The King Is Dead – Long Live The King

As you, know I'm retired. I don't mean “tired again,” but that I no longer work in my previous profession. I used to be a radiologist, involved in teaching and in administration as well as actually practicing in the medical field (I couldn't choose between “art” and “science” so I used “field;” you decide between them or reject them both for another term). Many of my colleagues, and others, ask me what I now do with my time. They'll keep on doing what they've always done because they can't imagine doing anything else.

When I was born, during the (Franklin) Roosevelt administration, the average lifespan for a man was about 65 years and Social Security was keyed to that age. If you lived beyond that point you could collect a government pension – one to which you'd been contributing during your working years. It wasn't all that much but you were old and wouldn't need the money for very long. And you wouldn't have to occupy yourself for very long.

The times, however, are a changin.' People now live far longer, and the average American lives into his late seventies (or her eighties) with more and more living past the century mark. And that seems to change everything. More people are collecting Social Security and fewer are paying for it. Sooner of later something is going to collapse, but that's the next generation's problem if no solution is found. I'll let them worry about it.

Anyway, that's not the reason I'm writing. My main interest is in the questions I've been asked. Those who have not taken the big step, because they're too young, economically unable, or frightened wonder what I do with all of my time. My productive life is over, and I have gone out to pasture. “What do you do with your time?” The assumption is that my profession defined me. It was my life. And now it's over. That's true for many of them but not for me. They'll work until they drop. Or, as I said in the first paragraph, “They'll keep on doing what they've always done because they can't imagine doing anything else.” But I can, and I did.

In one respect I agree with them; my productive life is over – at least if you define it as the time spent earning a salary by providing a service for humanity (or whoever else is around). Social Security, my pension, and my savings provide for me in my “golden years.” Perhaps they're not as golden as they're cracked up to be (I think I addressed that issue a few years ago and perhaps I'll do so again, but not now) but, as a character in a Monty Python (movie – Monty Python and the Holy Grail) said, “I'm not dead. … I don't want to go on the [corpse] cart.”

And I don't agree that my productive years are over in the sense that there are other things I can produce besides x-ray interpretations – like these essays. Perhaps I was a better radiologist than I am a writer, but I get a good deal of satisfaction over setting the world right. No one may pay any attention, but (I've convinced myself that) I'm right and I have all the answers. And, since no one pays any attention, no one disputes my claim.

To a degree, these essays are my new life. They inspire reading and research as well as the writing, and they occupy more time than I have available. They're what I do with my time.

For many years I'd start projects which I never finished because I lacked the time to complete them. But that life is over. As a radiologist I'm dead. That death, however, was the beginning of a new life. (I don't know if my wife is happy that I'm home more now, but she's still working so we don't get in each other's way too often.) I have drawers full of started projects and accumulated notes to myself concerning ideas I'd like to develop. And I keep thinking of more all the time, writing them down and stuffing them in a pocket. I spent my entire working life preparing for my retirement, but I didn't know it at the time.

I enjoyed life as a radiologist. It was a lot of fun and I think I did a good job at it. As corny as it sounds, I think I actually helped people – both my patients and my students. But that time is past. That life is over. And the answer to the loss of an old life is the beginning of a new one. Prepare yourself. If you have something to do, your new life will be a blast.

January 16, 2017

Various Thoughts IX

No time for essays, but thoughts that have crossed my mind.

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Segregation is back. Voluntary. Proud. There was a commencement ceremony “for black graduate students at Harvard.” That was the declaration of an article yesterday in the New York Times. (I don't generally accept at face value what I read in the Times, but this had a picture to demonstrate the point. I don't think it was “photoshopped.”) Were caucasians excluded? And were “straight” students barred from the “lavender” ceremonies at the University of Delaware? And what about other similar events across the country? We're turning away from a common purpose and a common destiny.

There was a time when Americans were proud of their country and its people. They viewed their nation as a “melting pot.” Now the only ones proud to be Americans are those who have just gained citizenship. E Pluribus Unum no longer applies. Our protests, disdain for each other, and rejection of our government have turned us into a conglomeration of communities that identify with their members, but not with each other and not with our country. It's not what our founders had in mind.

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I saw some robins a few mornings ago and it got me wondering about their purpose? If you're a Darwinist you see them simply as a step in the evolutionary chain and they have no particular purpose otherwise, except as the ancestors of future species. But perhaps you accept the existence of a deity and the purposeful creation of all forms of life, each with a reason. While that presupposes a use for all of them,

Rabbi Judah said in Rab's name: ... He did not create a single thing without a purpose ... " (Talmud – Shabbat 77b)

and the Bible tells us that they're for our food and our enjoyment, I know that within my religion – Judaism – there is no tradition of eating robins, which pretty much excludes it.

I suppose, then, that enjoyment is the key. I must admit that my spirits were raised when I saw them. In addition to the joy I felt as I watched, their presence told me that Spring was here. And that's good enough for me. I may not understand the secrets of the universe, but I'll enjoy what I can.

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N. B. My mind is going. And my memory of what I wrote and when is failing as well. I tried to code my essays as I went along, but I didn't do that very well. And my time schedule lacks precision as well. I know that I have essays written and scheduled for publication as far ahead as August 2018. Of course I'm not going to read them so I'll continue in my ignorance of what I said.

Because I'm so far ahead, and some of what I've written will not age well, I've just stuck some things in with the dates they were produced. If you want, you can search for news items at about the same time, and they'll provide context for what I say, though I may have said it before.

It's all good though. I know that I'm repeating myself, and I'll likely continue to do so. Since I try not to reread what I've written I don't get the reinforcement that that might provide. But it's not my problem. It's yours. (I've probably said that already too. So be it.) Deal with my warning as you see fit. (I'll probably repeat it as well when I've forgotten this note.)

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I can't write about all my thoughts, but some of them my be worth your consideration, even if they don't warrant fuller exposition.

June 4, 2017

Status Change

I'm compulsive. But you know that. After all, I publish this series regularly and never miss a week. Every Sunday there is a new edition (unless I have to reschedule because of a holiday). I probably shouldn't say “new” since much of the material is recycled and reworked. I said it before and you've read it before. But it keeps me busy, and you can ignore it if you choose.

I've been working on a change, however. For a while. Today is September 6^th. I know that even though I'm writing it now it won't be published for a while and, you may not see it until after that. It doesn't change anything of course, but I thought I'd let you know what's happening.

Continuity is important to me. That includes my heritage, and the security of Israel. In a world that is more interested in pandering to countries with large populations and resources, and to a fashionable liberalism as camouflage for antisemitism (Nations have no permanent friends or allies, they only have permanent interests – Lord Palmerston) there seems to be no great concern for right and wrong, only in what's good for them, what fits their biases, and what they think will benefit them.

Some of the same considerations apply in our own country. Our founders weren't perfect, but their originating documents provided a solid and well-thought-out basis for growth and for greatness. Some updating has been necessary through the years, but those changes that respected the aims of our founders have turned out to be beneficial. The times have changed and so have we. Thus some of the subsequent Constitutional amendments have helped us keep our principles up to date. Unfortunately, power grabs by the executive branch, and the personal opinions of unelected members of the judiciary – what they think should be, rather than what is justified by the law and the intent of those who wrote it – have altered our society and its ground rules well beyond what might have been anticipated. But that's not really what I want to write about.

Let me get to the point. I won't live forever, but I don't want this blog to die with me – at least not immediately. For the past several months I've been preparing extra essays and stockpiling them. More accurately, I've been scheduling them for publication long in the future. As of now (September) I'm into March of next year (actually I have one set for August, 2017) and my goal is to get to a point at which I'm a year ahead. That way the blog will continue for a year after my passing, or for a year after I stop writing these essays. It's my hope that they'll last at least for the eleven months when my children are saying Kaddish for me. [Kids, if you're reading this, feel free to reprint whatever seems worthy – if anything.] That's as much immortality as I can hope to get.

While I'm doing that, of course, I'll still keep my eyes and ears open for what I consider “wrong.” I've probably related this anecdote before, but if so it's worth repeating here (perhaps not exactly as I heard it, but as well as I can remember): When a writer was asked to write an Op-Ed for a newspaper he hesitated. “What will I write about?” he asked. Another writer responded. “Are there two things that you see in the news each week that make you angry?” To which the first writer said “Of course.” The next comment was predictable. “Write about them.”

There's a lot in this less-than-perfect world that makes me angry – even if I take great pains not to display my anger. I'll continue to write about those things and slip them in, between the scheduled posts. I won't solve the world's problems, but I'll feel better. And you should feel free to comment on what I write. Unless you disagree with me. In that case you're wrong, and I don't argue with people who disagree with me. (I think I've said that before, too.)

To let you know my plans I had to slip this essay in, moving one on Jewish Geography to February. You'll have to wait, if your interested. And if you're not interested it doesn't matter. But as of now you're up to date.

Ignorance Is Bliss

By now you know I'm Jewish. My upbringing was mostly secular, but my wife and I chose a more religious path for our children – both at school and in our home. One of our most memorable home rituals was the Passover Seder but, in all honesty, I wasn't all that good at it. My education had left large holes in the knowledge of my heritage. So I decided to learn a little more about it, and to pass on to my children what I learned. I wrote a series of Haggadahs – “guidebooks” to the Seder – one for each of the children. The first was completed in 1980 when our oldest was fourteen, and the third two years later, when our youngest was eight. What I wrote in them isn't very important, but the experience was as the Introduction below will attest.

In the immortal words of Peggy Lee and Dave Barbour, “I know a little bit about a lot of things.” And while there are recurring themes in the essays published subsequently – like those in this column – I've also covered quite a bit of ground which included many subjects about which I had only a smattering of knowledge. Or as Lee and Barbour put it, “but I don't know enough about” them. (They had written “you” where I put “them” in the previous sentence, but you get the point.) So ignorance didn't stop me when I had something I wanted to say. In fact it helped, serving as an excuse for any errors, as you will see from the “Introduction” below. That essay, which was written for first Haggadah, may clarify my method, which I have continued to use – learn a little and shoot my mouth off. (Pope warned that “A little learning is a dangerous thing,” but that never fazed me.)

I'm including the whole Introduction. It's a little long but I like it the way it is. And you'll know a little more about me.

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Introduction

Seated around the seder table over the years we have had the opportunity to trade many ideas about the meanings of both the events recounted in the Haggadah, and the rituals associated with this celebration. These exchanges have added a lot to the pleasure of our joining together as a family, not rushed by the need to leave early or work the following day. We have learned a lot from each other, and from ourselves as well as we explored the questions we had, in order to explain our ideas about them to each other.

As the father it has been my responsibility to answer everyone's questions and to explain the deeper meanings of this important service. That has been my responsibility, but I have never fulfilled it to the degree that I should have liked. More often it has been your words, my children, your understandings and explanations, that have clarified the Haggadah for me. I have learned a lot from you and I am grateful to all of you for that. Your education and background prepared you better for this than did mine.

But my lack of education was not altogether wasted. The thoughts that I have had over the years about what was the seminal event of our history have prompted me to try to understand it in a manner a little different from the commentary in most Haggadahs. It is different in two ways. The first is in the premise of my comments. It is that the contents of the Haggadah are so basic to our understanding of our heritage that it is inconceivable that the entire Torah does not cast considerable light on it. I am certain that there is, in every parashah, whether it deals directly with the exodus or not, some thought that clarifies the meaning of the seder. Thus I have recorded my thoughts on each of the 54 sections of the Torah, indicating how I see it relating to the words of the Haggadah.

As for my lack of a formal education comparable to yours, however, that has been both a major drawback and a major benefit. Because most of the sources are closed to me I cannot bring down the references that have guided our commentators in the past. But my ignorance has been a kind of benefit. It has left me without some of the fixed ideas about what particular words, events or actions are supposed to mean. This lack of direction has allowed me to wander off in ways that may be different from those considered definitive. Indeed, some of my thoughts may be completely our of touch with our heritage, and I regret any ideas which, because of my ignorance, may be in disagreement with those of our sages.

But to the degree that my freedom to explore may have provided you with some perspectives that answer questions you have had, or which, at least, offer a different road for you to follow in finding your own answers, I am pleased. The effort, itself, has been both enlightening and liberating for me, for I have learned some important and basic lessons. First of all, in thinking about Jewish literature through the ages I recognize that a large percentage of it is not “original” but commentary on past works, especially the Torah, written and oral. And it follows that there is a great deal of commentary on the Haggadah, which is based on Torah. The Haggadah, which is based on biblical texts, has been expanded and expounded upon from the Tannaitic Period up to modern times, and the volume and varieties of commentaries is overwhelming.

More significantly, though, I now realize that the value of these commentaries is only in part the content. For after having engaged in this effort it seems apparent to me that even more important than the content is the process itself. I have commented on this idea while discussing Pikudei. Thinking and reworking the ideas has given me many more insights into it than I have recorded, and I hope that it will provide the opportunity for readers as well to consider and comment on the material. That is what Torah is about. It is a living document as long as we make it live by delving into it.

I have benefited greatly from this effort, and I hope you will gain a small part of the bounty I have derived from it.