deductibles, oh my!

If you thought Social Security was complicated, Medicare is absolutely mind-boggling particularly as the onset of Medicare coincides with the aforementioned cognitive decline (see above).

No wonder our politicians never want to call it quits; they can’t make head or tail out of the retirement programs they created and make more complicated every year. It’s easier to get reelected than to enroll!

Well, I better run. I need to get over to my nearest Park Service entrance gate to pick up my lifetime pass before the government shuts down. Of course, all the parks will be closed for who knows how long but I can hold it in my hand and dream of the places I’ll go if not in person then with my Apple Vision Pro virtual reality headset (available early 2024).

Maybe Apple will even start offering a discount for seniors instead of just for college students. Tim Cook should be able to empathize; he is also 62 years old.

The world’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.

The House (and Town) That Hops Built

Perhaps the best part of travelling without a strict timetable is being able to stop wherever, whenever. This explains how we found ourselves in Milwaukee, a city that - to be honest - was not on my rather prodigious bucket list.

Located a few hours north of Chicago on the western shore of Lake Michigan, Milwaukee, it turns out, is a little nugget of malted barley filled with beautiful architecture, a vibrant riverfront, incredible art, and, oh yes, beer. Lots and lots of beer.

We are on our way to Door County, Wisconsin, which is a peninsula that juts out into Lake Michigan and is said to be the “Cape Cod of the mid-west.” We will be partaking in a five day organized biking trip. As we swung north from Chicago the city of Milwaukee presented itself for consideration. With several days still before we needed to be in Door County we were totally like, why not?

The night before we had been camping in Indiana Dunes National Park, a lovely spot except for two things: it was hotter than hell, and the mosquitos were abundant and thirsty. We had set up the tent which is both cooler and better protection from the mozzies than the van, but it was a sticky, itchy night notwithstanding. The fact that there are no campgrounds in downtown Milwaukee meant that we would need to stay in a hotel, one with air conditioning and comfy beds. Such a shame, but there you are.

Inside the future at the Milwaukee Museum of Art

Our hotel was about 20 minutes from downtown, and we headed first to the Milwaukee Museum of Art, which boasts a stunning building designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, who was inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright. The place reminded me of the space station from the 1968 film “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Its spacious underground parking garage also served as a convenient place to stash the van for the day as we walked around the city.

We spent several hours in the museum, which features a design exhibit (I love those) as well as an impressive collection of American and European art including, rather surprisingly, one of the largest collections of Georgia O’Keefe paintings anywhere. The museum deserved more time but after a few hours, we were hungry both for food and to see more of the city.

The weather was still hot and sticky, but we ventured out into the streets of downtown, heading first for the public market, which is evocative of the Pike Place Market in Seattle. Among the dazzling number of choices, we selected a place that made panini sandwiches. I chose a tuna melt while Barbara picked the Mediterranean, a combo of cheese, tomatoes, and peppers. The sandwiches were so generous that we each ate only half and saved the remainder for dinner.

From there we made a beeline to the “world famous” National Bobblehead Hall of Fame and Museum. Here you can see every sports star in history and many other famous political and entertainment personalities immortalized as a little plastic statue with an oversize head that is attached with a spring. Why? Again, I ask why? We paid $5 each for admission and then paid our respects. I was disappointed not to find any of the Marx Brothers there. Nor did I see Steve Jobs or Tim Cook. However, Judy Garland was there in her Dorothy persona, as all the U.S. Presidents and Mr. Spock from Star Trek, his hand in the traditional hand shape of the Kohanim. Live Long and Prosper, old friend.

…to boldly go where no head has bobbled before.

Next we walked around the downtown and along the river. The river has multiple bridge crossings, all of which open to allow boat traffic through. Some of the bridges open drawbridge style while others lift straight up into the air like an elevator. Regardless of how they open, when they do all foot and vehicle traffic on the bridges comes to a halt while the boats go by below. At one such crossing, I spotted the Vista Queen, which, the internet informed me, has a sightseeing tour every day at 2 pm. We had obviously missed that day’s tour, which clinched the argument already raging in my brain. We’d need a second day in Milwaukee.

But first there was a required visit to Downtown Books, a massive used bookstore on Wisconsin Ave. More overwhelming than the sheer number of books was the geography of the store, with books towering from floor to the tops of the 15-foot ceilings. You’d need binoculars to read the titles on the highest shelves. Just the cookbook section alone was dozens of shelves filed by title rather than by author or cuisine. In short, it was impossible to find anything that you might be looking for except by chance. I left without making a purchase.

Emerging from our hotel on day two, we were struck by a chilly and meaningful breeze. Sometime during the night, autumn had swept in and temperatures had plunged. The crisp air was a relief after the sweltering days of the past week.

Soon we were parked near the dock for the Vista Queen and walking through the urban campus of Marquette University, a private, Jesuit institution, toward the mansion built by Captain Fredrick Pabst, 19th century steamboat captain and beer magnate. The good cap’n built the mansion (now a museum) in the late 1800s to celebrate his wealth and good fortune and to house his family on what was then Milwaukee’s poshest boulevard, the appropriately named Grand Avenue.

Pabst Mansion: the house that hops built

A struggling immigrant from Saxony (now part of Germany), Pabst had begun life with very modest means, making a living bussing restaurant tables and eventually working his way to becoming the captain on a lake steamboat. He married into the beer business, and his father-in-law taught him all there was to know about brewing. The captain eventually took over the business. I am not sure if Pabst Blue Ribbon was as bad a beer then as it is today but people must have had a taste for the stuff. He made a fortune.

The mansion is breathtaking. Much of it has original furnishings, wall coverings and floors. Ahead of its time, the mansion had electricity, an elevator, even a telephone (albeit one attached to the wall) at the time of its construction. The hour-long tour was excellent. Unlike most of these kinds of tours, you can go anywhere in the house. There are no ropes and no restrictions except don’t touch anything and don’t sit on the furniture. Our guide was knowledgeable and amusing. Sadly, I am sorry to report we weren’t offered so much as an ounce of beer. The captain himself apparently preferred wine. The house has a wine cellar with a capacity of more than 3,000 bottles. All of which have long since been consumed.

With our cruise departing in less than 90 minutes, lunch was the next priority and, on our way, back to the dock we stumbled on Brick 3 Pizza, which claims to be “Bringing the Big Apple to Milwaukee.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I thought.

Four slices at Brick 3

With our optimistically large eyes, we ordered two slices each. I got a cheese slice (there is nothing more defining of the class than the cheese slice) and a Californian, which had fresh tomatoes and, as it turned out, enough garlic to discourage even the most amorous vampire. Barbara got a slice of Californian as well along with one that was spinach and feta. The four slices flew into to the traditional stainless steel pizza ovens (not sure where the “brick” comes in) and a minute or two later were delivered to our table on paper plates. They were hot enough to scald the skin off the roof of ones mouth, which I proceeded to do without further ado.

The pizza was a very respectable New York slice. The crust was perfectly thin, the cheese stretchy and a little sour, the sauce light and tart (not sweet). New York style pizza is always judged pass/fail. This passed easily.

We each ended up saving one of our slices to eat later. We complimented the man behind the counter (the owner, I am guessing) and found out that he hailed from Staten Island. I told him that I was born in Queens. It turned out both our earliest memories were of the 1964-65 World’s Fair.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Staten Island isn’t really New York City.

Upscale condos line the Milwaukee River

Pizza box in hand, we dashed off to our rendezvous with the Vista Queen.

We found seats in the bow of the boat and soon we were underway. We were soaring under the bridges that we had walked across the day before. Our young guide was mostly very knowledgeable, though she identified a 19th century red brick building that looked to me like New York’s Carnegie Hall as “Brutalist” architecture. Barbara and I looked at each other bewildered but the guide was quickly schooled by the boat captain. The next time she pointed out a Brutalist building, she got it right.

The art museum as seen from the lake

From the boat we got an up-close view of the city’s historic Third Ward before heading out into the waters of Lake Michigan for a gorgeous view of the city skyline and the aforementioned art museum. It was chilly and windy on the water especially in the bow of the boat and we were pretty happy to get back to the dock and head back to the hotel for a few IPAs (not PBRs) chilling in the fridge.

The list of the world’s great cities is long. London, New York, L.A., Paris, Tokyo, Trenton. These are the destinations we put on the list and check off when/if we finally get to visit. But often it is the places you end up by accident that have the greatest capacity to surprise and delight. Perhaps it is precisely because we come to such places without expectations, without demands, without anxiety that they will prove worth the trouble, worth the funds expended, that we approach them with an open heart.

Milwaukee is just such a city. It graciously forgives you - not for having written it off - but for never having thought of it at all. Then it courts you with humor, good food, incredible art, and beer. It’s a place that makes you think: In different life I could have been happy here.

The world’s a narrow bridge; fear nothing.