DCF Gathering

Rewarding evening.  One of my defenses against post-retirement loneliness has been activity each spring to review college scholarship applications for the Delaware Community Foundation.  This organization has functioned for decades, engaging in direct and indirect philanthropy.  Some years ago they invited Robert Putnam, whose landmark book Bowling Alone, captivated me, as their annual guest lecturer, having published a more recent work on disparity in American culture.  Despite a fee for the lecture and a little more for parking, I had a captivating evening.  After the speech, not being important enough to have access to the speaker, I headed to the foyer where the Foundation had set up tables with sign-up sheets.  They have paid staff, but they also seek volunteers.  I made rounds on the available projects, deciding to help out with their scholarship fund.  A short time later, somebody contacted me to confirm my interest, then started sending me each spring about thirty scholarship applications to review and score among a number of categories.  Most came from high school students entering college, but a few came from people already in college seeking medical school admission.  Being the only physician on their panel, some of those went to me.  In subsequent years the number of endowed scholarships administered by the Delaware Community Foundation has expanded, along with two scholarships dedicated to current medical and law students.  

The initial year of my involvement preceded the pandemic.  We met in person at a downtown building which houses many of our state's non-profits.  After Covid sidelined meetings, we met by Zoom, so despite doing this for a few seasons, I never really got to know anyone other than the person in charge of the scholarship program, and she lived downstate about a hundred miles away.

I never returned to any of their annual guest speakers, all unlike Professor Putnam, unfamiliar to me.  Yet when they decided to have two early evening in-person gatherings, one near me, one downstate, I eagerly accepted the chance to meet some of the people I had only seen electronically.  The reception took place at a niche State Park, a place dominated by a building and grounds of historical rather than natural interest.  Despite living only a short drive away and having a lifetime pre-paid State Park Pass, I had never been there.  GPS directed me uneventfully.  Followed the paths to the parking lot where there seemed to be ample people who arrived before my wife and me.  It was unclear where the gathering would take place, as the lobby seemed vacant, not even a person at the front desk to direct people or call 911 should anyone appear dangerous.  We went upstairs, there being nobody in the other room on the ground floor either.  At the upper elevator door, a few people clad in black and white uniforms suggestive of the catering service mingled with each other.  The hall only went in one direction, so through the next entryway we found the person who hands out the name tags.  Mine came pre-printed.  My wife had to create hers with a Sharpie Marker.  Then into a small foyer where they had beverages, a choice of wine, several beers, and soft drinks.  Not clear whether open or cash.  Then into the next room where they had food displayed on a long table, much like my synagogue's Kiddush, surrounded by several chest-high round tables without stools capable of accommodating about five people each.  My scholarship coordinator had driven here for the occasion.  I'd not actually seen her since the pandemic.  Quick hug, introduced my wife, some chat about the scholarship process and how it meshes with the Delaware Community Foundation mission in some respects but holds a unique place in other considerations.  

Some nibbles.  Sufficient vegetarian options with vegetables, dips, a cheese board, bread assortment and small hoagie portions.  I recognized the caterer, an offshoot of one of the premier restaurants where we used to go for supper after the Medical Center Holiday party, though have not been for at least ten years.  Still attractive and tasty samples.  We went over to an unoccupied standing table.  Two women came over, one unknown to me who did not stay very long, the other known to me from my days of local medical practice and known to my wife through a Jewish organization.  We chatted, mostly about the Foundation for which she once worked.

Then time for liquids.  Quick walk to the bar.  White wine for my wife.  For me, the local brew, a bottle of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, the recipe that brought them to prominence.  Back to the table to sip it.  I offered to pay for these, but apparently the DCF opted for an open bar.  Good Beer.

While in conversation, the organizers moved the crowd into the large room where the CEO would be giving his presentation.  He described philanthropy in its many aspects, managing money, approving proposals, creating a balance of projects, though primarily enabling access to better health, social stability, or communal initiative for those who did not already have these things.  And that's a lot of people.  By then we had reassembled to new tables.  My wife, myself, the lady we were with, a DCF Board member who turned out to be the mother of our State Senator, and a staffer from the DCF.  After the talk the CEO posed for publicity photos, then headed out toward the food.  I followed him to ask him questions about his talk.  What was missing was something very elementary in my medical world where we measure everything.  How does he know how successful a project really has been?  When they apply for grants, do those seeking funds have to specify in advance how they will determine whether their purpose was fulfilled.  Some things are easy to measure.  How many people apply for the scholarships.  How many kids from a neighborhood attend a community center after school.  Some things are harder.  When a health initiative is offered, how much healthier do people become?

There's another tough determination.  Not all projects succeed.  In some way it appeared to be like a stock which may be declining low enough to never rebound to profitability yet investors acquire those stocks because they believed in the company and retain ownership of their decision as well as the failing investment.  There is a time to move on.  As expected, he understood this, but grants have a life of their own.  Those who acquire them assume ownership, not just temporary stewardship.  This may be one of philanthropy's Achilles Heels.  

Back to the table with a little more food, but no more drink.  Some chat with the new people at my table, with considerable praise on my part for our State Senator.

Time to go.  Dessert tidbits on the way out.

The last evening reception I attended had been about three months earlier, another very pleasant evening with new people.  I don't get to do enough of that.  My synagogue has mostly the same people who segregate with their Besties.  I can make an effort to capture the attention of a different person at kiddush from one shabbos to the next, though with only partial success.  And I've not been invited to a cocktail party in years. This was the closest I've come.  And I found it immensely enjoyable.

Contemporary Retailing

As I get older, retired, and transformed to an empty-nester, not only do I need very little but much of what I already have is surplus.  Need for dress clothing minimal.  Need for food less than I purchase, as my scale recently confirms.  Yard care contracted out.  Don't know how to use the electronics that I already have.  At one time I liked to putter around the stores to see what's there, or during Covid peaks, as an excuse to put myself someplace other than My Space.  More recently, I shop for groceries, keep up with medical maintenance, and get what I need for the personal pleasure of gardening.  When I exchanged seasonal clothing, I made note of a few replacement items, knew where to get them, and got them.

Partly to find a cooled place in devastating heat, partly to get me out of the house, I gave myself tours of some shopping centers, a regional anchor mall, a local Farmer's Market that rents space to small independent merchants, and two general merchandise places nearby that I used to tour and usually found a thing or two that I didn't really need but deceived myself into thinking I wanted.  Not at all as I remembered the mall and discount department stores, Farmer's Market much intact.

At the mall, once the modern Main Street gathering place that had to put limits on teenage access, traffic was pretty minimal.  Some stores in prime shopping time had entrance barriers, either about to be closed by their parent franchises or unable to find enough sales clerks.  How many mattresses can they really sell?  How many jewelry stores does it take to make all unprofitable?  Macy's bunched their clothing by brand.  I don't shop for brand.  If I need a shirt, show me all the shirts, like Amazon and Walmart do.  Only the Apple Store had significant interest, and even there much less than what I remember.  As I popped into a few places, the clerks, mostly school age kids funding their degrees or their cars a few bucks at a time, seemed eager to greet anyone, even somebody like me that might be of their grandfather's generation with little interest in style.  Most of the hallway kiosks had been abandoned.  There's not enough massages or cracked screen demand to justify the mall's fees.  If I really need anything, or even want anything that I don't need, Amazon is a much more efficient way to explore.  Now that covid has kept us home, we don't need to spend money to impress anyone with our style or hint at how much discretionary money we have.

It's hard to demote places like Ross Dress for Less or Big Lots.  I nearly always find a baseball cap or kitchen gizmo or discounted snack that I shouldn't be allowed to eat, which I purchase.  Not this time.  Inventory diversity has largely tanked.  Ross still economical, Big Lots not at all.  Even the Farmer's Market, dependent on niche presence, has lost traffic.  I assume the Spanish-speaking people will seek out the Hispanic market, and I'm a sucker for the two Chinese stores that sell discounted kitchenware and tools.  I found just the right sunglasses to slip over my glasses and bought two clamps to do a home project.  I cannot imagine the very attractive Western store really selling those ten gallon hats and cowboy boots and sterling belt buckles to the mostly lower income people who stroll by.  I just don't see any of these things anywhere in the places I frequent, so the store must be a display for a mail or internet commerce presence.  Price of pizza slices went up above what I was willing to pay.  Other places with food somehow do not display a health inspector's report.

Both at the high end and at the low end, stores are less of a destination than they once were.  Though I don't need or want anything, there probably are still people who do.  Just not those things from those sources.

Staying Cheerful

My New Year's initiative began in good faith but collapsed about a third of the way through the calendar year's first Shabbat shacharit when, for failure to acquire a minyan, various fillers were imposed.  The rabbi being away, he gave the President a Dvar Torah from somebody else to read to us.  Probably a Never Event in its own right.  And one of dubious quality that got plenty of mental comments.  Then a rather academic drush from the Cantor to fill space.  From a chapter written by a friend.  Great source for a seminar in an aspect of prayer, wretched having it read to us for as long as it took.  I wanted to leave.  I did leave, to stroll to my car and get an update on my son who just tested positive for Covid with annoying but not life-threatening symptoms.  Then back for the rest.  Little banter.  Maybe Judaism is a series of time boxes that need to be filled, whether worthwhile or not.  

How I respond to something put my way remains my ultimate autonomy.  I could have remained cheerful as intended.  I didn't.  Sometimes you need to take broken things to the local landfill.  My shabbos morning experience has been broken.  Too big an impediment to my personal cheerful mission.

Bagel and a Schmear

Not been to Einstein Bagels in a long time.  It used to be a Sunday morning destination when I had one of their $1 coffee mugs, where I would take my weekly planning pouch, sip the coffee while I outline the coming week.  The deal disappeared as did the mug.  From time to time they would also offer a bagel with cream cheese and coffee for $1.99 with a coupon, that I always had.  Brew HaHa across the street at the next strip mall had better coffee so I went there instead.  Then, between retiring and Covid, and the creation of My Space, I just did coffee and planning at home each Sunday morning.

Einstein's returned the coupon, this time $3 instead of $2 but adapted to other price rises, still worth purchasing one time, which is all they allow for this.  I went as a treat to myself for doing something important, though I cannot remember what.  Being early winter with a mask to protect the public if not myself, my bifocals promptly fogged so I couldn't see anything on the menu board.  As I got closer to my turn the fog was less.  I could see some of the bagel options, selecting what they called Ancient Grains.  I could not see the cream cheese selections, but veggie is always safe.  Then a cup to take coffee from their dispenser, ultimately selecting house blend.  Handed the cashier a $5 bill and the coupon.  She scanned the coupon which discounted the total at the register, handed me my change and my bagel in a small bag, and off I went to the coffee dispenser.  

With Covid, they closed their indoor eating tables but still had some outside.  Despite it being mid-December, I took an outdoor table, took small bites from the bagel, sipped coffee, and had a restful few minutes before returning to my car with the rest of the coffee.  

At home, I have bagels in the refrigerator most days, plain cream cheese despite a recent national shortage most of the time, and the ability to make coffee.  Einstein's does not compete successful with coffee, as I have far more than two varieties.  Their bagels and cream cheese are each superior though.  Keep my eye out for the next coupon.

Baalabooster

My left deltoid feels sore this morning, about 18 hours after the pharmacist inserted some liquid to stimulate antibodies protective of Covid, in some or all its forms.  No systemic adverse effects thus far.  My energy is no better or worse than it has been, adequate for intended treadmill session.  My mind and spirit seem unaffected. Each could be better.  Each has been worse.  I've largely recovered from the driving stresses of this week's road trip, able if not eager to move along to my next set of irritations.

Slippery Slopes

My congregation has its share of challenges, not the least among them getting the Torah portion read each shabbos.  I do not know whether we acquire the necessary minyan at other times of scheduled reading but shabbos is by far the lengthiest.  While the cycle repeats each year, the composite of 5852 verses really prevents anyone from knowing the whole thing to chant weekly without substantial preparation.  The Festival portions are much shorter and pretty much repeat so people can master some of these with annual repetition but not the shabbos portion.  There are skilled people who routinely chant an entire shabbos portion weekly, usually for a stipend, typically hired by congregations for that purpose.  However, when our hired reader takes his week away each month, we are on our own.

A few stalwarts can do a lot, a few like me a column or so.  Our novices have not developed, leaving the crew of limited capacity.  One person capable of a few columns relocated, leaving us pretty thin.  Eventually the readings would not be covered.  After a few close calls it happened, with a request from the person making the assignment to read from the book, which I am not willing to do.  

As Covid took effect and our services became virtual, they also became a variant of Junior Congregation, a major abridgement, almost an illusion of Holy Day worship.  I agreed to pre-record the Yom Kippur Torah reading in advance, learning it with some effort.  When I came to record it and asked for the scroll to be opened and filmed, I was told by the former President no-can-do.  It had to be read from the machzor with the Torah on the table but not open to its place or the camera positioned to record me moving the yad as I chanted.  Derech Eretz prevailed, but I did not take well to the experience.  It devalued my effort, my assertion to strive for correctness over expediency, and I think it showed disrespect to the congregation, irrespective of my own skill and effort.  I resolved never to do that again, and I won't.  I just found the experience hurtful, an assault on the traditions that we maintain.

Covid cancellations hopefully occur once in a lifetime and are beyond control.  Accommodations are needed, striving for least harm, but I understand the need for expediency sometimes.  Having this as the new norm as our talent fails just doesn't make it.  I won't do that again and I meant it.

The person assigning readings has an unenviable task under our circumstances, and as a woman, she cannot be a personal reader of default.  However, this situation had its near misses; it was foreseeable.  There is a governance with Nominating Committees that thought somebody other than me should be on it.  They include VPs of long tenure, committees for Ritual and Education, a Rabbi of long tenure, all of whom got the thumbs up of the annual Nominating Committees.  A contracting congregation is theirs to address.  They have the option of continuing with slippery slopes.  They don't have the option of lubricating me and offering to push.

There's an oft cited Mishna in Pirke Avot where the chief sage Yochanan ben Zakkai who kept Judaism viable in its darkest days, praised his most promising students.  In public the Rebbe would assert that Eliezer ben Hyrcanus would rise to the top, though off the record he confided to an assistant that Elazar ben Arach would achieve the most renown.  Elazar ben Arach became a minor contributor to law and analysis in the end.  For family reasons, he accepted a position as Rav in Emmaus, a resort town.  While he had the hope of elevating the people there to a more scholarly Judaism, the reverse happened.  To maintain expediency and cordial relations, instead of the people becoming more like him, he became more like them.  But at least his tomb seems to have been identified.  Some compromises just drag you down with no realistic prospect of reversal.

  

If They're Really So Good at This

 

ADL Seminar.  Lasted but a few minutes before I left.  Covid isolation has introduced me to opportunities not previously available.  Arguably atop the list has been free seminars via Zoom sponsored by top notch agencies who invite world class experts who will take questions even from a peasant like me.  These will hopefully continue once Covid becomes part of history.  The Anti-Defamation League, whose previous director I placed atop my most admired fellow Jews, stepped down, keeps a low profile so not to overshadow his successor who from my assessment can be easily overshadowed, has a legacy exceeding a hundred years of advocating against anti-Semitism in particular but other forms of ethnic animosity as well, or at least their public expression if not private thought.

Ethnically driven physical attacks and verbal assaults have expanded after a few decades of attempted brotherhood.  World War II gave genocide its deserved bad reputation, but we still had future slaughters in Cambodia, Rwanda, and what is left of Yugoslavia.  Anti-Semitism appeared in a different form in France and Germany as Islamic immigrants expressed their imprinted ideologies about twenty years ago but remained marginalized in America until more recently.  Unlike Europe, for every incident in America there has been an overwhelming public response condemning this activity but a more tacit response in the privacy of voting booths giving it an OK.  

Back to the seminar of short tenure.  Anti-Semitism has become more public in America and the ADL has in its mission  to resist it.  The form morphs to meet circumstances from denial of employment, university admission, or social club membership in my grandparent's time, a very visible lull in my parents' time, and now exploitation of easy public access of any view, no matter how ugly, by social media or other electronic global communication.  The ADL opted to focus on social media, where I must say, being something of a technologically deprived geezer, my own cyberspace niche really does not receive anti-Semitic provocations.  May be more prevalent to the younger folks whose subscriptions link them to campus events.  I do get some FB pseudoFriends posting some stuff rather unflattering to the Black population but more a byproduct of their political affiliation that has placed Jews IN and Blacks OUT.

Most Zoom panels sponsored by agencies invite experts of different backgrounds to give their presentations.  This one had only ADL staff, competent no doubt, but not diverse of mind.  And from the introduction they pitched the ADL's origins and legacy.  As they did this, the obvious question arose.  If they've become America's premier agency at combating Antisemitism, why do we have a resurgence on their watch?  Maybe they really aren't as good at this as they would like us to think.  

Medicine takes a parallel path.  The people in the pulmonary office's waiting rooms have more portable oxygen than patients in their primary doctors' waiting rooms.  The endocrinologist's patients have HbA1c of 10% a year into treatment.  Maybe experts address meltdowns better than we prevent having meltdowns.  I would think if the ADL were really an effective agency, over a hundred years their mission would have moved from combating overt antisemitism to ethnic hatreds not as well controlled or keeping residual anti-Semitism in the sewers with the manhole covers sealed in place.  But they really have not effectively addressed root causes or enduring remedies, leaving them to engage in skirmishes as they arise.  Probably have better ways to approach this ongoing challenge.

Total Body OOOH

A few challenges converges, some blend of financial, emotional, and physical.  While I'm ready to address each, not all at once.  A day following my 70th birthday and booster Covid immunization, the bodily effects become the squeakiest wheel.  I find myself a total body ache.  Not sick in any way but incapacitated enough to leave my scheduled treadmill session undone and set aside my personal commitment to staying upright during assigned waking hours.  While generalized achiness dominates, some subdivisions also emerge.  I feel tired, not fatigued so much as sleep deprived.  The injection site into my non-dominant deltoid has a small amount of pain and tenderness, though no swelling, warmth, or rubor.  Muscles ache, joints less so but resist active motion.  I experience slight chills, maybe just enough to add a fleece coverlet.  I don't have a headache.  My senses all remain intact.  While my musculoskeletal system sends me it could be better signal, I have no mobility limitations.  So this could be a lot worse.  Reaction to antigen runs its course.  The calendar does not but as the total body oooh subsides, I can move along to the other initiatives.  And not that far into the future.  

Winding Down Pesach

Last few hours before yontiff. Not yet craving chametz but a day to wind down Pesach. Maybe package and return to basement Passover items that will not be used any more this Festival to save me some trips to the basement Sunday. Should take inventory on what I did or did not use. Can package the salt, dishwashing liquid, and coffee filters still in unopened boxes and keep the already open ones to use up during the year. Hardly consumed any Coca Cola, which is a good thing, but it only comes out as cane sugar based once a year, so buying a little extra has its benefit. Seemed more fond of club soda than in years past, though have not made myself a wine spritzer this holiday. Over purchased macaroons. Bought two packages of rather expensive and marginally edible Vita Lox. Goes on next years do not buy list. The upside of too much generosity at Shop-Rite was qualifying for a vegan turkey that I think I'll make for my upcoming birthday. Used about three boxes of matzoh. Usually I give one away but no kids visiting. Did not open the farfel at all, still have some from last year too. Make a kugel or two during the year, maybe stuffed chicken breasts for a couple of shabbatot, and treat myself to periodic matzoh brei.

It was a fine holiday from a culinary perspective which runs parallel to its logistical perspective. Made the right amount of brisket, converted some ordinary chicken breasts into a terrific stir fry that made three meals. Only one milchig supper, grand matzoh brei with Tabachnik's potato soup. Babanatza lasted each meal. Nusstorte provided a learning curve that will take effect next time I make it.

Shul remains closed. I didn't miss it. Our Rabbi declared Hallel and Yizkor as congregational destinations along with Tuesday afternoon mincha and a part kabbalat Shabbat with Cantor doing a Torah reading. This does not appeal to me at all. Our liturgy and festivals have Biblically prescribed times. Half-Hallel would be recited today. Yizkor would not. In defense, there is a Pesach Sheni for those indisposed at the appointed time, but it is a month later, not time shifted. But I think what's offered looks too much a blend of contrived, manipulated, and even phony for me to sign on. I'd rather respect the appointed times, do my best with them and skip those I cannot attend, but modifying my own activities as the specified times require. My wife feels differently. I'm more attached to Pesach from Coronavirus, less attached to my congregation.

As we ease past one Festival, we move with anticipation to the next. My iWatch has been set to buzz at 9PM nightly for Omer. I am attached to the Omer, a responsibility to be fulfilled irrespective of how I feel. Hair grows uncut until Lag B'Omer on day 33. It has its own culinary challenge, this one dairy, which can be rather elegant. It lacks the visual ritual though. People traditionally study long into the night, but again my congregation reminds me more of Hebrew School than Chavruta, so I've not been going. Perhaps shul will be open by then. I anticipate being a month past Covid immunization by then. If not my shul, than another. I think I am ready for formal live congregational assembly, with its ritual, its sounds, the sincere good will of those present. Emerge from Pesach now, emerge from isolation and cobbling together what has been a mostly unappealing Jewish experience perhaps to coincide with commemorating Torah.

Cold Snap

It's been more wintry this year than last, when it didn't snow at all.  I had made a brief trip to the Poconos about this time last year, trying some snow tubing that got a little slushy and Aquatopia Indoor Water Park that had a tolerable heated outdoor nook with just the right interface of warm water and cool air.  No travel this year due to the Covid pandemic.  Already we've had two snow episodes, neither beyond my shoveling capacity, which is just as well as I've not been able to start the snow blower.  Our two snows came with the ambient temperature just about at the interface of water and ice but once the snow has been cleared from everyplace except lawns and roofs, we have a more significant temperature drop.

Most mornings, still wearing flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt, I go to the edge of our driveway, usually to retrieve the newspaper that my wife likes to read, but sometimes to put mail into our mailbox or deposit a full box of recycling in the olive topped bin.  For the last two sessions, it's been discernably freezing, though not beyond my capacity to finish the brief chores without additional clothing.  Later in the day I typically have an errand or two, or even create an excuse to leave the house, even if a brief drive to nowhere.  With modern ignition systems, the car always starts with no difficulty, though it can take a few minutes for the climate control to warm the interior to its settings.  This time I have a coat, usually a red nylon ski parka with a beanie insulated cap.  Gloves are either kept in the pocket or the front seat of the car, though rarely worn.  Earmuffs also have a home in the car, though this year can be a little problematic coordinating with the often required oral-nasal mask.  But I rarely exit the car for more than the distance between my front house door and front car door or the parking lot and store entrance.  No ice fishing for me.  As much as I want to become more proficient with my camera for which the winter offers an opportunity, the cold gets the better of me.  But it is still bright and sunny to drive around.

Congregational Vote

As I look at my institutional affiliations, many have deteriorated with Covid, few have strengthened.  For a lot of reasons, I have felt particularly disaffected from my synagogue, a worthy refuge from another unfortunate congregational experience more than two decades earlier.  What was a place of growth opportunity with talented, though sometimes abrasive, clergy has greatly atrophied.  Skill, knowledge, and inquisitiveness have long since yielded to the mediocrity of inbreeding or paths of least resistance.  I am no longer a Giver, even have reason to think that prickly intrinsically challenging people are targeted for exclusion by the Officers, the Nominating Committees they appoint, and a languishing collection of committee chairmen who fill schedules on calendars with no interest whatever in the processes of Continual Improvement and Reflection that we experience in our professional lives.  They've arrived at the Promised Land of Undistinguished with no serious aspirations of offering a more exceptional Jewish experience.  It's hard to say if the talent has departed, easier to say it has been devalued.

Judaism has been a culture of forging ahead in prosperous times and in challenging ones.  Sometimes to forge ahead, you have to exit where you are,  whether that be Ur Chasdim to Canaan or Poland to NYC.  It also means that congregations that languish will become smaller, as most people really are willing to invest in their advancement.  Thus we are smaller.  There are a lot of rationalizations for this and no shortage of fingers to point, but as a congregation we now have little communal relevance and diminishing internal attractiveness, at least to me.

Yet, my personal assessment aside, I remain a member of the community, often a candid one or a person of discontent, but still a presence, though less loyal than I once was.  As we diminish in numbers, we diminish in money.  We also enter a phase of congregational senescence.  Our building where we congregated for fifty years has been cashed out.  We only own one piece of residential real estate, which may prove our security later, and have Torah scrolls of financial value.  But we have given up some or our independence.  Until Covid-19 kept us all home, we at least gathered in one place for worship, mainly for shabbos, nominally for daily minyanim, and squeezed by on yom tovim.  There is a governance which met on its appointed times, there were committees, though none large, none really advancing us as a synagogue with activities and meeting places perhaps a little under the table if they met at all.  It is possible to be a congregation of cyberspace, as Covid has taught us, but we would have a better future, already pretty precarious, if we had a mailing address, land line phones, and chairs.  It is here that paths of least resistance emerge with exploratory committees looking at other Jewish agencies with buildings rather than looking at rentable space as a more abstract concept.  We latched onto the local Conservative shul, not a bad shidduch, though we were always the stepsister to a congregation that started about where we were ten years ago but made decisions that moved them forward.  The disparity could be seen pretty much anywhere in the building that we would share.  I expected to hate being there, having departed for cause, but that was not the case.  I found those detestable machers who would swoop on the vulnerable and give a hint of credence to those anti-Semitic conspiracy theories, pretty invisable.  The people I met seemed personable.  I imagine they had some sort of agenda, as they could not have advanced themselves without one, though as a visiting tenant I never felt threatened.  Then again, I didn't run the place and did not have to appeal to them for anything I wanted.  Within our own governance I perceived some discontent, which didn't surprise me.

Then Covid shut down buildings.  They accept streaming on shabbos, so their worship continued on schedule.  Ours did not.  Our titled class has many delusions that repackage over time.  When our new Rabbi arrived, the Executive Committee proclaimed that if people could just come and see what we imported, they would want to be one of us.  Until they came and saw a very inexperienced but nice young man reading his Rashi notes for a sermon.  If we enhanced kiddush, more people would want to pay dues.  Not true either.  Congregational dwindles ensued, never a mass departure, but the actuarial realities of people getting older without replacement, people relocated for employment or retirement, some religious decisions more attractive to the inbred people than to anyone else.  So we find ourselves looking for what is likely to be our final space, with a race to see if we deplete our money or our people first.

While my observation detects the recessive genes of relentless inbreeding and formation of dysfunctional cliques, to be fair, those among the in-crowd have been diligent to task.  They desired space, found space, and negotiated terms.  Being a by-laws democracy, sort of, some key decisions cannot be implemented by our elected representatives but need the approval of a majority in attendance at a pre-announced Congregational Meeting.  While I had the shul on FB style Snooze, I signed in, watched and asked my questions, then voted with the majority to sign a lease on the proposed space.

I did not know how I wanted to vote.  One fellow was adamant about staying where we were, despite the fact that our current landlord really doesn't want us there indefinitely.  So once I understand the proposal, should my vote reflect what I want or am I an agent of the congregation who should allow what's best for the group override my own preferences?  It's not a bad financial deal, though I don't know how sustainable.  Two downsides, one for me, one for the congregation that nobody brought up.  I don't want to drive that far to attend shabbos services, let alone an evening meeting or activity.  Covid will end, either by vaccine or like all other epidemics from the Black Death to cholera to the 1918 flu, by the infection running its course.  There is always an endpoint to an epidemic, though some diseases remain endemic in lesser forms.  We have reasons to assemble.  If I don't want to drive there or find the location or even the room not to my liking, there are other locations to observe shabbos.  That affects me and I set it aside.  What affects the congregation is the capacity of the chapel where we would worship.  There was a time not that long ago when our usual attendance would easily overflow that capacity.  We would fit now, not really a tight squeeze but the room would appear amply occupied by our recent attendance levels.  Unfortunately, our recent attendance levels need to be boosted.  Accepting this as our worship space pretty much closes the door on expanding our congregation's worship attendance.  It's the current reality.  But I think it unwise to accept that as our destiny.

I voted in favor, as that takes a lot of pressure off the congregation and enables decisions going forward.  Whether I return when the space becomes operational remains unsettled.  I'm a worthy agent of the congregation when I need to vote, much like I tend to vote for candidates who support my vision for my country, state, and locality even if I might take a little hit in the process.  I can stand a few setbacks, not everyone can, so I vote for what I think would be best for the group unless the harm to me is unacceptable.  Having an address and on-site worship and not being subservient to other Jews is important enough for me to not impede the project with my vote.  But a building does not make the congregation viable.  The same officers have been in place with few changes since we sold our building.  The message that there was a decline for a reason that it is their responsibility to address in their official capacity, even if a few Sacred Cows need to be  schected in the process, never fully registered.  Having new space, particularly one contrary to any aspiration for growth, only reinforces our time limited trajectory.

Next Holiday: Thanksgiving

My two favorite holidays, Pesach and Thanksgiving, center around elaborate dinners.  Most people think that it's the people gathering around the tables that make the festivities, but the last few years have posed a few challenges.  Toxic divisive public figures promoting confrontation bring people seeking confrontation to those dinner tables.  The holidays reflect a different view but the people who I would ordinarily invite are steadfast, so like many of us I have to choose between people and holiday.  For Pesach I've chosen people, for Thanksgiving I've chosen holiday.  While animosities can be set aside, justified disrespect has this aftertaste.  The purpose of gathering around our table must advance the holiday.  When it undermines it, the holiday stays, the people are sent into exile to repackage their own holidays.  Not a whole lot different than Hagar and Ishmael being unfriended or Lot selecting Sodom for its bounty.  They'll claim their turf. I won't challenge theirs but I will defend the sanctity of mine.

Covid changes the reality as well.  The risk of travel, particularly by car, may exceed the risk of hospitalization or death from the virus.  Travel we are used to and accept the risk, a lethal virus in our midst seems less acceptable.  My dinner table can be adapted to fewer people very easily.

So I'm back to food, though not exactly food as much as the pleasure I get from designing the meal and assembling it.  I've been through recipes, some familiar, some a new adventure.  That glorious roast turkey which can be eaten to gluttony, segmented for guests to take a portion home for shabbos the next evening, with a remaining carcass for soup later has given way to the more practical half turkey breast.  It is easy to prepare, though this year I think I will use a thermometer instead of depending on my timer.  I like crock pot stuffing but my crock pot lid needs replacement.  A barley kugel looks like the way to go.  For a salad, red cabbage and pears.  I hesitated on my preferred recipe as it calls for small amounts of port and red wine, but I can drink whatever we have leftover a little at a time.  Sweet potatoes have not yet gone on sale.  I have a recipe for a baked givetch vegetable medley.  And my synagogue assembled a cookbook about 20 years ago that offers a few cranberry options.  For dessert, something I've made before, a cranberry apple oatmeal torte.  And I think I'll try making some minestrone soup.

So the people have lost their centerpiece, replaced by my creativity and dedication.

Post-Platelet Crash

My state had its Presidential primary yesterday.  I thought it was just the primary and there is a state senatorial candidate I wanted to vote for so I schlepped a few miles just after polls opened, already a line to stand on with Covid-19 mandated spacing that made that line look longer than it really was, and waited my turn.  To my disappointment, only the Presidential candidates were on the ballot.  No uncertainty over who will prevail in each party, so I could have just stayed home and not have to rush to keep my Blood Bank of Delmarva appointment.

I arrived with more than ample time, hung out at the Home Depot lot, surfing the web on my cell phone a while, then headed over to the Blood Bank.  They changed their eligibility a bit.  Potentially infectious behavior exclusions have been reduced from 12 to 3 months, a very recent amendment that will make more people eligible, particularly those with body piercings.  Basically an uneventful session, one that needed a repeat finger Hemoglobin to assure adequacy.  I set the TV for Dirty Jobs, including a session on making scrapple at a factory in my home state.  No unusual soreness as the transfer of blood from my left arm to the pheresis separator to my right arm took place over 90 or so minutes, or about 1.5 shows.  On removal of the needles, though, I found both elbows frozen, unable to flex either for a couple of minutes with less effect at the right wrist.  Onward to the snack station where I just got coffee and their complimentary promotion of flip-flops.  Gray, entirely plastic, probably too flimsy for beach but ok for pool.  Very unobtrusive Blood Bank of Delmarva printed at each heel.

Typically, if I complete the session before noon, I drive someplace other than home, but with Covid-19 restrictions there's really no place to go.  I could have had my glasses adjusted, maybe even purchase the new prescription at the nearby Costco's.  No interest in the regional mall.  Had just been to Cabela's.  Don't want to go all the way to Lancaster, a common post-donation detour, to find nothing open.  Home being the best option, I returned non-stop.

I did not expect the physical crash that followed.  Normally I omit the treadmill on platelet days, but I could not have done it even if I wanted to.  Too sore for housework, even finishing the dishes I had started before heading off.  Mind not in gear for anything mentally taxing.  Already had my quota of coffee.  Just an off-afternoon with no serious redemption.  I did not feel sore enough for naproxen.  I was not sleep deprived.  Just a day to stare into space, read the Forward, grapple with tying a fluorocarbon leader to a fishing line which still did not succeed.  I did not feel depressed, just achy and unmotivated, and unfocused.  

I still have things I want to do, so a second go round today, off to a better start.