Sheila Buck wanted to attend the Trump rally in Tulsa. She had a ticket. The venue was less than half full. There was plenty of room for Sheila Buck and 1000 of her closest friends. Actually, according to the Fire Marshall, 10,000. But Sheila was alone as she cleared the security checkpoint this past Saturday. At some point, whether overcome by her need to attract attention or the spirit of her G-d, she unveiled her “I can’t breathe” shirt, fell to her knees, and began to pray. Offended by the shirt and unsure which god she was evoking, the Trump campaign had the Tulsa police forcibly remove her from the venue. It was a win for everyone involved. Ms. Buck made the national news. The Trump campaign got to have a protestor roughed up, but not too much. And Trump wasn’t forced to hear a disparaging word. Everyone won but the rest of the country. We didn’t get anything positive out of any of this ongoing show and embarrassment.
I am reminded of a different rally, one that took place 28 years ago in Cleveland. I was helping with security the day before the presidential election. Bill Clinton was going to stop at airports across the country. The crowd was huge and in good spirits. The future president was late. The campaign theme song, Fleetwood Mac’s Don’t Stop, was on a loop for several hours. We knew history was about to be made.
The Bush campaign had held a rally in Strongsville a few days earlier. Strongsville High School students were taken to the rally on public school buses to the event. Kids were stopped at the entrance and forced to remove Clinton campaign buttons. It made the news and resulted in a lawsuit. And, it was silly. We were aware of that debacle as we waited for Mr. Clinton’s plane. One group of young men got my attention. They stayed together closer to the back of the crowd. They had on heavier coats than most of us. As the plane taxied to our area, I got a group of equally big guys to come with me. The event started and our friends threw open their coats, revealed their Bush shirts and signs, and were surprised that the guys now standing right in front of them had bigger Clinton signs and made them invisible. No fuss. No fight. They put down their signs and walked away.
Did the Trump campaign need the Tulsa police and the Oklahoma National Guard to hold a rally? Probably not. There will always be dissenters at political events just like there are always hecklers at a comedy club. The pros know how to handle the moment.
My post-election wrap up in 1992 included a paragraph about the Clinton rally:
Burke Lakefront Airport was the scene of Governor Clinton’s last campaign stop in Ohio. I took Phillip, Jennifer, and my new step-daughter Andrea to not only hear the candidates, but to also work as volunteers. I had a great time, but my experience paled beside Phil’s. He not only shook the eventual winner’s hand, he also shook hands with the future First Lady and exchanged pleasantries. Energized, Phillip volunteered to work the balance of the campaign. He learned more about the election process in two days than in all his previous schooling
By the way, Andrea was disappointed that Phil and I had the opportunity to shake hands with the future President and she hadn’t. I told her that it wasn’t that big a deal. After all, more people shook hands with Bill Clinton than had seen Madonna naked.
I lied. It was a big deal.
Political rallies should be a big deal. They should be POSITIVE, motivating, and family friendly. I’m looking forward to returning to those simpler times.
Picture – My Tag – David L Cunix
The 60’s were an era of cultural upheaval and activism. It was a time of change in music, politics, and personal expression. Some say that the 60’s began on November 22, 1963, the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I have always thought that the 60’s began on February 9, 1964, the night the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show. What followed was a musical and fashion revolution, the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr, and Senator Robert Kennedy, the Vietnam War protests, the Summer of Love, and Woodstock. And when did the 60’s end? The History Channel says that the 60’s ended at Altamont, December 4, 1969. Others site Kent State, May 4, 1970. I believe that the 60’s ended on August 8, 1974 with the resignation of Richard Nixon, proof that our country needed both activism and the rule of law. Both were important.
Some of us carry the 60’s with us to this very day. We remember the marches and the speeches. There were a lot of both and I confess that I delivered a few of them. I still owe apologies to the youth groups and scout troops my friend John and I bored with our environmental presentations. Some of us remember key moments, events that impacted us and motivated us to action. For me, the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago was my wake-up call. I watched Dan Rather being assaulted by the security thugs on the floor of the convention. Mayor Richard Daly said, “The police are not here to create disorder, they’re here to preserve disorder.” It was time to choose sides and the choice, for me, was easy.
My volunteer work, my leadership in not-for-profit organizations, and even my choice of occupations are directly attributable to growing up in the 60’s when you were given the option of being part of the problem or part of the solution.
It was just after noon on Tuesday, May 26th that my friend Felicia posted a video on Facebook. To my shock and horror I saw a policeman with his knee on a Black man’s neck. He was nonchalantly snuffing the life out of a man. His hands were in his pockets. He didn’t have a care in the world. I asked, “How is this acceptable? What will be the excuse this time?”
This time there were cellphones. Lots of them. We will never know If George Floyd, lying there on the street for the last 8 minutes 46 seconds of his life, could hear the pleas of the witnesses to his murder. People were pleading for the police to let him breathe. People were offering to help. He did not die alone. And those cellphones recording everything from multiple angles.
In the days that followed, the entire world has had a chance to see some of these videos. There was no denying, this time, that a miscarriage of justice had occurred. We have become witnesses to a murder.
George Floyd’s death will not be impacted by what happens next. He will still be dead whether the four policemen are successful prosecuted and convicted or if there are no consequences for their actions like the men who killed Trayvon Martin, Philando Castile, and Tamir Rice. George Floyd’s death isn’t impacted, but YOUR life can be.
Right now millions of young adults, high schoolers, and yes, even 12 and 13 year olds are watching this unfold on TV. Many have had the opportunity to march in the streets and listen to speeches. Some may have even addressed the crowds. Will this moment result in a lifetime of action? 50 years from now will they cite this past week as their wake-up call?
The 2020’s can be a time of change, a time of growth, an era of personal expression. We can make this a better country. Our founding fathers said that all men are created equal, but they didn’t mean it. Now is the time to commit to making it a reality.
One thing hasn’t changed. You are either part of the problem or part of the solution.
Picture – Are We Stuck On The Wrong Side Of Liberty? – David L Cunix
We had a couple of Fortune Cookies left over from the other evening. Our tradition is to crack open the cookie, take a brief look at the fortune, and then to make up something on the spot. I opened mine and stopped. The message was, “There are no ordinary moments”. That was better than anything I would have imagined.
I have lived in Greater Cleveland most of my adult life. I negotiated a transfer here in 1982. This is home. I live in a suburb, one that doesn’t appear on most maps and that wouldn’t thrive if it wasn’t part of the greater whole of Cuyahoga County. The moment I am more than 30 miles away from home, when asked I answer that I’m from Cleveland. When Tamir Rice was killed by the police, that was my neighbor that was gunned down. When the CAVS won the championship, that was my team parading through my downtown. And this weekend, those were my neighbors on the streets of Cleveland protesting the murder George Floyd. And when things got ugly, those were my neighbors’ businesses being vandalized and looted.
The pain is palpable.
My daughter is in Seattle. She watched the city she loves trashed from the vantage point of her apartment window. Her building is in lock down for 48 hours. There is nothing she can do. There is nothing I can do.
I told her earlier today how odd it is to feel so powerless in both this and COVID 19. I am trying to not be a victim of either, but cannot be useful in a meaningful way.
I want to know who is destroying our cities. Who is the Umbrella Man, the guy who unabashedly broke the windows of the AutoZone in Minneapolis early in the initial demonstration. I want to know who brings a sledgehammer to a peaceful protest. Who is the guy jumping on a police car in downtown Cleveland? I confess that it has been a couple of decades since I have marched in protest. There are protesters marching in our cities, but they are not alone.
Our infrastructure has been systematically dismantled over the last few years. Anarchy, whether by design or through a lack of leadership, is still anarchy. No one is safe, not my friends in the newly developed downtown and not those of us in the suburbs, once the norms of society have been forsaken.
The reporters are bravely broadcasting from the front lines. The front lines are here, in Cleveland, Washington DC, Los Angeles, Chicago, and, of course, Minneapolis. There appear to be three groups. There are protesters. There are opportunists, looters who see an opportunity to rob stores and restaurants. And there are provocateurs who are inciting the crowds and confronting the authorities. It is a toxic mix. Add to this over-militarized police forces and the results, days and days of destruction, are inevitable.
And with luck, peace, as we understand it, will return. Our neighbors will need our help to rebuild. Our city will need our help. Whether that it tomorrow or a week from tomorrow, George Floyd will still be dead. We can hope that he will be the last unarmed Black man who dies at the hands of the police. That message has been delivered. Is anyone listening?
One thing is for sure. The illusion of normalcy has been pierced. There are no ordinary moments.
Picture – A Peaceful Protest In Seattle Last Summer – David L Cunix
It is no accident that Bart Simpson is forever 10 years old. Ten year old boys believe that they are the rulers of their world. Ask any parent of a 10 year old. But there are times when we, as parents, must assert our right to protect and help them. Often it is about stopping them from doing something dangerous or stupid. Sometimes it is just reminding them to wear a hat or coat because of the weather. “But dad, the guys with laugh at me!” And it is our job to tell them that their friends will also be wearing coats or will soon be cold and wish that they were, too..
Peer pressure can be a real problem for a 10 year old.
The State of Ohio does not mandate bicycle helmets. According to the Bressman Law website, “The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) notes, “Bicycle helmets are 85- to 88 percent effective in mitigating head and brain injuries, making the use of helmets the single most effective way to reduce head injuries and fatalities resulting from bicycle crashes.” Bicycle helmets save lives. President Obama wore a helmet when he rode his bike. Sean Hannity had a total melt down on his March 5, 2014 radio show. He was embarrassed. There was Putin, bare-chested!, swimming the butterfly stroke in cold water and our president was wearing a helmet. Oh the shame…
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has specific recommendations for the wearing of masks in public:
CDC continues to study the spread and effects of the novel Coronavirus across the United States. We now know from recent studies that a significant portion of individuals with Coronavirus lack symptoms (“asymptomatic”) and that even those who eventually develop symptoms (“pre-symptomatic”) can transmit the virus to others before showing symptoms. This means that the virus can spread between people interacting in close proximity—for example, speaking, coughing, or sneezing—even if those people are not exhibiting symptoms. In light of this new evidence, CDC recommends wearing cloth face coverings in public settings where other social distancing measures are difficult to maintain (e.g., grocery stores and pharmacies) especially in areas of significant community-based transmission.
The site even has instructions to show you how to make your own mask. When you hear about someone who won’t wear a mask, especially someone in a leadership position, you know that you are dealing with just another 10 year old worried about what his friends will say.
Picture – It’s A Cover Up! – David L Cunix
Working from home has allowed me to do more cooking. Even though everything I make is both low-carb and Kosher, Sally and I still have a fair amount of variety even here at home. In the last week I’ve made chicken burritos, Pho, chicken soup with kneidlach (matzo balls), and a pasta with pesto. Yes, I’ve been cooking American.
It seems like the word American tends to confuse some people. They hear the word and they immediately have an image in their minds of someone who looks a particular way, prays a specific way, and has a collection of beliefs that define who and what is American, or at least, a real American. To be clear, I do not fit any of their imagined definitions of an American. Most of my friends don’t either. And a hundred years ago or so when the families of these so-called real Americans came to this country, there were some already here who would have been happy to have seen these people go back from whence they came.
Since we were seated a proper social distance apart and both wearing masks, it is not an exaggeration when I tell you that I could see in my friend’s eyes that he was distressed. The rest of his faced was covered. Mark (name changed) is a young guy, handsome, a doctor! His family came to the United States when he was still a toddler and settled in Greater Cleveland. This is the only home he has ever known. But his last name isn’t Smith, or Jones, or even a Cleveland acceptable name like Russo or O’Malley. His last name doesn’t end with –ski or -ovich. We talked the other day about being “Other” in this current toxic culture.
Mark grew up an American. His family became citizens and the flag flew outside their home. And yet there are some who would question his status. It is as if some of us are here, some of us are Americans, as long as we don’t get in the way. As I said to Mark, there is an advantage to being “Other” to be able to observe how some in this country behave. An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. The people who would attack a Black Church are the same people who would attack a Mosque. The people who would attack a Sikh Temple are the same people who would attack a synagogue. The people who would turn away refugees from South America are the same people who turned away boatloads of Jewish people fleeing the Nazis. There is no difference. Hate and bigotry simply change targets, but the results are the same.
The pandemic has given us way too much time in front of our computers exposed to social media. The memes, many of them created in foreign countries with the goal of dividing us, can be the most disheartening. One of my Facebook “friends” recently posted a truly disgusting meme. There was a picture of President Obama and a symbol of Islam. The caption was “My plan was to destroy America and to convert you to Islam. And then, your Christian God sent Donald Trump to ruin it”. Honest. I couldn’t make that up. I had to read it a couple of times to fully grasp the hate it took to both create and repost such drivel.
There is a constant theme on Facebook that Democrats in general and Obama in particular have an agenda to destroy the United States. Sixty years ago there were some who questioned whether a Catholic could be president. Would Kennedy answer to the Constitution or the Pope? There are enough Catholics in government that that question is now moot. In 2012 we had some of the same people question Mitt Romney, a Mormon. And Barack Obama has been a constant target. The fact that a Muslim, a Jew, or even an atheist could serve as our president eludes these people. The fact that Obama is a self-professed Christian shouldn’t be important, but since he is, the constant barrage of claims that he isn’t says more about those leveling the charge than about him. It seems important to them to stress President Obama’s middle name, as if the name Hussein defines the man. And maybe it does, for them. Or maybe because he’s Black, visibly “Other”.
There also seems to be a need to label Donald Trump as some earthly savior of Christianity. Not being Christian, I find it odd that such a major religion would need a protector, and if I was picking one, he wouldn’t be it. Comparing a family man who has never had a hint of scandal, a guy who embodies what was once called the American Dream with a guy who used to seek publicity from the tabloids for his elicit sexual exploits, multiple marriages, and questionable ethics seems like an odd practice. And yet, I see this daily.
I fully understand policy differences. But the attacks on Obama and Democrats have long stopped being about the mundane. One Facebook “friend” recently posted something from Franklin Graham, the son of the late, and far more apolitical, Reverend Billy Graham. “Unless Christians Vote We’ll Lose’ the Country”. What followed was twenty-six comments. Most of them conflated a particular type of Christianity with the Republican Party with America as they know it. To be clear, there is a place for Mark and I in their America, as long as we keep our mouths shut and let them have their way.
Mark’s America celebrates people who have chosen to come here from all over the world, people who bring their heritages, their cultures and their religions. My America celebrates their diversity and their foods. And it turns out that you can make a really delightful Kosher, low-carb Pho.
Picture – An All American Dinner – David L Cunix
The retired teacher was practicing proper social distancing while she cleaned her golf clubs and talked with her neighbors. She was excitedly preparing for the beginning of her golf league, an opportunity to both play the game she loved and to experience a bit of normalcy. There will, of course, be concessions to the illness. Each golfer will have her own cart and the flags will be sitting on top of the greens. She was also hoping that some of her golf friends, unlike her neighbors, will agree that this whole COVID 19 thing might be overblown and that President Trump is doing a great job.
There is a vast array of opinions on TV and online. Some in the medical field express real fears about the Coronavirus. Some, mostly those getting their medical information from political pundits, may not be nearly as concerned. They are ready to tell you that xxxxx kills far more Americans. At the very least, they will tell you that it is no worse than the flu. That comparison doesn’t fly with the doctors and nurses working in the hospitals. One of my friends, after a difficult shift, was clear that he didn’t want to hear, “this is just like the flu”.
I tend to read books and articles about government, insurance, and politics. I don’t subscribe to Scientific American and wouldn’t have seen this article had a doctor friend not shared it on Facebook. Comparing COVID-19 Deaths to Flu Deaths Is like Comparing Apples to Oranges makes a clear case about the differences. For one, when was the last time you saw refrigerated trucks used to remove the deceased from a hospital? When was the last time we saw so many health care workers fall victim to an illness? Minimizing the condition puts you, the first responders, and our medical providers at risk.
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One of the things I noticed this year during my annual trip to Washington DC this past February was the high level of security. Heavily armed, some on horseback, they were on street corners and at the entrance to many of the buildings. I told a friend that it reminded me of a trip to Paris in 1999 during a time of unrest. I have been going to the US Senate and House of Representatives offices for years. I visit the Ohio Statehouse annually. Regardless of the weather, you stand in line until you access the checkpoint. There you empty your pockets, remove your coat, and walk through a metal detector while your personal items are run through a scanner. Pat downs are not uncommon. So I have to express my shock of seeing armed terrorists threatening Michigan lawmakers in their Senate chambers. How does that happen? Who let them in? The internet and TV news have identified some of the participants as known provocateurs from other states. Here’s a few questions:
- The pictures showing them threatening law enforcement officers and the elected officials. Why were they not arrested?
- Who paid for the people from as far away as California to attend? What organization has “terrorism” as a line item on its budget?
- Was anyone surprised that these protests in various state capitols included Confederate flags and anti-Semitic signs?
There is a sickness infecting our country. It has resulted in the deaths of over 70,000 Americans. It has manifested itself in armed thugs storming our statehouses. Please don’t say it is just the flu.
Picture – The Hospital Parking Lot Is Full – David L Cunix
Dusty, the main character in Alex Bevan’s song Gibson Mandolin, looked up too soon. Spoiler Alert: It does not end well for poor Dusty. Letting your guard down too early can have dire consequences.
We are working hard to earn a solid B in this pandemic. We haven’t locked ourselves in the condo, covered ourselves in bubble wrap, and limited ourselves to occasional trips to the balcony. We are being careful and listening to the medical experts.
Our first masks were abject failures. Sally attempted one from a bathing suit top. It was stylish, Sally is always stylish, but it was too big and of little value. I tried to make one from an old blue t-shirt. The ear loops made from her ponytail holders were of little value. Rubber bands hurt. We were doomed. We finally found a couple of masks for sale at Fresh Thyme. We were on our way. We scored a dozen organic cotton non-medical masks from Naturepedic. The elastic ear pieces fit much better. Having the basics covered, I even ordered two masks from our friend, New York fashion designer Michael Kaye. We’ve got masks and we’ve got gloves.
The next step, once you’ve got protective gear, is to wear it. I recently saw a post on Facebook from a guy laughing at people wearing masks while driving alone in a car. Well of course we do! I put on the mask and gloves before I leave my home. There is a chance that I will come into contact with someone in the garage, at the store, or on my way into my office. The goal is to put this on once, not to take the mask on and off. Every time I put the mask on I am touching my face. The gear is most effective if left on and kept on. Is it comfortable while wearing glasses? No. Do my glasses fog at times? Sure. But these are small prices to pay for safety and safety is the goal.
We have limited our trips outside of our home. I haven’t cooked this much since the kids were little. The side benefit is that we are eating well and may even lose a pound a two. We are walking a couple of miles around the condo complex almost every day. Our neighbors have been doing a good job of social distancing. We’re all trying.
The malls are opening up this week. Some states have decided that this is pretty much over. I could use a haircut. You could, too. I miss eating out, and traveling, and meeting with my clients in person. These are small sacrifices. Will the barber, the store clerk, or the waiter universally practice social distancing? Can they? And can you get a test to find out whether you or they have or have had COVID 19? The answer to all of these questions is no.
Dusty looked up too soon. I hope to not repeat his mistake.
Picture – Butterflies – David L Cunix
I had my first virtual medical appointment this morning. The advantages were obvious:
- I didn’t have to drive to University Hospital and park my car
- No potential exposure to sick patients
- The magazines are new
- There was coffee before, during, and after the appointment
The disadvantages were more important. My appointment was with the woman that I have entrusted to quarterback my healthcare for the last few years. And though some of my doctor friends have scoffed, she is a CNP, a Certified Nurse Practitioner. For almost four years she has answered every one of my questions, referred me to the specialists that I wanted to add to my care team, and interpret the results of my tests. She has delivered good news and, thankfully rarely, bad news. And yes, she has performed numerous physical exams. That relationship, that trust, was built through one on one personal contact. It would never have happened by video conference.
Medicare and our insurance companies have responded to the Coronavirus pandemic by increasing access to telemedicine. It makes us all safer. But true trust is built through connections. And for me that will require the connections built through personal contact.
Picture – The New Examination Room – David L Cunix
My routine blood test was scheduled for 8:30 this morning. I was so excited to be going to someplace, anyplace, that I considered wearing a suit to the University Hospital building in Chagrin Highlands. I didn’t. Wearing a suit would be counter-productive to a blood test. I may wear one tomorrow, just to sit by myself in the office. The tie could be optional.
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I saw this on Facebook. The woman was complaining about her governor, Andrew Cuomo, closing access to her country club’s golf course. In a country where over 20,000 of our fellow citizens have died from a pandemic and at least 500,000 people are known to have been diagnosed with this terrible illness, this woman’s biggest problem involves a sand wedge. Our doctors, nurses, police, and paramedics are rushing headlong into harm’s way, knowing full well that they lack the protective gear to insure their own safety. Millions of workers have lost their source of income. And small business owners like dentists, barbers, restaurateurs, and retail store owners have shut their doors with no guarantee whether they will ever reopen. These people represent the best of us. Wynton Marsalis recently said, “Let’s see if we are who we said we were before this”. That challenge is today.
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Linked In has devolved into a second-rate Facebook. The only difference, some days, is the lack of kitten pictures. A recent Linked In post noted a $1,000,000 contribution to COVID 19 research from Dolly Parton. You needn’t be a Dolly Parton fan, or even like country music, to know that Ms. Parton has generously donated to worthy causes for years. And, a million bucks is a million bucks. But it wasn’t enough for some people. Instead of appreciating her effort, or simply ignoring the post, some felt it necessary to criticize the amount. It wasn’t enough. After all, Dolly Parton is very successful and wealthy. She should be giving more. You’ve seen these posts on various social media platforms. Pick a name, you know them, Bloomberg, Bezos, Gates. What are they doing and why aren’t they doing more? Truly those are the wrong questions. Bloomberg, Parton, et al don’t need to answer to us. The right question is what are we doing? Now is the time to step up any way we can. Some of us will donate money to food banks, churches, synagogues, and other organizations that will get food and services to the people who need our help the most. Others are sewing masks and helping health care workers and the most at risk gain greater safety. Food distribution centers need volunteers. There are a myriad of ways to help.
The highest form of charity is to help sustain a person before they become impoverished by offering a substantial gift in a dignified manner, or by extending a suitable loan, or by helping them find employment or establish themselves in business so as to make it unnecessary for them to become dependent on others.
We each have the opportunity to help our fellow Americans today. You don’t need to put on a suit. And you won’t need a putter.
Stay Safe. Stay Healthy.
Picture – All Dressed Up And No Place To Go – David L Cunix
Four sons are discussed during the Passover Seder. They are meant to describe all of our children.
The wise son asks: “What is the meaning of the rules, laws and customs which the Eternal our G-d has commanded us?” You shall explain to him all the laws of Passover, to the very last detail about the Afikoman.
The contrary son asks: What is the meaning of this service to you?” Saying you, he excludes himself and because he excludes himself from the group, he denies a basic principle. You may therefore tell him plainly: “Because of what the Eternal did for me when I came forth from Egypt” I do this. For me and not for him: had he been there, he would not have been redeemed.
The simple son asks: “What is this?” To him you shall say: “With a strong hand the Eternal brought us out of Egypt, from the house of bondage.”
As for the son who does not even know how to ask a question, you must begin for him, as it is written in the Bible, “You shall tell your child on that day: This is done because of that which the Eternal did for me when I came forth out of Egypt.”
Translation from the Goldberg Haggadah
We are supposed to go to Israel next month. Our flights haven’t been cancelled, yet, but they will be. And we will have to find a different time to go. This is a little story about my first trip:
I had waited my whole life to see and touch the Kotel, the Western Wall of the Temple in Jerusalem. And then, in May of 2008, I was about to have my chance. I was mesmerized. I had cleared security and was walking across the plaza, intently focused on the ancient wall, when I was accosted by a beggar. He was aggressive, a professional, and I first tried to ignore him. I had already donated Tzedaka, charity, while in Israel. I wanted to get to the wall. But he persisted. I said NO. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and put himself between me and my goal. Finally, in exasperation, I said that I had waited my whole life for this moment and he was ruining it for me, as if I could shame him into leaving me alone. And that is when I failed the moment. This wasn’t about me getting to the wall. The important thing was for me to connect to 5 thousand years of our history, to be a part of everything that culminated in me being in that plaza at that moment. Our successes, our Torah, our laws. And part of that history, part of our heritage was that beggar and everything he represented in how we treat the stranger and the poor amongst us. The dollar in my pocket wouldn’t significantly change either of our lives. What mattered was how graciously it should have left my pocket and into his hand.
We begin as children who don’t know how to ask questions and when we do, it is of the simplest nature. We become capable of being both the wise son and the wicked son. It is simply a question of whether we put ourselves first or choose to be a part of our group, to honor our heritage, and to accept the responsibility of the moment.
Sally and I will get our trip to Israel. It will be my third, her first. And when we do, we hope to pass all of the tests we encounter and to fully appreciate our connection to our heritage.
This is truly an odd Passover this year. Many of us will be conducting virtual Seders. Our family safely attending via Skype or Zoom. Regardless of the circumstances, I hope that you find meaning and comfort in the retelling of our redemption from slavery, our march towards freedom.
Picture – The Kotel – David L Cunix