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September 29, 2008

Seraphic Secret's Secret Sofer

The secret sofer, scribe, working on a Torah.

And you shall write [the words that I command you today] on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

—Deuteronomy 6:9, 11:19

So Karen says that it's time to check the mezuzahs in the house. The halacha, Jewish law, teaches us that the lettering of the prayer, “Shema Yisroel...” Hear O Israel, on the parchment, has to be clear of all blemishes, the lettering perfectly legible with absolutely no mistakes.

It's vital to make sure that the mezuzahs are still kosher for changes in weather and the natural aging of the klaf, parchment, can crack and smudges the ink thereby invalidating the mezuzah.

It's best to have a qualified sofer, scribe, check the mezuzahs.

Mezuzot are required on every doorway that serve as an entrance and exit to your permanent home—save the bathroom. We have mezuzot on the arch of the courtyard and the front door. Even the entrance to our garages is slotted with mezuzot.

It takes us about an hour to remove all the mezuzot from the doorways and arches.

Yesterday afternoon, we dropped off the mezuzot with our sofer— a pious, low-key gentleman whose work is trustworthy and meticulous.

The handwritten prayer, “Hear O' Israel the Lord Our Lord, the Lord is One,” on parchment inside the Mezuzah housing.

This morning, picking up the mezuzot our sofer says: “Two of the mezuzot are pasul.” Not kosher. And he rolls open twin parchment rectangles and shows me where one letter on each klaf is indistinct.

All in all, that's not bad for twenty mezuzot.

Anyway, not only is our sofer a fine and pious man, but he's a stalwart Republican. I confess to getting all warm and fuzzy as he works on a Torah with a McCain-Palin yarmulke—in English and Hebrew—sitting on his head.

I can't help but feel that our sofer's holy labors with the Republican ticket atop makes for a powerful and synergistic combination.

*******

And finally, let's take six minutes to prepare yourselves for Rosh HaShanah. The titles that appear on-screen are the words to the Rosh HaShanah prayer chanted over the soundtrack.

Karen and I wish all or friends a Shana Tova U'mtukah, a good and sweet year.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 01:13 PM | Comments (6)

April 22, 2008

The Battle of Algiers Never Ends

Synagogue in Algiers.

“What year were you expelled from Algeria?”

“In 1956, the F.L.N. told us that we were not really true Algerians.”

“What were you?”

My luncheon companion, a handsome man in his late 60's, smiles broadly: “Filthy Jews.”

“How long did your family live in Algeria?”

My friend sits back and ponders a moment: “Oh, since the churban, [586 C.E.] the Destruction of the Temple. That's when our family made its way from Babylon to Algeria.”

“It must have been hard to leave.”

He just shakes his head in sorrow.

“The F.L.N. confiscated our home, our furniture, our bank accounts. For the revolution, they said. In truth, the committee members just stole for themselves. We were allowed to take one suitcase each. We arrived in France hungry, exhausted and penniless.”

“Were you ever compensated?”

He laughs.

“Did you receive government help?”

“Of course not. We all went to work. We would not take hand-outs. We had pride. We went to school, worked our way up into the middle class. France was good to us. I even enlisted in the army. I became an officer. But you know what happened. There was another officer in my unit, and he kept talking about dirty Jews. Everything with him was dirty Jews, dirty Jews.”

“The battle of Algiers, it never ends, does it?”

“No mon ami, it does not, not for us Jews. Anyway, I told him to stop, that I was a Jew. Well, this made it infinitely worse and he just never stopped. Finally, I took him outside and I thrashed him. I utterly thrashed him.”

“You are my hero.”

“You know what he did?”

“Cried like a girl.”

“He pressed charges and I was brought to a—what's the word?”

“Court Martial.”

“Oui, exact, tribune militaire. And there was a General, very stone-faced, who was presiding, and he kept staring at me. And the officer defended himself by saying that he did not mean it when he said dirty Jew. He said it was as a joke.

“Some joke.”

My French friend, who looks like a dapper European diplomat out of central casting, sits up straight and rattles off a string of irate sentences in French.

I hold out my hands as if checking for rain.

It's, er, Greek to me.

“Pardon, but I was so angry in the tribune when he said it was a joke that I shot up in my seat and I attacked him with a J'accuse.”

“Mazal Tov. So, what happened, what was the verdict?”

“Ah, I was terrified of the Director General. He just stared at me and I was sure that he was a Jew-hater, he had that cold, Jew-hating look. But in the end he just said that officers may not speak in such a manner, that it was not honorable, and that brawls are for drunken peasants. That was the end of it. Charges dismissed.”

“Not a great ending.”

“Wait, it is not ended. In the courtyard, I am walking away and I hear someone calling to me. I turn and it is the General. I think to myself, oh no, now I am in trouble. He is going to break my rank. He comes over and I salute. He tells me, the next time he calls you a dirty Jew you must be a gentleman, challenge him to a duel—and then shoot him between the eyes.”

“Get out of town.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, go on.”

“I say, but Mon General...”

“The General says, I am Jewish. I say, no, I do not believe it. He says, I will prove it, and he recites: Sh'ma Yisroel Hashem Elokenu Hashem Echad. Hear O' Israel The Lord Our G-d The Lord is One.”

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:11 AM | Comments (19)

April 18, 2008

Passover 2008

Amsterdam Hagadah, 1695.

“A few years ago, my father was in surgery for ten hours. It was an extremely complex operation for a very serious tumor.”

Karen and I are paying a shiva (condolence) call to a friend in the community, a prominent physician, and as he speaks about his father his voice drops a register. It's as if he can't quite believe that his beloved parent is gone.

“Anyway, after the surgery, there were so many tubes running in and out of my father's body, he was hooked up to so many machines. Finally, my father woke up and the surgeon asked my father if anything was bothering him.

“My father said: 'Yes, the situation of the Jews in Israel bothers me.'

“That's the kind of man my father was,” says our friend.

On the way home, Karen and I talk about the story. We are both deeply touched. It's so personal, and yet so completely Jewish.

It is also a perfect Passover story.

The Torah stresses: “... you shall eat Matzos, the bread of affliction... so that you will remember the day of your going out from Egypt all the days of your life.” (Devarim 16:3)

All the days of your life.

Because the Torah understands that memory is short, and human beings need physical rituals in order to keep memories alive.

Now, as always, assaults on Jewish memory, on Judaism and the Jewish people are rampant. On Passover we celebrate our freedom, but we remember bondage because there are always enemies anxious to enslave and annihilate the Jewish people.

Karen and I wish all our Seraphic Friends a lovely Shabbat and a Chag Kasher V'sameach, a Happy and Kosher Passover.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:57 AM | Comments (17)

April 03, 2008

The Son of Stranger Among Us

Lee Richardson as The Rebbe in A Stranger Among Us, 1992.

“Excuse me sir, I was wondering if you would mind changing your seat?”
“Um, what's the problem?”

The flight attendant glances nervously over her shoulder. I follow her gaze to a rather beautiful young woman who just might qualify as a contestant for America's Next Top Model.

The flight attendant wants me to sit next to Heidi Klum II.

No problemo. I'm all about cooperation, and as the man says: Can't we all just get along.

“The gentleman says that he'd prefer not to sit next to a woman, so I was wondering if perhaps you'd help us out and...”

Now I see him, the Hasidic man sitting next to the Heidi Klum II. He's all scrunched up in his seat, looking at me with pleading moo-cow eyes, begging me to rescue him from this totally untznius, immodest, situation.

Here's the thing: I'm not even wearing my yarmulke.

On my head is my Seraphic Press baseball cap so I'm not out as a fellow Jew, certainly no one has a hint that I'm a sympathetic Orthodox Jew.

Okay, it's official: the Seraphic cap is, um, Seraphic.

There are worlds within worlds.

The flight attendant practically plants one on me when I agree to switch seats. I feel like reassuring her that our Hasidic friend is harmless. He will not riot, will not set cars on fire, will not denounce American Airlines as a Jew-hating corporation. If he does not get his way—he'll cope. In short: he's Jewish not Muslim.

Heidi Klum II brushes past me and breathes: “Thanks much.”

Wow, totally Tyra ready, for not only is she beautiful but gramatically challenged.

My Hasidic friend looks up at me, smiles and says: “Thank you. You are very kind. You see—”

I cannot resist the moment. I'm totally Clark Kent revealing his identity as Superman.

“I understand, tznius.”

Mia Sara as the modest Hasidic Leah in A Stranger Among Us,
screenplay by yours truly.

A huge smile lights up my Hasidic friend's face.

After take-off, we exchange names, play a bit of Jewish geography, determine that we are not related—amazing—and then David (not his real name) asks me what I do for a living.

“I'm a writer.”

“You write, what, novels, newspaper stories, technical manuals of some sort?”

“Movies.” I confess, barely a whisper.

“Hollywood movies?” I think David now wishes he was sitting with Heidi Klum II.

I nod. Just once, hoping to skate past this rather inconvenient profession.

David narrows his hazel eyes. Thoughtfully twirls his thick, slinky peyes.

At this point I expect The Lecture. How can an Orthodox Jew, in good conscience, write such dreck, waste, be involved in spreading such notorious ideas and images.

“I was in a movie,” David dead-pans.

“Something from work, an industrial film?”

“No, no. A big Hollywood movie. I was an extra.”

"Shut-up.”

“I wouldn't tell just anybody.”

"Your secret's safe with me. What film?”

“It's called A Stranger Among Us. Have you ever heard of it?”

As I said: There are worlds within worlds.

“I wrote and produced A Stranger Among Us.”

David does a silent movie double take. He's like a Hasidic Harold Lloyd.

“No.”

“Yes.”

I could say “no” again and David could say “yes” but sheesh, that's a complete waste of precious dialog.

Eric Thal as Ariel and Melanie Griffith as Emily Eden, A Stranger Among Us.

“You know, we met on the set. I heard that the writer was a frum Jew and I just couldn't believe it and I asked around and I came over to you and thanked you for providing kosher food for all the Hasidic extras and you were very nice and asked me if were were being treated properly by the assistant directors.”

I shrug, I have absolutely no recollection.

David explains: “That time in my life was very difficult. Finances and bills, we didn't know how we were going to pay the rent that month, that's how bad it was. And then I heard about this Hollywood movie that needed extras and was paying good money for real Hasidim. But you can imagine what the community thought about such a thing. But my wife said, do it, no one will know, we need the money. And do you know how many other Hasidim had the exact same idea? We all met in the casting office and we all were so ashamed to look at each other, but in the end, the money was too good, and we were treated well and all the halachos were followed by production people, so we knew that somebody important knew what was what.”

”Did you ever see the finished film?”

"Yes, my wife and I rented it and watched it on a monitor after it came out on video.”

There's a long, awkward pause. I know what comes next. I've heard it before.

“I have to tell you that when, what was the boy's name, the Rebbe's son?”

“Ariel. The actor was Eric Thal.

“Ariel, right. I have to tell you, and no disrespect intended, but when he kisses the girl, what's the actress?”

“Melanie Griffith.”

“When Ariel kisses the Melanie Griffith woman, I did not think this was necessary. Did you have to do that?”

“Yup. It adds conflict. It's forbidden romance. Classic stuff. And look, in the end, Ariel marries the Rebbe's daughter, who is played by Rena Sofer, the great, great, great, great grand daughter of the Chatam Sofer.”

“Really? Really and truly? Amazing. I only saw her from afar, but oy, such an eidel kallah. And the chuppah, that was authentic and beautiful, the singing and everything. It was all fine except for the kiss. Oh, and when Ariel explains to her about the Kabbalah and sex. That would never happen.”

“I know. That was just a bit of screwball comedy. I was playing it like Cary Grant and Irene Dunne.”

David has no idea what I'm talking about.

“It's true, the scene is highly unlikely in real life, but this is a movie and motion pictures are exactly like real life—except I rewrite the boring parts.”

After we land, and as we step off the plane, David says: “Twice you have helped me, all those years ago when you gave me the job on your movie and now when you sat next to me. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

“There is.”

This Shabbos, in a Hasidic shtibl, synagogue, my Hasidic friend will make a b'racha, a blessing, over our new granddaughter, Maayan Ariel.

Eric Thal embraces Mia Sara, A Stranger Among Us, 1992

For a nice companion piece to this story, see Seraphic Secret's amazing encounter in a Apple Store: Shut-up! Shut-up! Shut-up!

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:11 AM | Comments (56)

December 30, 2007

Baby Jake Arrives!

Mazal Tov to Seraphic Friends Jake and Adar Novak, proud parents to Yael Amira, which means to rise with strength. This beautiful name lovingly compliments her sister, Jordan Ahava, which means flowing with love. Baby Yael Amira weighs 7 lbs. and is 20 inches. Mother and child are doing just fine. Dad is floating in the stratosphere, no doubt working on Jake's Ten Top Reasons Why It's Better to Have Daughters.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 01:41 PM | Comments (9)

December 25, 2007

Merry Christmas, 2007

Karen and I wish all our Christian friends a very Merry Christmas. We thank you for your friendship and for your support.

And here's a wonderful blog post about why Jews should all be saying Merry Christmas and not Happy Holidays.

I have come to see quite clearly that even if there are politically correct, multi-cultural, morally relativistic, post modern progressive busybodies who would like us to believe that our Christian friends’ and Neighbors’ spontaneous Christmas wishes are somehow injurious to us and our culture, they are nothing of the kind. A sincere “Merry Christmas is better for you than the blandest, most guarded “Happy Holidays”

To read the complete post, go to Breath of the Beast

*******

Today's Links:

Soccer Dad tells us about the incredible shrinking Christian population under Muslim rule. Religious intolerance is state policy in Saudi Arabia. In Yemen, Tunisia, and Algeria there are virtually no indigenous Christian communities left. The Christian presence in the Palestinian territories may hold out for no more than 15 years due to Muslim persecution in Gaza, Judea and Samaria. Bethlehem is now less than 20 percent Christian, after centuries in which Christians were the majority. The exodus of Christians from Bethlehem started a decade ago, after the Oslo accords, when Bethlehem fell under the control of the PA. In Gaza, 3,000 Greek Orthodox Christians have been under siege by the hostile and aggressive Muslims who refer to the Christians as "Crusaders."

IDF Dogs Hunting Terrorist Dogs Hat Tip: Seraphic Bensonhurst Friend, Ari Kinsberg

Want to know why Israeli soldiers don't rape Arab women. Do you think it might have something to do with being a Jewish army, with Torah, ethics, with the doctrine of the purity of arms? Well, think again. According to a, sigh, Israeli academic, the lack of military rape merely strengthens the ethnic boundaries and clarifies the inter-ethnic differences—just as organized military rape would have done. Hat Tip: Seraphic Friend, Shayne Zucker.

So: if IDF soldiers should, G-d, forbid rape, they dehumanize the women. When they do not rape they also dehumanize the women.

Got it.

We have a question. If you punish a rapist for the crime of rape, do you now punish a non-rapist for the non-crime of non-rape?

Another question: Does this bizarre logic only apply to Israeli Jews? What about, say, Chinese? What happens if you discover that they do not rape Tibetan women?

It seems to us this paper has all the earmarks of modern day Nuremberg logic. Mazal Tov to Hebrew University for supporting such morally corrupt nonsense.

Finally: Al Jazeera would run this as a useful sound byte save for one problem: The Arab media is saturated with false stories of IDF soldiers raping Arab woman.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:23 AM | Comments (15)

November 01, 2007

The Battle of Be'er Sheva: Once Again

This wonderful post from my good friend Treppenwitz.

Treppenwitz recounts a proud day for Australia, an observance of the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Be'er Sheva and the magnificent charge of the Australian Light Horse.

By the way, Treppenwitz is too modest a man to tell you this, but you should all be aware that Treppenwitz and other generous Israelis volunteer on a regular basis to maintain the cemeteries and graves of the British troops who perished fighting the Turks.

May the memory of these brave soldiers be a blessing.

Yesterday was a magical day in Beer Sheva. Ghosts of the city's distant past returned to walk the dusty streets... and across the desert landscape outside of town.

No, this isn't a Halloween post. I'm talking about yesterday's observance of the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Beer Sheva and the famous charge of the Australian Light Horse which was key in turning the tide... and ultimately defeating the Turks.

To read the entire photo-essay, please click here

There's a wonderful film called The Lighthorsemen, about this battle, directed by my friend Simon Wincer. Highly recommended.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 02:56 PM | Comments (1)

October 28, 2007

Fire: Up Close and Personal

This from Seraphic friend Karen, who has been a faithful reader and commenter for several years. Karen is a firefighter and is now with thousands of other heroic firefighters battling the hellish Southern California blazes.

We thank Karen for her hard work and for taking the time to report on the situation from the front.

Robert,

Finally got some access—just been too busy. Here's how things went this week:

The Rice fire started Oct 22 at 4:10 am in Rice Canyon, (caused by power lines during the Santa Ana wind event) and after jumping the I-15, activated the trigger point to evacuate Fallbrook—the entire town, except for the folks who "knew nothing was going to happen" and refused to leave. Just like the couple who waited on the Witch fire nearby and wound up dying in their garage. For them, they waited too long. Interesting when one talks to individuals who were evacuated and have decided they are going to ignore future evacuations. Personally, as a firefighter, who has seen lots of these fires up close and personal, there is no way anyone could convince me to stay with an approaching fire front. My mama didn't raise a fool.

Anyway, when I can get photos downloaded, I will send you some of a trailer park that burned in the first hours of the fire. 130 homes gone, most belonging to lower income folks who can ill afford to lose everything. Looks like a bomb went off. Very disturbing to walk amongst it all.

Spent Shabbat talking to evacuees and trying to encourage and affirm their decision to leave in the evacuation. It has been very hard for them. Some stories just break your heart. Most people are very grateful for the work that has been done on their behalf.

Well, unfortunately, I just lost my access to this computer. Sorry this is so short.

B'shalom,

Karen

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:04 AM | Comments (3)

October 12, 2007

Shut-up, Shut-up, Shut-up!

“What seems to be the problem?”
“The spinning soccer ball is showing up way too often, and the computer is just generally sluggish.”
“Okay, open her up, let me take a look.”

I'm sitting at the Genius Bar of the Apple Store. My life depends on my Powerbook and I'm worried that maybe some sectors of the Apple OSX system have been corrupted—maybe I'm headed for a crash.

Sitting right next to me is an attractive young woman with iPod problems. She's got a tattoo on one ankle, a blood-red rose, and on her shoulder there's some kind of elegant Asian lettering—probably Japanese—Gothic red outlined in black. Her hair is Gene Harlow white-blond and she's got one too many piercings in her ears and one in her nose. I wonder if it hurts when she sneezes.

Where are her parents?

Anyway, I flip open my Powerbook, terrified that the genius is going to diagnose some kind of terminal mother board problem.

The logo for Seraphic Secret is visible for a few seconds.

“Hey, I read Seraphic Secret.”

It's the young lady with the tattoos, with the nose ring, with the white blond hair.

"You read Seraphic Secret?”

My readership never ceases to astound.

“I love Seraphic Secret. You read it too?”

“I write Seraphic Secret.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then, really loudly:

“Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!"

I immediately shut up.

“You're Robert?”

I nod.

She frantically looks around.

“Where's Karen, where is Karen? I gotta meet Karen.”

“She's in her yoga class.”

“Shut-up!”

The Genius says: “People, I need to interrupt. I think OSX is corrupted, we can archive and reinstall. Is all your data backed up?”

“Uh-huh.

“It'll take about ten to fifteen minutes.”

The young lady says: “I'm like so dying to meet Karen. I just love when you write about how you fell in love with her when you were 10 years old. S'that really true?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wow. Did Karen think you were like weird when you finally told her how long you were in love with her?”

“I waited until she got to know me.”

“Smart. Otherwise she might think you're like some crazed stalker.”

“I was always socially appropriate.”

“This is so great. Now I've finally got something to talk about in therapy. Enough that my father didn't pay enough attention to me, enough with my mother who was like totally overbearing. You know how tired that gets?”

“I imagine it gets repetitive.”

“You must think I'm such a ditz.”

“Not at all.”

“Are you gonna write about me?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Well, hellooo!”

“Okey-doke.”

“Thing is, I usually dress much better. Look at me, I'm wearing my clod-hopper shoes.”

She extends her leg. Yup, she's wearing dopey sneakers with graffiti inscribed on the canvas.

“Y'see, I read your blog, I remember when you wrote about the costume designer who said that he could tell everything about a woman by her footwear.”

“Well, him, not me.”

“Oh, right. You watch What Not to Wear. You even give fashion advice to Karen. I should have worn heels. Now I really have something to talk about with my shrink. I'm like completely humiliated. Hey, Bloomingdale's is right there, we can bop on over and you can help me pick out some outfits. ”

“Um...”

“Sorry, sorry. I'm kind of hyper. I guess you can tell.”

“You're enthusiastic. That's a good quality.”

“Shut-up. That's like totally adorable. I knew you were, just reading your blog. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

"Remember when you wrote about how you wanted to fight for Karen, how you wanted to enter the lists and clash swords for Karen, fight a gunfight for Karen?”

“Um, not really.”

“Take my word for it, that's what you wrote. I read it like a thousand times. I was like: where do I find a man like that?”

“It's a problem.”

“Anyway, here's what I want to know: what's happened to men? They're like all pussified—excuse my language—they're so sensitive they're barely men. Look around the store: half the guys in here are wearing more jewelry than I am, and that guy over there—”

She points to a man who looks sleek as an Italian sports car.

“Metrosexual. Uh-huh. That's like code for gay, right?”

I say nothing.

“Wisdom, wisdom, I need some wisdom in my life.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the way you dress and display yourself attracts a certain kind of man?”

“Oh-oh.”

“Look, I don't know you. I'll shut-up.”

“No, I wanna hear.”

“The ink, the dye job, the piercings, they present an image. A face to meet a face, so to speak. I'll be honest, I saw you before you spoke to me and I was put off by how you looked.”

“Y'see, I should have worn my Jimmy Choo's.”

“Look, you have to ask yourself, what kind of men are going to be attracted to you; but even more important, what kind of men are not going to be drawn to you?”

“Oh, wow.”

“Sorry.”

“It's cool.”

“I feel terrible.”

“The tats? What can I tell you, I thought it was cool. I was with this guy and blah, blah, blah. He's history. I actually hate them now. And my piercings?”

She shrugs.

“You really thought I was weird?”

”I wondered if it hurt when you sneezed.”

She laughs: “Slight vibration. Just kidding.”

The Genius comes over and hands the young lady her iPod. All fixed.

“How come my shrink never told me any of this stuff?”

“He's non-judgemental and you pay him by the hour.”

“Oh man, don't even ask how many hours.”

“You'll be fine. You know G-d created the heavens and the earth, man and woman, and all the creatures in seven days. You know what he did afterwards?”

She shakes her head.

“He saved the hardest job for last. G-d made all the matches between men and women that would ever take place. It was much harder than the work of creation.”

“I don't remember that from the Bible.”

"It's Midrash, Biblical legend.”

“Coolness.”

She gathers up her iPod, stows it in her incredibly heavy shoulder bag, slips off the stool.

”I gotta bounce. This has been like fab-u-lous. Just one thing. Stop writing so much about politics. Jeez, I wish the Israelis would just bomb those Arabs back to the stone age already so you'd concentrate on writing about how you married Karen.

Hmm, never quite thought about the Arab/Israeli conflict in those terms.

“Love to Karen.”

The young lady walks out of the Apple store.

The Genius checks my Powerbook, nods, satisfied with the progress of the install program and says to me:

“Dude, I gotta start me a blog like yours. Awesome chick magnet.”

Karen and I wish all our friends a lovely and profound Shabbat.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:17 AM | Comments (32)

August 13, 2007

Contempt

“My favorite thing in your blog is the How I Married Karen series.”
"Oh, thanks so much.“
“Which is why I'd like to ask your advice about my girlfriend.”

Karen and I are attending a wedding and a Young Man has just introduced himself to me, tells me how much he enjoys Seraphic Secret.

“I'm not a therapist, you know. Far from it. I'm just a dumb Hollywood screenwriter.”
“Yes, but you and Karen, your story is just so wonderful, maybe you can offer some ideas.”

Oh dear. What choice do I have?

Suffice to say that the Young Man's girlfriend is very beautiful.
Suffice to say that the Young Man is smitten.
Suffice to say he is on one end of the political spectrum and she is on the other.
Suffice to say he is more religious than she.
Suffice to say the relationship is built on the dopey notion that opposites attract.
Suffice to say that they had a huge fight.
Suffice to say that cruel words were exchanged.

But here's what really captures my attention.

The Young Man says, “I told her I have contempt for her, for her ideas.”

“How did she respond?”
“She told me she never wants to speak to me again.”

I hold out my hands as if checking for rain.

“The thing is, I miss her, I want to try again,” he pleads.

Karen once told me that most any marriage can be saved except where contempt is felt and expressed between husband and wife. Contempt is an emotion that cannot be overcome.

“So, any ideas on what I can do, Mr. Avrech?”
“Yes. I know exactly what you should do.”
“Great.”
“Do you have a garage?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Perfect. Go into your garage, build a time machine, travel back in time and take back every terrible thing that you and your girlfriend have ever said to each other. And while you're at it, rebuild your entire personalities so that both of you hold the same values. Because as far as I can tell you're obsessed with her essential hotness.”
“You're saying we're wrong for each other.”
"I'm saying, not every relationship can be saved.”

The Young Man watches the chosson, the bridegroom, a blur of motion, a chaos of joy.
The Young Man looks sad. But in an instant he brightens.

“Where's Karen, I'd love to meet Karen face to face. I wish I could find a woman like Karen.”
“We're sitting at Table #21. Drop by, say hello. She just got a new haircut, looks like Louise Brooks.”
“Who's Louise Brooks?”
“Silent film actress. I'll blog about her some day.”

Politely, the Young Man thanks me, and walks off.

He does not introduce himself to Karen. But I have a feeling that he is watching our table from a safe distance.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:52 AM | Comments (25)

August 01, 2007

Seraphic Secret, Jake Novak , Rupert Murdoch: The Untold Story

We've been waiting to let you in on Seraphic Secret's secret connection to the Rupert Murdoch takeover of the Wall Street Journal.

Here it is: Jake Novak, frequent Seraphic Secret contributor and commenter has accepted a position as an Senior Producer at the FOX Business Network. There, he looks forward to helping Rupert take over the world.

When Jake is not shaking up the FOX Business Network, he will be calling Football Broadcasts for Columbia University.

Jake has been a good friend to Seraphic Secret since we went online over three years ago. He and his lovely wife Adar paid a shiva call in Brooklyn after Karen's father died last year. From Jake, almost daily, there have been too many notes of support and good cheer to count.

Such friends are indeed rare.

We wish Jake the best of luck in his new job and sincerely hope that he still has time to send us his Ten Best lists and grace Seraphic Secret with his fine and articulate comments.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 02:00 PM | Comments (13)

June 24, 2007

Call for Community Prayer

I have just been informed that a very young child from our community nearly drowned on Thursday. She is now on life support at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. Obviously, her medical condition is dire.

Please daven, pray, for Batya Rafaela bat Hadassah.

Thank you.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 01:00 AM | Comments (4)

June 22, 2007

Jake Wins!

Mazal Tov to Seraphic Friend Jake Novak for winning the LA Press Club Award for his comic strip "Shmooze or Lose."

Click here for the link, scroll down to "D$ Editorial Cartoon" for the citation and comments.

Jake is a frequent Seraphic Secret commenter and contributor; his words always provide a unique perspective on all things social, and political.

Most of all, Jake's insights into the connection between Jane Austen and Kabbalah have been nothing short of ground-breaking.

Just kidding.

Truly, this award is well deserved. We are proud that Jake is our collegue, our friend. And as we all know JIASF.*

*Jake Is Always So Funny

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 07:48 AM | Comments (5)

June 21, 2007

The Kesher with Kesher

Honestly, I expected her to be John Wayne tall.

Reading her posts all these years I've been really, really, really intimidated by her incandescent intelligence and serene ability to cut to the heart of the matter in all things.

“This is one smart woman,” Karen said after reading a Kesher post that dealt with Israel and the rather complex history of the Ottoman Empire.

When Karen labels another person smart, I know that person is like beyond brilliant.

And so when Judith Weiss of Kesher, possibly the oldest Jewish political blog, informed me that she was going to attend the Ariel Avrech Yahrtzeit Lecture I was honored, excited—and terrified.

I mean she might start talking to me and figure out pretty quickly that I'm, y'know, not so smart. That really, like I always say, it's Karen who's the brains and beauty of the outfit.

I'm just the whacky sidekick in this relationship.

Anywhoo.

Judith calls me from the car rental place to get directions.

Oh man, hasn't she read my blog? Doesn't she know that I'm geographically challenged?

I'm sweating bullets, and Karen's at work, so I have to do this.

Judith says: “I'm usually very good with directions.”

No kidding, you're like this uber-brain.

“But I just want to make sure.”

By asking the one person in the world who is guaranteed to send you to the cheerful Republic of Belarus.

Taking a deep breath I plunge headlong into the black hole of cartography: “Okay, this time of day, on Friday, you do not want to get on the LA Freeway. Very bad idea. Take the streets. Get on La Cienega, do you see it on your map?”

“Um, give me a minute... yeah, there it is.”

“Okay, take La Cienega to Pico, do you see Pico?”

“Yup.”

“Great, go all the way on La Cienega until Pico, then make a left on Pico and head east.”

“Okay.”

“No, west on Pico, sorry. Wait, I need to get oriented.”

Standing in the middle of my office, I turn round and round like a dreidel; extend my arms like a Japanese traffic cop, trying to imagine the left, right turns Judith will have to make. I must look like I've taken way too much medication. I'll bet Fernando, my UPS man, is going to walk right in and witness your humble scribe in this, um, rather odd configuration. He's already puzzled by my professional existence, wonders how I make a living staring at a gigantic poster of The Seven Samurai. Every time Fernando delivers a package, dontcha know, that's exactly what I'm doing.

Rotating as if on a turntable, I can feel a major migraine blooming in my cortex as I try morphing my analog brain into a digital GPS.

East, west, left, right, up, down; oh my gosh, I'm going to send this poor woman straight into the ocean or, gulp, Compton.

PC Disclaimer: Not that there's anything wrong with Compton.

“Okay, that looks easy enough.”

“Go east, I mean west on Pico until you get to my block, make a left. Wait, is it left? Yeah left, go down three blocks, I think that's south, um, yeah north is Beverly Hills. So definitely go south three blocks and you can't miss Casa Avrech, it's the only house on the block with an American flag on the front lawn.”

“Cool, the flag must be really big.”

“Medium, still, you can't miss it.”

“Great, see you soon.”

“Call me on your cell if you get in any trouble.”

“Oh, I'm good with directions.”

I'm not.

Head back into my office which is in back of Casa Avrech.

In my latest screenplay, the weirdest thing happens, my heroine, a crack sniper, gets lost as she drives to her latest assignment. Huh, wonder how that happened? It's kind of funny, but stupid and pointless. I've just wasted one and a half pages.

Hit the delete button.

Rewrite.

Head back into the house, peek out the window, a white compact cruises to halt in front of the house. She is good with directions, and Belarus has missed out on a great tourist.

Oh my gosh.

Judith is not John Wayne tall.

she

is

petite.

I actually feel better. I thought was going to be craning my neck, looking up at a skyscraper of an uber-woman. Instead I'm going to be craning my neck downward looking at an uber-woman.

Judith smiles and says: “I found it.”

“Thanks so much for coming.”

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:58 AM | Comments (12)

June 11, 2007

Bollywood in Shul

“Robert, what are you doing?”
“Copying the source sheets?”

Rebekah, office manager of my shul, looks in horror at the neat piles of paper at my feet. Originally from India, Rebekah speaks the King's English; she sounds very BBC. In fact, I'm so intimidated by Rebekah's sophisticated speech that my Brooklyn accent mysteriously grows thicker, my vowels even more tortured when I'm in Rebekah's presence.

“But Robert, what are you planning on doing with all that paper?”
“Uh, you know, collating and then stapling them together.”

Rebekah studies me for a moment; she looks at the neat wedge of pages at my feet; studies me as if I'm some dumb colonial officer in the British Raj and she's some fabulously wise and patient Indian princess.

In her best clipped manner Rebekah says:

“Robert, the copying machine does all that automatically: collates and staples.”

Stunned, I look at Rebekah.

“Really?”
“Really and truly, Robert.”

Now I look at the copying machine as if it might actually sit up and say, “Yup, that's what I do, the lady does not lie.”

And I was so proud of my neat bricks of paper. I was prepared to sit on the floor, collate hundreds of pages, and staple them together—all afternoon.

“Whoops.”

Rebekah lets out a shallow sigh.
“Really Robert, what a massive waste of your valuable time.”

I shrug, hang my head and stare at the threads in the carpet. Hmm, nice abstract patterns emerge, float about like some Mark Rothko canvas.

I feel like melting into the carpet.

Efficient, no-nonsense Rebekah runs out to the supply store, purchases more paper, comes back and sets up the machine. In a blur she punches buttons: beep! beep! beep!

She's like the Indian/Jewish version of Chloe in "24."

Oh my gosh!

Rebekah even knows how to use the zoom function, which is like tosfos on copying machines. Really, I've seen grown men reduced to tears trying to figure out the proper zoom ratios.

Well, this man anyway.

Like a Harley Davidson, the copying machine kicks into motion, boom! whap! boom! whap! And I actually rear back, the machine's powerful action so sudden so percussive.

“See what a clever machine it is, Robert?”
“Yes Rebekah, I'm in awe—of you and the machine.”

Modest Rebekah waves away my compliment.

Normally, Rebekah and I shmooze about what life was like for Jews in India. I find her stories fascinating. Oh, the endless archeology of ordinary Jewish life. Often we end up discussing the latest Bollywood films. We both adore the vibrant color and turbo-energy of Bollywood. Rebekah offers personal insights into these films that are cultural gems.

Now that I think about it, this whole episode: Rebekah, clueless me, and the fierce copying machine, it's like a magical sequence in some grand Bollywood musical—minus the song and dance.

I remember how Rebekah used to chat with Ariel ZT'L; he too was fascinated with her Indian heritage. Once Ariel and I looked at a picture book of Indian synagogues on Rebekah's recommendation. We oohd and aahd at every page.

As I leave shul with my mountain of source sheets for the Ariel Avrech Yahrtzeit Lecture, I feel grateful for Rebekah's generosity and decency, an unbelievably busy woman who cares enough about my time to rescue me from my own dopey, analog ignorance.

It's true that I'm something of a hermit, but I am a recluse with a talent for friendship.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 01:43 PM | Comments (18)

June 01, 2007

Jake Gets Some Respect

Seraphic Secret would like to extend a huge mazal tov to Jake Novak for being a finalist in the Los Angeles Press Club Awards for his wonderful weekly cartoon, "Shmooze or Lose: The Misadventures of a Hollywood Studio Executive."

Jake has been a good friend to Seraphic Secret from the time this blog went on-line three years ago. Jake's sharp comments and hysterical Ten Best lists have always illuminated our most overcast days.

In fact, Jake's sly sense of humor has given birth to this cyber-shorthand: JIASF.*

Here's the nomination page. Scroll down to the Editorial Cartoon category.

*Jake Is Always So Funny

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 06:50 AM | Comments (6)

May 28, 2007

Memorial Day

Karen and I wish to thank Seraphic readers who are members of the armed forces, or who have been members of our armed services. We also wish to thank all the family members of those who serve for they too sacrifice on a scale that is unimaginable to civilians.

We cannot imagine the charnal house this world would be if not for the brave volunteers of the American armed services.

Freedom is not free, and your sacrifice will never be forgotten.

May G-d bless and protect each and every one of you.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:37 AM | Comments (0)

May 14, 2007

Ties that Bind

“This is our very good friend, Mr. Avrech.”

The chosson's father hesitates a second, recovers nicely, takes my hand in a firm handshake, and gives me a warm smile.

“Mazal Tov,” I say.
“Thank you, thank you.”

The hesitation? Perfectly understandable. Let's size up the situation from the Father's point of view:

He's flown into Los Angeles from Lakewood...

“My very first time west of Chicago.”

To celebrate the L'chaim for his beloved son to the daughter of my good friends here in Los Angeles...

“Such a fine family, what a b'racha for all of us...”

And the apartment here in Hancock Park is chock full of black-hat Yeshivish couples. For this is The Other Side of Town; a mere twelve-minute drive from my neighborhood, Pico-Robertson, but when spoken, out-of-towners imagine that we Los Angelinos are describing a space as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon.

Which, I suppose, is the whole idea.

Silly, really.

“What a nice community; who knew in California?”

And all of sudden the father of the Kallah introduces yours truly, dressed in L.L. Bean khakis, a plaid shirt, tzitzis definitely not hanging out, and yes, I'm wearing a regulation black velvet yarmulke, but: this is a very good friend?

Confusing.

But the Chosson's Father makes the adjustment just beautifully.

We play Jewish Geography and discover that The Chosson's Father knows Karen's Uncle, The Rabbi from Chicago, and now we are totally cool.

“And where's your wife?"
“She's in avelut, but she wanted me to convey her very best wishes and a huge mazal tov to you and your lovely family."

The Chosson's Father actually winces, looks pained when I tell him that Karen is in avelut, still in mourning. He is a good man, it's so obvious.

I spend a few minutes with my friend the Kallah's mother.
“You know I read your blog when I'm at work—even though I shouldn't.”
“Thank you.”
“I really like it.”
“What do you like and what don't you like?”

My mini-focus group. And, naturally, fishing for compliments.

“I go right past the politics, but oh, I really love the personal stuff.”
“I hear that from a lot of women.”
“Well...”

Her daughter, the Kallah, who projects the air of a more mature and wiser woman, says to me:

“You must take home some cookies for Karen. I'm so sorry she couldn't come."

I look at the Kallah and, oh my, I feel a knot in my throat.

The Father of the bride walks me to the door.

“I have to leave, Karen's waiting for me downstairs.”
“I really appreciate that you came.”
“Listen you and I, we know how important it is to celebrate simchas.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezes firmly.

Of couse we are good friends.

I look past him, at the picture of his child who died several years ago.

There's also a picture of his son who was one of Ariel's ZT'L best friends in high school; this son, who regularly sends me pictures of his wife and children, his growing family. Karen and I watch them flourish and it gives us joy, a great measure of comfort.

At the stairs my friend and I hug. “Mazal Tov, Mazal Tov.”

Outside, Karen is waiting for me; I wave to the love of my life, and smile through my tears.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:50 AM | Comments (2)

May 02, 2007

Not Financial Advice

"Mr. Avrech, I want to tell you how much I like your website Sephardic Secret."
"Thanks so much, actually, it's Seraphic Secret."
"Seraphic?"
"Uh-huh."
"Can you spell that for me?"

I've just exited shul, and one of my Persian acquaintances has stopped to talk to me. I have no idea what his name is, I only know it has lots of o's and u's in it, and when I hear it pronounced I'm pretty sure I'm in Klingon land.

I spell Seraphic.

My Persian friend maps the word in his head, making a mental picture. I'll bet he's clicking a different blog entirely.

"Ah, Seraphic, like the angels."
"Right."
"You have the picture of Ariel, alav ha-shalom on the side, what a wonderful young man."
"Thank you."
"So I like your site so much, I just want you to know."

Listen, I'm a writer, a sucker for praise. I live for compliments.

"What is it you like best?"
"Oh, your financial advice."
"WHAT?!"
"You said to buy Apple and I did, when it was at 84, and now it's in the 90's, and I have you to thank."

Oh boy.

I sweat blood writing my political posts, I pour my soul into hideously embarrassing personal confessions, and don't ask how I stomp on my heart with the How I Married Karen series.

I know, I know, I'm way overdue with another chapter.

"Listen. I'm glad you've made some money. But I really didn't tell people to buy."

Confession: I'm terrified of lawyers, of being sued, so I make sure to let everybody know that I do not give financial advice.

"Yes, yes, but you hinted."
"No, no, no hints. I was just telling people what I do. Me."

"So, what do you think, should I sell, take profits?"
"Are you kidding! Of course not. Apple's probably going to go to 115, maybe 120 this year. Hold. Hold. Hold."

He grins.
I heave a great sigh.

"I'm just telling you what I would do."
"Yes, of course. And tell me, are there any other stocks you like very much?"
"Oh man, I love Elbit Systems, Ltd. Israeli company. Talk about socially responsible corporations. This company makes weapons systems that kills jihadists. Can't get any more socially responsible than that. I just bought a ton of shares. But now hear this and in bold type: this is not financial advice. It's just what I do."
"Yes, yes, I understand. Any others?"
"Love Genuine Parts. Not sexy. Not high profile. Car parts. That's it. Solid as a rock. This company even made a profit during the depression. Buy, and hold."
"Thank you, thank you."
"Um, listen, is there anything you like on my blog beside when I write about Apple?"

My Persian financial whiz looks perplexed. He frowns, he fidgets, he looks really pained. But after a moment he brightens:

"Yes, I like when you say to bomb Persia. That is very good advice."

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:52 AM | Comments (21)

March 23, 2007

Cathy Seipp's Funeral

The funeral for Cathy Seipp was well attended, and for all, deeply moving.

We spoke to Cathy's 17-year old daughter Maia, and offered some measure of nechama, comfort. It was difficult and tragic beyond words.

Cathy's friend, Greg Critser, spoke beautifully and appropriately. He discussed death, he spoke of the bottomless grief the great Jewish sage Rambam, Maimonides suffered after his brother David drowned at sea.

I went over to Greg at Cathy's graveside and thanked him for his lovely hesped, eulogy.

We helped shovel earth over Cathy's grave, as tradition requires.

After washing our hands, we drove home to prepare for Shabbat.

Baruch Dayan Emet.

Karen and I wish you all a lovely and meaningful Shabbat.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:21 PM | Comments (1)

March 22, 2007

Cathy Seipp

Our friend Cathy Seipp passed away yesterday after a long battle with lung cancer.

Here is the obituary from the Los Angeles Times, a paper she fearlessly critiqued.

Over the years, Cathy and I used to meet at Farmer's Market, for Cathy loved its old Los Angeles ambience. We would sit and schmooze for hours.

Cathy was a ferociously opinionated and intelligent woman. Often she would ask what I thought about some great, or small, question of the day. I'd venture some dopey opinon. Cathy would lean forward and say: "Oh, Robert, that's all wrong." And she'd patiently explain why I simply had to change my mind. And I usually would. She was that smart.

A Democrat for most of her life, Cathy became a Republican, she explained to me, once she became involved in local school-board politics. "When I saw Democrats in action on the local level, well, there was no way I could stick with the program."

For in the end, Cathy was a lioness when it came to her daughter Maia, and the local school-boards and their squishy, politically correct politics were simply too appalling for Cathy to deny or ignore. Cathy had to protect her daughter, all children, from the perceived barbarians at the gates.

Laughing, Cathy described herself as the only Republican in Silver Lake.

Cathy was endlessly curious about Orthodox Judaism. It wasn't for her, she freely admitted, but she was always respectfully machine-gunning questions at me. Cathy kept me on my toes. Around Cathy, I could never be intellectually lazy about my Judaism, and that was refreshing.

When she and her daughter Maia and our good friend Jackie Danicki came to Offspring #2's wedding a year ago, Cathy told me how grateful she was to attend.

Though ill at the time, Cathy looked positively radiant.

There is a moment that will always stay with me.

We were in the Farmer's Market, the sun was setting and shards of golden light were nesting in her white blond hair. We had been talking about children, the joys, the sorrows, mostly how it is our job, our most important job as parents, to see them grow up to become good people, people with strong values.

Cathy said:

"I can understand how you and Karen feel about losing Ariel at such a young age."

I looked at her.

"I'm going to die before Maia really grows up. That is just unbearable."

Baruch Dayan Emet

Services will be held at 10 a.m. Friday at Mt. Sinai Hollywood Hills, 5950 Forest Lawn Drive, Los Angeles.

Instead of flowers, Cathy has requested that people make donations to the Humane Society.

Michelle Malkin has a fine entry on Cathy.

A unique group of bloggers and friends write straight from their broken hearts about Cathy; put together by the invaluable LA Observed.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 07:35 AM | Comments (37)

March 21, 2007

Shul Dinner: 4th Generation Conflict

SCENE ONE: Find Your Gun Shop

"You know where your gun-shop is?"
"Uh-huh."
"Drive to your gun-shop. But do not stop and buy any weapons, Robert.
"Okey-dokey."
"Keep going along Washington Boulevard, not Washington Place, drive for about a mile-and-half and then you'll come right to the hotel. Make a left, and pull right in."

My shul is having it's annual dinner and Karen is making sure I do not end up in Orange County. Or the Mojave Desert. I have, um, cartography issues.

I have to attend all by my lonesome. Karen is still in the eleven month period of avelut, mourning for her father ZT'l.

Thank heavens for my trusty gun shop. To get me where I need to go, all Karen has to do is reference its location and then I can easily orient my way around greater Los Angeles. I'm telling you, rip my eyes out with red-hot poker and I'm pretty sure I'd still be able to find my gun shop.

Mapquest? The biggest fraud in the universe. They send you, literally, to Beirut, in order to get to the other side of town. Karen hates Mapquest the way I hate Hizbullah. Never believe their directions. Ever.

I'm driving towards my gun shop. My palms start to sweat. I pump the break. But I only slow down to about 15, 10, okay, 5 mph. I imagine the new Springfield Armory Enhanced Micro Pistol .9mm that I'm dying to own. Do I park, enter, and schmooze with my buddy Carl the ex-Marine sniper? Do I casually try on the new Springfield for size?

I do not.

I call on a Higher Power for I know that I have no control over my life. I press pedal to metal, and blow past my gun shop—and right past a red light.

Whoops.

SCENE TWO: Chinese Farm

At what point did Orthodox shuls decide to go baaaaad?

The music, and I use the term loosely, hits my stomach like Jack Bruce's lowest bass register. A deep, very uncomfortable thruuuuummm.

I feel vaguely nauseous.

Men who have been in war know the feeling. You're about to land in a combat zone, jump out of a freezing cold helicopter with absolutely no idea how much steel-rain awaits you. You also know that the intel you've been given is absolutely wrong. It always is. So your gut is churning because whatever is out there in the LZ is going to be ten times worse than your imagination could ever conjure.

Anyway, that's what it's like stepping into the smorgasbord.

There's a DJ in a dopey, hip/cool/whatever 50's hat, spinning so-called music. Speakers are set up every ten feet, so there is absolutely no escape from the gosh-awful racket. The corridor is submarine narrow, and the food tables are double-trailer wide. The guests, dozens of ravenous people, are packed six or seven deep.

There was an important battle in the Yom Kippur War, the Battle of the Chinese Farm. Perhaps the most furious, most bloody, most awful battle fought in that awful war. It was hand-to-hand combat, it was, according to friends who survived, according to men who I interviewed, "the end of the world."

Anyway, I'm not in the Chinese Farm. Obviously. But for some perverse reason, I'm strongly flashing on that bloody field.

I don't do well in crowds.

People have to shout to in order to be heard above the so-called music. And there's just no room to manuever. Basically, people have to shove in order to walk a few paces.

I'm telling you, ordinary life easily turns into low-intensity conflict.

Phone Call #1

Me: Hello?
Karen: Robert?
Me: Hey.
Karen: You get there okay?
Me: Uh-huh.
Karen: Good. How is it?
Me: Loud.
Karen: Come home early.
Me: I will. But I have to, y'know, make sure the Rabbi sees me, and the honorees, once I find out who they are.
Karen: You okay?
Me: I miss you.
Karen: You'll be fine.

SCENE THREE: You Destroyed My Novel

I tuck myself into a corner. Nibble on a carrot. A friend from shul approaches, and I gird myself for a few months ago he asked me to read his novel and give him some "honest feedback."

I did.

I am an idiot.

"Hey Robert, how you doing?"
"Okay, how about you?"
"Well, ever since you destroyed, pulverized, pounded my novel into the earth—okay, I guess."

Long pause.
I nibble my carrot. Whoops. No more carrot. I'm actually gnawing my index finger.

"You, um, didn't have a main character." Once again, I point out the obvious.
"True. True. You were right. And I appreciate your criticism. Really I do."
"So, are you rewriting?"
"Yes, it's much better now."

Silence.

Do I offer to read the new, improved draft?

I do not.

It's official: my friend hates me.

SCENE FOUR: What're Ya Workin' On?

I make my way to the far end of the room. Why? Because it's there. The crowd has thickened. The volume of the so-called music has risen to a decibel level that could be used to extract valuable information from terrorists. I think I'm losing some hearing. Sheesh, all those hours on the shooting range with my .45 and it's the shul's annual dinner that ends up blowing my eardrums. I'm gonna write a letter to the NRA and tell them about this. File it under i-r-o-n-y.

"Robert."
"Moshe." (Not his real name)
"Where's Karen?"
"She's in avelut."
"Ah, forgot."
"That's okay."
"So, Mr. Screenplaywriter, what're ya workin' on?"
"Oh, you know, this and that."
"What kinda story?"
Moshe wears a black hat, his tzitzis, fringes, hang outside his pants, and he always makes a point of telling me that he does not go to the movies because he's way too religious. Which is fine.

So, why all the questions about my corrupt Hollywood career?

"Moshe, I actually don't really like talking about my screenplays while I'm working on them.
"No, how come?"
"I don't know, I guess I'm kind of superstitious."
"That's avodah zarah, (idol worship) you know."

Moshe is the kind of guy I really hated in high school.

"Strike superstitious. Let's do: eccentric."

Phone Call #2

Me: Hello?
Karen: Robert?
Me: Yup.
Karen: Where you up to?
Me: Just about to go into dinner.
Karen: Half-way home.
Me: I don't know most of the people here.
Karen: What else is new.
Me: The perfume is overwhelmiing.
Karen: If you feel a migraine aura, come right home.
Me: And I'm talking about the perfume on the men.
Karen: Keep me informed.

SCENE FIVE: My Cholent Buddy

Speeches. Awards. Chinese Auction. The waiter spins round the table pouring wine. Everyone says, "Puh-leese." Just look at them put it away. And I thought Jews didn't drink.

Boy, if this keeps up I'm gonna have to be the designated driver for my entire table.

The waiter comes to your humble scribe, and I shake my head from side-to-side: "No thank you."

And guess what, everyone is staring at me.

The guy next to me says: "Don't drink, Robert?"
"Nope."
He continues gazing at me.
"I understand," he says.
"You do?"
"Uh-huh."

It takes me a moment to puzzle this out. Then it hits me.

Robert does not drink
Robert is a Hollywood screenwriter.
Thus: Robert is an alcoholic.

"I'm allergic," I practically shout to the table. "I get migraines from wine and liquor. Heck, I even get migraines from perfume."

They just look at me with pity.

Obviously, I'm in denial.

I give up.

I actually feel like having a drink now.

Hey, look at that, My Cholent Buddy from the early minyan is wearing a tux, and he's schlepping a violin. Wonder what's going on?

Now, he's being called up to the podium. They flash a picture of My Cholent Buddy from one of the major Israeli newspapers. He's sitting on an IDF Merkava tank with a violin, about to enter Lebanon last summer.

My Cholent Buddy is introduced with a resume that's way beyond cholent. Turns out My Cholent Buddy attended all these music schools in Israel, and hoo-ha conservatories in Europe that have these pain-in-the-neck compound Germanic names that just never seem to end.

Who knew?

Anyway, My Cholent Buddy's playing his violin.

Oh
My
Gosh

I know nothing about music and even I can tell that My Cholent Buddy is a genius.

And I just thought that he was tall, and liked his cholent really hot.

SCENE SIX: FFF

I step outside to call Karen and tell her all about My Cholent Buddy.

Just as I'm about to dial, a woman I do not recognize boldly walks up to me.

INTERPOLATION:

A few years ago, I was working on a film and the genius Costume Designer explained to me his theory of how he gets to the core of a woman's character through wardrobe:

"It's all about footwear, Robert. Show me what shoes a woman wears and I'll tell you everything about that woman's character—from her soul to her flesh."

"Everything?"
"Everything."

The secrets yours truly learns on location. It is mind-boggling.

END INTERPOLATION:

Anywhoo.

This woman is wearing, I kid you not, the latest Manolo Blahnik lizard stiletto pumps which, I believe retail for a cool $750.000.

She's also wearing an outfit that, ahem, modestly sheath her shoulders and knees—frum in word—but it's Azzedine Alaia tight. Which is to say: her skirt and jacket look like they have been spray-painted on.

This is a new phenomenon. The FFF: The Frum Femme Fatale.

Does this woman actually go to my shul? She looks way too dangerous.

"Are you Robert J. Avrech?"
"Um..."
"You are. I know you are."

She sounds like Joan Crawford—after about ten vodkas.

"You wrote Body Double."

I have been scolded for this film so many times in the Orthodox community that I've come up with this really clever answer.

Pay close attention:

"No, actually that was the other Robert J. Avrech."

She licks her lips and smiles like a Black Widow who has just eaten her young. Wow, the lip gloss she uses really kicks light. I should ask what brand she uses. Karen would definitely like to know.

FFF leans in close, puts a hand very lightly on my shoulder. Her nails are lacquered red as a Chinese vase, they're sharp as daggers.

She whispers: "I adore your film. I've seen it like twenty times. It. Is. Awesome."

Striding away, she shivers as she walks; high heels like ice-picks.

Phone Call #3
Me: Hello?
Karen: Robert?
Me: I'm in the car, on my way home.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 07:03 AM | Comments (42)

March 16, 2007

The Heart of Yocheved

By Dan Dzindzihashvili

Dan Dzindzihashvili, a Seraphic Friend, has been a faithful reader for many years. Dan is a baal teshuva, born in Israel, and raised in Queens. He received his MFA from NYU where he studied with Tony Kushner. His plays have been presented at various off-off broadway venues, such as Soho Rep, HERE, Immigrants Theatre Project, and Ensemble Studio Theatre. His short play "True Confessions" has been published in an anthology by Stage and Screen, edited by Daniel Aukin. He currently does kiruv with his beautiful wife Tami and learns gemara at Chofetz Chaim Yeshiva in the evenings.

My wife and I just returned from Israel yesterday morning.

It was her first time there in seven years and my first time in sixteen years.

Coincidentally, we were there at the same time as our Rabbi, Aharon Chein and his family.

The vacation ended in tragedy.

On Friday, March 9, 2007, Rabbi Chein’s wife, Yocheved Chein and her mother Rachel Tzedek Schneerson were killed in a rear end collision. Rabbi Aharon Chein survived with many broken ribs and a broken heart. It turns out that there were seventeen car accidents that day.

My wife and I are close friends of the Chein family. My wife is especially close to the Chein's two daughters as they are the same age.

A few weeks ago we were visiting the Chein's after Shabbat meal on Saturday afternoon. It was then and there that my wife and I decided to go to Israel. Rabbi Chein and his wife were also going to be there for the yahrzeit of the Rebbetzin’s father, Rabbi Shmuel zt’l. Also, it was going to be Rabbi Chein’s niece’s bat mitzvah.

We had a scheduled wonderful experiences in Israel for that whole week covering every area we could in a short period of time, including going to the Dead Sea, Haifa, Yaffo, the graves of the tzadikim in Tiberias, Tzfat, and Meron, etc. On Friday afternoon, March 9, 2007 we were supposed to meet the Cheins for a quick pizza in Jerusalem at 10:30AM.

We got a call on our cell phone from their daughter that the meeting was cancelled and she hung up. She called an hour later and said that her grandmother was killed in a car accident.

Then she called another hour later and said that her mother passed away on the operating table in Kaplan Hospital in Rechovot.

My wife and I were supposed to spend Shabbat in Jerusalem in the neighborhood of Mea Shearim at the home of another Georgian couple who had made aliyah. Instead, my wife and I spent Shabbat in Kaplan Hospital with Rabbi Chein. Tzippie Traimen was there with us too as her husband had to stay in Beth El with their two beautiful children.

It turns out that Rabbi Chein and his wife and his mother-in-law were on the way to the cemetery to visit the grave of Rabbi Shmuel zt’l. Rabbi Aharon had rented a car that week. He was the driver and the front seat passenger was his mother-in-law. Yocheved was in the back. They were at a full stop for a red light when a truck driven by another Jew, rear-ended their vehicle. Based on the pictures in the media, the car looked like an accordion. Rabbi Aharon’s mother-in-law passed away on the spot. Rabbi Aharon and Yocheved were taken to a hospital in Rechovot.

Alex dropped us off at the central bus station in Jerusalem so that we could take the next bus to Rechovot before Shabbat. My wife and Tzippie read Tehillim and intercepted various frantic calls coming from NYC on their cell phones.

It turns out that the only organ still working in Yocheved was her heart. The doctors asked if they should still continue trying to save her. The answer from her children was, “Hell, yeah!” Some time later the news came and Rabbi Aharon cried. The last time I saw him cry was during services of Yom Kippur as he was giving it his all for the refuah of his ill father.

I received a call from my aunt in Or Yehuda asking if I wanted to spend Shabbat with her. I told her it’s my Rabbi. He needs us. Luckily, Kaplan hospital has a special lounge with couches in separate rooms for men and women whose relatives are patients and need a place to stay as those folks staying are assumed to be shomer Shabbat.

So many striking images come to mind as I recall that Shabbat in Rechovot.

First of all, there was a brit milah in NYC on the morning of March 1, 2007. An acquaintance had her grandson’s brit milah that morning. I was late, but still able to catch the father of the baby to say mazel tov. There was no meal served, as that was the day of the Fast of Esther. As I was exiting the synagogue, Yocheved, who also happened to be there (her flight would be the following Monday night) blessed me for a safe trip and that she’d see us there. Then she quickly handed me $2 so that I could give that money as tzedakah as well as a segulah to fulfill my mission as a messenger, etc.

Once a month Yocheved would make cholent for the youth minyan of our shul as an attempt for kiruv. Now, there is no one to make cholent.

Her eldest daughter, Nechama Dina, was relating a story of how her mother didn’t want to come on this trip. Though she eventually went on this sojourn, she was resistant in going to the cemetery. It turns out that her father, Rabbi Shmuel zt’l was 44-years old when he passed away on the 19th of Adar 23 years ago. March 9, 2007 was also the 19th of Adar. Yocheved was also 44-years old. Now the family observes three yarztzeits on the 19th of Adar. Rabbi Aharon said little during our stay in the hospital. He quoted something from the gemara, which says that when a person reaches the same age as the age that one of his or her parents passed away, that that person should be especially careful that year. Furthermore, it turns out that Yocheved’s mother, Rachel, had a dream in which she saw the end of her days.

Also, the night before, it turns out that Yocheved called her four sons in the U.S. She called many other people. It turns out she called everyone close to her – a cryptic good-bye?

Two nights before, Wednesday night, was the bat mitzvah. Yocheved took pictures with practically everyone there. There’s one picture, a group picture, where Yocheved is standing outside the group smiling at everyone.

Pesach is coming and it turns out that Yocheved was almost finished in with her cleaning for chometz. In her home in Queens, she took out all of her clothes and laid them on top of her bed and covered them with a white sheet. Common sense would say that she wanted to prevent dust from gathering on the clothes. From a spiritual perspective, one could see that she made everything easy for everyone.

As we spent Shabbat in the hospital, our concern was for Rabbi Aharon. He needed help moving around and was told to walk as much as possible to prevent an infection of the lungs from the broken ribs. Helping him walk was easy. Keeping his spirits up was difficult.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe had many personal photographers. One of them was Mr. Eli Yonah. He walked 2.5 hours to visit Rabbi Aharon Shabbat afternoon. I sat in the room with Mr. Yohah and Moti, a young friend of the family. Moti is the son of a prominent Georgian Rabbi in Kiryat Atta. Moti also has a beautiful voice. We sat there singing Shabbat and Chabad nigguns. We all knew that you have to be happy on Shabbat, no matter what.

Earlier in the afternoon, it turns out that the other daughter, Devorah Leah, had approached one of the nurses about seeing Yocheved’s body. He was agreeable on the condition that we caused no balagan, no chaos. We were escorted to another side of the hospital where the corpses are held in refrigerators. Yocheved was in box number 6. I could not believe my eyes as the nurse unzipped the body bag. Yocheved had a smile on her face. I thought that she’d wake up and ask us to keep the noise down.

We left the room and washed our hands. We stood outside dividing and assigning chapters of Tehillim.

Shabbat passed and numerous calls came along with many visitors. Nothing could take away Rabbi Aharon’s pain.

On Sunday, at the levaya in Kiryay Malachi, there were 2,800 people gathered. There were many prominent Chabad Rabbis there. All of them mentioned Yocheved’s big heart, her love of the Rebbe, her zest for life, love, and mitzvot, as well as all Jews. Sometimes in our community, there are still some events with mixed dancing. Yocheved would grab the kallah and try to get at least fifteen minutes of separate dancing. Who can fill her shoes now?

It was a dramatic moment at the levaya as the remainder of her children grabbed the first plane out of NYC on motzei Shabbat. They arrived in Kiryat Malachi towards the end of the levaya. The crying from those attending the funeral was overwhelming. This was no movie. This was true pain. The procession took her body to Jerusalem’s Mount of Olives. Yocheved’s mother, Mrs. Rachel Tzedek Schneerson, was buried on Friday, two days earlier.

Yocheved is the mother of six children. Two are married. One is close to obtaining a smicha. Now she won’t be there to dance at the simchas for her other children. But, I do know that she’ll be there in spirit, smiling. That’s the last image I will have of her – smiling and at peace.

I also have to acknowledge just how important Yocheved was to my wife and I. It was Yocheved who went with my wife to purchase her first hair covering. It’s because of Rabbi Aharon that I started to wear Rabbeinu Tam tefillin.

Yocheved was also an inspiration. Yocheved enrolled in an undergraduate institution in Queens where she would be a double major – English and computers. This past semester, she had 3 A’s and one A-. It gave her such pleasure to learn to communicate with her children via e-mail.

What about her special salad dressing that she was famous for? This may sound silly, but that was a part of my oneg Shabbat.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

I’ve attended many funerals and being emotionally moved. However, this is the first funeral where I cried a running sink of tears.

I recall a lecture I attended that Ohr Sameach hosted. The esteemed talmid chacham, Rabbi Berel Wein was one of the speakers. He has a special speaking style and one thing he said was, “We want Mashiach now? What chutzpah?! Hashem decides when Mashiach will come!” I have to disagree. We as a Jewish nation have to demand his coming right away. The pain in this galut has to end.

There are times we can all recall Yocheved saying something in Georgian to many people as a point of encouragement. She’d scream, “Wake up, you ostriches. Mashiach is coming!”

Dan's pain and his emunah are deeply affecting. Baruch Dayan Emet.

Here is Kumah, the aliyah organization Dan is involved with.

Karen and I wish all our Seraphic Friends a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:36 AM | Comments (12)

February 27, 2007

The Guest Who Talks to Food

I'm attending a L'chaim for friends here in Los Angeles. For those of you who don't speak Yeshivish, a L'chaim is a low-key Orthodox engagement party. Friends and family gather, food is served, and the chosson, the groom, usually delivers a d'var Torah, a short Biblical exegesis that often thematically ties in The Parsha, the Torah Portion of the Week, the wonders of marriage, how lovely and smart the kallah, the bride is, and how blessed are both families — whew, that's a lot to pull together, but believe me, it's usually done with intellectual elegance and genuine feeling.

I have to attend this L'chaim without Karen because she's still in the eleven-month mourning period for her father ZT'L, and not permitted to attend public celebrations. Let me tell you, it's not easy for yours truly to go anywhere without the love of my life. I'm like some amputee, feeling phantom pain from the missing limb. But what I feel is a very real physical disconnect. It's like: who am I without Karen?

Answer: Spectral.

Anywhoo.

The family celebrating the simcha is one of the nicest, most prominent here in Jewish Los Angeles. They have a lovely home, they are incredibly generous to all charities, and they are active in most community Jewish affairs.

When I enter, the host, the Father of the Kallah hugs me and says: "My hero. I love this guy."

Everybody stares. They have no idea why this good and prominent man is hugging the local weird screenwriter.

Father of Kallah explains: "Robert writes the greatest blog ever. He tells it like it is."

Blank stares all around.

Here's the thing: Seraphic Secret is read world-wide, but completely ignored in my very own community.

My host smiles, releases me, and tells me to keep up the good work. I thank him for his support and wish him a huge mazal tov. He and his wife and all his children are really the good guys of the world. Rare people indeed. And I do not just say this because he's a reader of this blog. He's the real deal.

One of the local yentas flutters over to me.

Yenta: You have a website?
Me: Uh-huh.
Yenta: Gave up screenwriting, didja?
Me: I multi-task.
Yenta: What's your website, shopping and schlepping and all that mall stuff?
Me: Exactly.

Everybody from the Los Angeles Jewish community is here.

I stand by the pool chatting with my stockbroker. I have this huge urge to blather on about the day I decided to buy Apple stock and he sort of hesitated and now it's totally turbo-charging my portfolio.

"Where's Karen?"
"She's in avelut?"
"Right, sorry, I forgot."
"No problem."

I stand by the food table chatting with a cardiologist. I have this huge urge to tell him my theory that the only reason my heart still beats is because Karen loves me.

"Where's Karen?"
"She's in avelut"
"Oh yes, I knew that."

I stand in a corner, all by myself, yearning for Karen's presence. A good friend approaches.
"Saw that article about you in The Jerusalem Report."
"No kidding, you're the first."
"You come off kinda pompous. Hope you don't mind me saying."
"Karen thinks it's the most accurate article ever written about me."
"Then you're in real trouble."

The host calls everyone into the house. It's time for the chosson's d'var Torah.

It's really crowded. And moi mentally melts when in the presence of more than three people.

I hang in the backyard with the Mexican waiters, but I can still see and hear the chosson, a fine young Rabbinic student. He speaks clearly and articulately. His parents and sisters have tears puckering in their eyes. I do too.

I'm such a wuss.

Oh-oh. Someone is murmuring. Loudly. And it's not the Mexican waiters. They're totally cool and respectful.

I turn my gaze to the food table.

Oh boy.

It's one of the guests.

Sigh.

The Guest is talking to the food.

But I smile. I am happy. Because in any other community, in any other social set this Guest would probably be ignored. This Guest would never even be invited to such an event. But here in this lovely and generous community, this Guest is treated with love, respect and dignity.

I return home to Karen and tell her all about the evening, all about the Guest, and Karen wisely points out that:

"That Guest is the only person in this community who calls me Dr."
"True."

The Guest has genuine respect for Karen's Ph.D.

Abruptly, I remember something vital about the Guest:

"You know what the Guest calls me?"
"What?"
"Maestro Screenwriter."

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 03:06 PM | Comments (22)

January 17, 2007

Men Who Talk, Women Who Listen

"Have you been going out?"
"On dates?"
"Uh-huh."

Sarah heaves a weary sigh. It is Friday night. We have invited one of Karen's best friends to join us for Shabbos evening dinner. Sarah is a lovely woman: attractive, intelligent, articulate, well educated. A few years ago she went through a terrible divorce. Any other woman would be steeped in anger and resentment, but Sarah won't do that to herself, to her children. She just picked up the pieces of her life and soldiered on.

I adore Sarah. I also adore the home-baked challe, braided Shabbos loaves, she always brings when she comes for Shabbos dinner. Karen warms it up in the oven, and when I come home from shul the house is drenched in an aroma so delicious I feel dizzy.

"I don't skimp on the vanilla," Sarah confides to me as I bite into her challe, and lavishly compliment her baking skills.

Anyway, back to Sarah's date:

"I went out with a man and he just, well, he just talked the whole time."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we went to dinner, and he told me about his business, and then all about his children and his grandchildren -- in great detail."
"He never asked you about yourself?"
"No, not really."
"No interest in your life?"
"Apparently not."
"Did somebody set you up?" Karen asks.
"Oh, yes, friends, they thought it would be a very good match."
"Did you try and talk about yourself?" Karen probes.
"To what end? He was quite overbearing."

Sarah sips wine, and says: "I just don't know."

Karen and I exchange baffled looks. Personally, I hate talking about myself; I like nothing better than questioning others--especially women--then listening to them talk on and on about the details of their lives.

"Any other dates?" I ask.
"I'm afraid so."
"Spill."
"This one started out quite nicely, we met at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, in the Tea Room. It's so nice. Anyway, he started talking and it soon became clear that he was quite, what's the word? Miserable. Yes, that fits quite nicely."
"Miserable about what?" Karen asks.
"Everything. His whole world-view was so dour and negative. He went on and on about how awful this was and that was --"
"Did somebody set you up with him?" Karen asks.
"Yes, friends who thought he was very nice -- he is a physician, presumably appropriate."

Match-making is not for amateurs.

"He went on to tell me that his children no longer speak to him."
"What a shock," I say.
"Indeed," Sarah agrees. "At one point I even asked him if there's anything in his life that he's happy about, and he actually could not think of one single thing."
"What a catch," Karen observes.

Sarah falls silent.

"He did all the talking." I state the obvious.
"Mostly."
"You deserve better."
"Well..."
"It's going to happen for you," Karen says, "I'm optimistic."
"Are you really?"
Karen nods.
"Maybe it's me," Sarah muses.
"No. It. Is. Not." I separate my words like cobblestones.

"Were the men divorced or widowers?" Karen asks
"Divorced."
"Better off dating widowers," Karen advises. "They make much better prospects."
"Hey, that's a great idea for a comedy: a woman sets her sights on a man, only problem is he's married, she decides to bump off the wife and them move in on the bereaved husband."
Karen groans. "That is awful, Robert."
"I know. I'm sorry. I've been working in Hollywood way too long."

Sarah says: "I don't know, it's so hard for women my age. Men my age are looking for younger women, and...." Sarah hesitates. "Well, whatever happens it shall be fine."
"Do you really think so?"

Sarah smiles, but it's forced and lacks conviction.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:45 AM | Comments (36)

January 11, 2007

Petraeus: A Personal View

Seraphic Secret is blessed with ferociously intelligent readers and commenters, a high percentage of whom, we are proud to say, are members of our armed services, all branches, present and past, and all branches of The Israeli Defense Forces.

A close personal friend, and frequent commenter here on Seraphic Secret, is Maj. Virgil Hilts ( a pseudonyn, obviously, for the name is Steve McQueen's memorable character from The Great Escape.) Anyway, Maj. Hilts knows LTG Patraeus, has fought in Iraq with him, and would crawl through broken glass for the man.

Maj. Hilts has graciously jotted down his impressions of the man President Bush has just appointed as Commander of the Iraq War. We thank Maj. Hilts for this, and of course for his service.

*******

Your question asking what LTG Petraeus' promotion and assignment to MNFI (Multi National Force Iraq) will mean for the war effort is a tough one. Soldiers (officers and enlisted) either love him or hate him. I would crawl through broken glass for the man, and I believe that he our best chance for success in Iraq. I will offer a few observations, and leave it for you to decide if he can save a situation many now say is lost.

I met LTG Petraeus in September 2004, shortly after he took over the Iraqi Army's training. He needed proven combat arms leaders to reinforce the scratch team he inherited, so he begged, borrowed, and stole a number of us from a variety of stateside assignments.

My immediate boss in Iraq had just finished commanding an infantry battalion in the 101st Airborne Division, a friend with extensive service in the Rangers was pulled from Fort Benning, and I had previously done some work training armies in Asia and Latin America. We were three of many.

When I arrived, LTG Petraeus brought me into his office, told me his expectations, sincerely thanked me for my service, and sent me to the hottest city in Iraq. In every case, he found the right talent for the particular mission, and then made sure that we felt appreciated.

Robert's observation that Hollywood is based entirely upon personal relationships is applicable elsewhere, to include the Army, and LTG Petraeus is one of the few generals who instinctively understands this. A good number of gifted staff officers will be finding their way on to the MNFI staff over the next few months. All will be volunteers -- very few will be "yes men."

I went to a brigade specially recruited from veterans of the old Iraqi Army, so that we could quickly get Iraqis fighting and winning some of their own successes.

Our first fight was Second Fallujah, and despite the high visibility of the mission, we had less unhelpful "help" from his headquarters that I have had on many peacetime training exercises. Petraeus showed up to look us over shortly before we attacked the city, had dinner with us, and sent us on our way. Compared to many other generals, his entourage and security force was tiny.

Later, while my brigade helped to secure Mosul for the January 2005 elections, I watched him interact with local civilians, including many he had known when he was there a year earlier He looked as though he were running for mayor, and he would have won in a landslide. He also gave the media wide latitude to see what they wanted and report what they liked -- we all understood and could speak about our mission, but we had no artificial talking points we were expected to spoon feed them.

At a post-election Arab-style lunch with local political, military, and police leaders, I observed Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Trudy Rubin as she chatted with me and several second-tier Iraqi leaders (the head table had few Americans, and no reporters) about our operations. It rapidly became apparent that she was as impressed with LTG Petraeus as I am (she still is--read the column she wrote today). Other reporters were as well.

I am not optimistic enough to believe that Petraeus is likely to turn Sadr, Zawahiri, or the news media into U.S. style red-white-and-blue patriots, but do not discount the ripple effects of his engagement with the local population, and his willingness to answer questions plainly for reporters. I remember that he had the public approval of both Joe Biden and Donald Rumsfeld while we were in Iraq -- can't get much more diverse support than that! He must have true successes to communicate (fluff won't work), but he is more than able to communicate the ones that MNFI and Iraq get.

After he returned from Iraq, LTG Petraeus took command of the Army's staff college at Fort Leavenworth, an assignment widely regarded as a graveyard for generals who have outlived their usefulness. Far from dead, LTG Petraeus worked tirelessly with his staff and the Marines to create a joint counterinsurgency (COIN) center that is producing new doctrine for Iraq and future fights, and is sending out training teams to almost every US brigade before deployment to spend a week each trip teaching key leaders the fundamentals of fighting in a COIN environment. He is certain to redefine the role of MNFI within the first month of his command, taking it in directions nobody expects and dramatically improving its effectiveness.

How will LTG Petraeus fight the next phase of the war in Iraq?

I have no idea. I do believe that he will fight the war on its most important battlefields: the hearts of Iraqis and the minds of Americans, as actively as he will on the critical, though less important, field of battle.

He is undoubtedly the right man for this job.

Maj. Virgil Hilts

*******

Those who are interested in glimpsing LTG David Patraeu's thoughts regarding war and counterinsurgency should read this scholarly article by LTG Patraeus."Learning Counterinsurgency: Observations from Soldiering in Iraq."

Soccer Dad just sent us his link that has information about LTG Patraeus by the NY Time's John Burns.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:12 AM | Comments (12)

January 01, 2007

Seraphic Secret Simcha

It is with great joy and gratitude to HaShem that Seraphic Secret is pleased to announce that long time friend, reader and commenter Lance Fogel, who recently made aliyah to Eretz Yisroel, is engaged to be married to Cigal Shene. The entire Seraphic Secret community wishes the fine couple a huge mazal tov.

Here's the page from only simchas.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:49 AM | Comments (5)

December 15, 2006

Seeking Home

"This is the story of a boy. He’s 12 years old. He was removed from his home when he was three. Since then, he has lived in five or six homes, I’ve lost track. He lived with us for a couple of years. For the past three years, he has lived in institutional residences to treat certain psychiatric and emotional issues..."

Seraphic Friend MoChassid posts about a foster child who is looking for a home of his own.

You may not be aware of it, but there are Jewish foster children out there who need love, who need homes; children who come from broken homes, unstable environments, and abusive parents.

Maybe you can help.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:43 AM | Comments (2)

December 08, 2006

"You Like Me!"

Seraphic friend David Bogner AKA Treppenwitz, has been nominated for the Weblog Awards, apparently quite a big deal. David writes a fantastic blog and c'mon a few clicks and you can make him gush like you-know-who on Oscar night: "You like me, you really like me."

Mazal Tov, David! Well deserved.

Karen and I wish all our friends a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 02:59 PM | Comments (0)

Paul Revere in Shul

Okay, the Iraq Study Group is out and it's a replay of Munich 1938. James Baker wants to have a Middle East forum--without Israel. Lebanon's government is about to be wiped out and replaced by Hizbullah, Iran is hosting an international forum of, ahem, "scholars" to determine if the Holocaust really happened, and these same people are racing towards an Islamic bomb; and let's see what other horrors are threatening western civilization?

Cologne in shul.

More specifically, as it is so clevely labeled in Marisha Pessl's fine novel Special Topic in Calamity Physics: Paul Revere Cologne, because it announces itself a good two minutes before the man doused in it makes an appearance.

I daven, pray, at the early minyan, quorum, of Young Israel of Century City. We start at 7:15, only two or three women ever come to this minyan, so perfume is not a problem, one of the reasons I started attending the early minyan ten years ago.

Perfume, need I say it, gives me migraines.

Oh, how wonderful the early minyan was. No chatting. No speeches. Just real serious davening, and every week our Rabbi came and gave a wonderful D'var Torah, exegisis on the Portion of the Week.

But several years ago--cue a foreshadowing musical sting here--Something Happened!

Prepare yourselves for a wild cultural generalization.

No offence intended, but --

-- but what is it with Persian men and cologne? It's always the Persian men who are absolutely drenched in the stuff.

The scent is so powerful that I can actually taste the cologne on the tip of my tongue.

The scent is so powerful that my head starts to throb and I get a migraine aura in about ten-seconds flat.

I'm not kidding, it's sheer torture.

I mentioned it, really politely, all culturally sensitive, you'd think I was a whiny Liberal, to one of the Persian men, he looked at me, smiled hugely and said: "It smell so nice. You cannot have problem."

Case closed.

I don't get it. Why do men want to smell like, well, a bordello?

Not that I've ever been in a bordello, but I'm using a literary cliche here.

Or, how about this:

Why do Persian men want to smell like, well, women?

Cheap women.

Not that I'm on intimate terms with cheap women.

Just using another literary cliche here.

Sheesh. I better quit with the cliches.

Here's what happens: I sit in my seat. The fragrance wafts towards me, like a gross John Carpenterish fog, and then a few seconds later, a Persian man arrives and plops down in the seat right next to me. He smells like a field of rotten flowers. I'm pretty sure I'm going to upchuck in about a minute -- so I crawl to another seat on the far side of the Beis Midrash. I get dirty looks from the Persian man: "What, you're too good to sit next to me?"

This happens quite often. Actually, almost every Shabbos.

Anyway, the shul sent out a Polite But Firm Perfume Memo a few weeks ago asking women to go easy on the perfume, because quite a few members have fragrance allergies. Truth is the shul was enveloped in a scrim-like haze so thick, so sweet, it was absolutely nauseating, like a poppy field in Afghanistan -- a veritable public health hazard.

But guess what? The Persian men have paid no attention to the Polite But Firm Perfume Memo. They continue to slather it on by the gallon. I guess they figure perfume and cologne are entirely separate categories, and thus they are exempt from the Polite But Firm Perfume Memo.

I'm thinking of wearing nose-plugs to shul. Or starting a break-away No Perfume, No Cologne Minyan.

But really, what is it with Persian men?

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:22 AM | Comments (20)

November 10, 2006

Project Valour

Project Valour IT is still on and Team Air Force needs your help! Help us make our fund-raising goal to provide voice-controlled laptop computers to wounded Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines recovering from hand and arm injuries or amputations at home or in military hospitals. The team is lagging behind. This is the weekend to pitch in. If you've already given, reach in and give a little more. If you haven't given, what are you waiting for!?

Donating to this cause is a tremendous mitzvah. Please give generously to this important tzedakah before Shabbos.

And I hope to see you at the Liberty Film Festival, Hollywood's only Conservative Film Festival. I'll be appearing on a panel with Michael Medved, David Zucker and Frank Price on Sunday Nov 12, at 2:45 where we'll be discussing Hollywood and Israel.

You can buy tickets here.

Karen and I wish all our readers a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:32 PM | Comments (4)

Happy Birthday!

Happy 231st Birthday to the US Marine Corps. And a tremendous thanks to all who have served under their proud banner! Mazal Tov!

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:26 AM | Comments (2)

November 08, 2006

Going Home

"Well, if you want to make an announcement, I'm letting you know that I have been officially accepted into the Nefesh B' Nefesh program, and I will be making aliyah on Dec. 26, 2006."

Seraphic Friend and frequent commenter Lance, sent me this note a few days ago. Yes, Lance has been in Israel arranging to make aliyah, literally, to "go up," that's how Jews think of going home to Israel.

We wish Lance a huge Mazal Tov and hope that he will keep us up-to-date on the progress of his aliyah, of his new life.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:12 AM | Comments (5)

October 30, 2006

Project Valour

From Seraphic Friend John at the fine military blog Op For comes this story about Project Valour:

Project Valour - IT, in memory of SFC William V. Ziegenfuss, provides voice-controlled laptop computers to wounded Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines recovering from hand and arm injuries or amputations at home or in military hospitals. Operating laptops by speaking into a microphone, our wounded heroes are able to send and receive messages from friends and loved ones, surf the 'Net, and communicate with buddies still in the field without having to press a key or move a mouse. The experience of CPT Charles "Chuck" Ziegenfuss, a partner in the project who suffered severe hand wounds while serving in Iraq, illustrates how important this voice-controlled software can be to a wounded service member's recovery.

Click here to read the rest of this story and to make an important contribution.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:33 PM | Comments (2)

The History of Things

"Nice bag." I say.
"Y'like? It's a Judith Lieber, but I didn't pay full price. No way. Uh-ugh. No, y'see, I got this great deal because they had a private sale at Saks. It was unbelievable, close to 40% off. Can you believe it?"
"Unbelievable."
"Only problem is..."
"Yes?"
"I can only carry like two aspirin in the bag it's so small."
"Yeah, but it shimmers."
Allison's face lights up with true joy.

It's Sunday morning and I'm attending a bar mitzvah here in Beverly Hills.

I'm alone.

Karen is in avelut, the year of mourning after her father's ZT'L death. Thus, she's not allowed to attend any functions where there will be public diplays of joy.

Without Karen, I get bored and twitchy, and I decide to indulge in a totally useless social experiment nourished by my eye for aesthetics. Actually, it started by accident. I complimented one of my friends on her Hermes scarf. Oddly enough, she gave me the long tortuous history of its purchase. Hmm, that's interesting, I thought. And so I moved on to a few other women from my community and proceeded to compliment some of their... things.

"Hey, Esther, cool shoes."
"You like 'em? Jimmy Choo. And I didn't pay full price. No way. Got 'em on sale. Nordstrom's. Actually, they have some kind of defect in the leather, but it's so small you like need a microscope to see it."
"Killer heels."
"Tell me about it. My arches are killing me. I'm practically crippled. But hey, are they gorgeous or what?"
She yells to her husband: "Hey Moshe, Robert likes my Jimmy Choo's!"
Moshe grunts, "Mazal Tov."

"Malky, nice outfit."
"Well, doesn't Karen have you nicely trained. Loehmann's, naturally. You think I'm like these other women, I'm gonna run to Saks and pay full price? What am I a moron? Look at the lining, silk, the stitiching. Ex-quisite. It's definitely D&G. You wanna know what I paid? I can't even tell you. It's almost a crime."

I tell Sarah that her Victorian-style earrings are beautiful.
"Antique. I got them upstate Vermont about fifteen years ago from this little pisher shop. They were all tarnished and broken but I saw immediately that they were special. You know how much I paid for them? You couldn't even begin to guess. Twenty-five dollars. Can you believe that price or what? I showed them to an auctioneer from Christie's and he said they were worth like fifty-times that much."
"They're right out of a Masterpiece Theater."
"Totally! That's what I tell my shmegegie husband, but he says: what's Masterpiece Theater? Well, I can tell, Karen's taught you well!"

I sit at my table. Next to me is a friend from shul. He's wearing a really nice Cartier Roadster.

"Nice watch, Alan."
"Yeah," Alan shrugs, completely uninterested.

Alan rises to get in line for the buffet.
I notice that Alan's wife is carrying a great hand-knit bag that must have cost the earth.

"Nice bag, Eleanor."
Eleanor's face lights up. "You noticed. Bless you. Let me tell you about this bag..."

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:09 AM | Comments (24)

September 15, 2006

Oriana Fallaci: 1929 -- 2006

One of the most eloquent, prophetic and anti-Jihadist voices of this generation has just passed away.

Oriana Fallaci was a woman of the left, but because she stood for truth above all, she was demonized by her former comrades. The left in Europe and in America are faithful apologists for terrorists and jihadists. Fallaci's enemies could not, would not forgive her uncompromising stand against Islamic fascists.

Fallaci never stopped accusing the European left of being what they are: spineless appeasers and Jew-haters.

Fallaci understood that the West is in a life and death struggle with radical Islam and their fellow travelers. She correctly perceived that Europe is a dying beast -- and for this belief she was excoriated by the chattering classes in the European capitals.

Some major bookstores refused to carry her books; she was labeled a fascist, an ideological traitor.

Seraphic Friend Jeremiah has posted a lovely tribute to La Fallaci.

And here, from Pajamas Media, are many, many more fine memorials for this great woman.

And finally, on Friday nights, Shabbos evening, in every Jewish home all over the world, the husband sings the Eishes Chayil, The Accomplished Woman, to his wife.

Here is the opening verse which I offer as a memorial for Oriana Fallaci:

An accomplished woman, who can find?
Far beyond pearls is her value.
Her husband's heart relies on her
and he shall lack no fortune.

*****

Here are the first few pages of her magnificent book, The Force of Reason.

"I don't like to say that Troy is burning. That Europe is by now a province of Islam or rather a colony of Islam and Italy an outpost of that province, a stronghold of that colony. Saying this amounts to admitting that the Cassandras really do talk to the wind, that in spite of their screams of pain the blind remain blind, the deaf remain deaf, consciences reawoken soon relapse into sleep, and the Mastros Cecco die for nothing. But the truth is just this. From the Strait of Gibraltar to the fjords of Soroy, from the cliffs of Dover to the beaches of Lampedusa, from the steppes of Volgograd to the valleys of the Loire and the hills of Tuscany, the fire is spreading. In each one of our cities there is a second city. A city superimposed and equal to the one that in the Seventies thousands and thousands of Palestinians set up in Beirut installing a State within a State. A government within the goverrnment. A Muslim city, a city ruled by the Koran. An Islamic expansion's stage. The expansionism that no-one has ever managed to overcome. No-one. Not even the armies of Napoleon. Because it is the only art in which the sons of Allah have always excelled, the art of invading and conquering and subjugating. Their most coveted prey has always been Europe, the Christian world, and shall we run a rapid eye over the History that Mr. Doudou would like to control or rather cancel?

"It was in 635 AD, that is three years after Mohammed's death, that the armies of the Crescent Moon invaded Christian Syria and Christian Palestine. It was in 638 that they took Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchure. It was in 640 that after conquering Persia and Armenia and Mesopotamia, present-day Iraq, they invaded Christian Egypt and overran Christian Maghreb. That is, the present Tunisia and Algeria and Morocco. It was in 668 that for the first time they attacked Constantinople and laid a siege that would last five years. It was in 711 that after crossing the Strait of Gibralter they landed in the most Catholic Iberian Peninsula, took possession of Portugal and Spain where despite the Pelayos and the Cid Campeadors and the other warriors engaged in the Reconquest they remained for no less than eight centuries. And whoever believes in the myth of peaceful coexistence that marked the relationships between the conquered and the conquerors should reread the stories of the burned convents and monestaries, of the profaned churches, of the raped nuns, of the Christian or Jewish women abducted to be locked away in their harems. He should ponder on the crucifixioins of Cordoba, the hangings of Grenada, the beheadings of Toledo and Barcelona, of Seville and Zamora. (The beheadings of Seville, ordered by Mutamid: the king who used those severed heads, heads of Jews and Christians, to adorn his palace. The beheadings of Zamora, ordered by Almanzor: the vizier who was called the-patron-of-the-philosophers, the greatest leader Islamic Spain has ever produced). Christ! Invoking the name of Jesus meant instant execution. Crucifixion, of course, or decapitation or hanging or impalement. Ringing a bell, the same. Wearing green, the colour exclusive to Islam, also. And when a Muslim passed by, every Jew and Christian was obliged to step aside. To bow. And mind to the Jew or the Christian who dared react to the insults of a Muslim. As for the much-flaunted detail that the infidel-dogs were not obliged to convert to Islam, not even encouraged to do so, do you know why they were not? Because those who converted to Islam did not pay taxes. Those who refused, on the contrary, did.

"From Spain, in 721 AD, they passed into the no less Catholic France. Led by Abd al-Rahman, the Governor of Andalusia, they crossed the Pyrenees and took Narbonne. There they massacred the entire male population, enslaved all the women and children, then proceeded towards Carcassonne. From Carcassonne they were to Nimes where they slaughtered nuns and friars. From Nimes they went to Lyons and Dijon where they pillaged every single church... And do you know how long their advance in France lasted? Eleven years. In waves. In 731 a wave of three hundred and eighty thousand infantry and sixteen thousand cavalry reached Bordeaux which surrendered at once. Then from Bordeaux it moved to Poitiers, from Poitiers it moved to Tours and, if in 732 Charles Martel had not won the battle of Poitiers-Tours, today the French too would dance the flamenco. In 827 they landed in Sicily, another target of their voraciousness. Massacring, beheading, impaling, crucifying as usual, they conquered Syracuse and Taormina the Messina and Palermo, and in three-quarters of a century (which is what it took to break the proud resistance of the Sicilians) they Islamized the island. They stayed for over two centuries, in Sicily: until they werre cleared out by the Normans. But in 836 they landed at Brindisi. In 840, at Bari. And they Islamized Puglia too. In 841 they landed at Ancona. Then from the Adriatic they moved back to the Tyrrhenian Sea and in the summer of 846 landed at Ostia. They sacked it, they burned it, and moving upriver from the mouth of the Tiber they reached Rome. They laid siege to it and one night they burst in. They plundered the basilicas of St. Peter and St. Paul, sacked both, and to get rid of them Pope Sergius II had to stipulate an annual tribute of twenty-five thousand pieces of silver. To prevent further attacks, his successor Leon IV had to erect the Leonine Walls.

"Having left Rome, though, they descended on Campania. They stayed there for seventy years destroying Montecassino and tormenting Salerno. A city where, at one time, they amused themselves by sacrificing a nun's virginity every night. Do you know where? On the cathedral's altar. In 898 they landed in Provence. To be precise, in present-day St. Tropez. They settled there, and in 911 crossed the Alps to enter Piedmont. They occupied Turin and Casale, set fire to all the churches and libraries, killed thousands of Christians, then went to Switzerland. Here they reached the Graubunden valley and the lake of Geneva. Then, put off by the snow, did an about-turn and returned to the warm climate of Provence. In 940 they occupied Toulon where they settled and... Today it's fashionable to beat our breast over the Crusades. To blame the West for the Crusades. To see the Crusales as an injustice committed to the detriment of the poor-innocent-Muslims. But before being a series of expeditions to regain possession of the Holy Sepulchure that is of Jerusalem (which had been taken by the Muslims, remember, not by my aunt), the Crusades were the response to four centuries of invasions and occupations. They were a counter-offensive to stem Islamic expansionism in Europe. To deflect it, mors tua vita mea, towards the Orient (meaning India and Indonesia and China) then towards the whole African continent and towards Russia and Siberia where the Tartars converted to Islam were already crushing the followers of Christ. At the conclusion of the Crusades, in fact, the sons of Allah resumed their persecutions as before and more than before.

"By the hand of the Turks, this time. The Turks who were about the prepare the birth to the Ottoman Empire. An empire that until 1700 would concentrate on the West all of its greed: turn Europe into its favourite battlefield. Interpreters and bearers of that greed, the famous Janissaries who still today enrich our language with the synonym of killer fanatic assassin. And do you know who the Janissaries actually were? The chosen troops of the Empire, the super-soldiers as capable of self-immolation as of fighting and massacring and sacking. Do you know where they were recruited or rather pressed into service? In the countries subjugated by the Empire. In Greece, for example, or in Bulgaria, in Romania, in Hungary, in Albania, in Serbia. Often in Italy too, along the coasts plied by their pirates. Those coasts where still today you can see the remains of the watchtowers used for spotting their arrival and warning the towns and villages. And where still resounds the echo of the scream which today is used as a mockery but at that time was a cry of terror and despair: *Mamma, li turchi! Mother, the Turks!. They abducted those killers to be at the age of eleven or twelve, together with even younger children to punt in the seraglios of the sultans and viziers given to paedophilia, and they chose them from the best-looking and strongest of the important families' firstborns. After the conversion they shut them in the military barracks and here, forbidding them to have any kind of amorous or affectionate relations, marriage included, they indoctrinated them as not even Hitler would indoctrinate his Waffen SS. They turned them into the most formidable fighting machine the world has seen since Roman times."

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:00 AM | Comments (10)

August 07, 2006

Caution: Fuses Sizzling!

Hemingway famously said that the one great subject matter of literature is: war. Well, Papa did not have the pleasure of reading Treppenwitz's oddball tale of sending his children to the "Family Compund in Connecticut" and the Marx Bros. style Israeli bureacracy that stands in the way of this blissfull vacation.

Here at Seraphic Secret we believe in leavening the grim war news with laughter and irony. No matter what, we insist on being happy people. We smile in the face of the lunatics who want to destroy us. We make fun of their religious and cultural pretentions. At the core, barbarians amuse us with their sweaty bluster.

Anywhoo.

Witness as David, AKA Treppenwitz, pops internal fuses, one after the other, as the mysterious Israeli "travel sticker" haunts his every waking moment.

This is what happens when a country is founded by whacky Russian Socialists.

This post is destined to become a classic.

Click here to read the entire hysterical tale.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 04:44 PM | Comments (7)

July 14, 2006

Seraphic Quiz

Okaaaay, Seraphic friends, a little Seraphic Quiz.

It is the capital of the country that the Israelis should bomb to attach consequences to the actions of Hizballah, (translation: Army of God,) which the MSM prefers to spell Hezbollah for fear of telling anyone what their name means, even though it doesn’t even sound like that in Arabic.

The nation in question is the the gatekeeper of Hizballah's funds and weapons, and permits their cooperation of persons from a third country to assist them in combat.

Click here for an aerial view of said city.

Hat Tip: Our Jeremiah.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 01:54 PM | Comments (2)

We Interrupt This War...

When our son Ariel was in the hospital, conservative talk show host Larry Elder was kind enough to visit Ariel. Ariel adored Larry, learned much from his program and smiled for hours after his visit. Larry wrote this article after Ariel was niftar.

Larry and I have maintained a friendship ever since. He is a good man, a close friend to Israel, and to the Jewish people.

It is my sad duty to report that his beloved mother Viola passed away yesterday.

Viola was a weekly guest on Larry's show where her common sense wisdom and good cheer were a great source of comfort to millions of listeners.

She will be sorely missed.

Karen and I offer Larry our sincerest condolences.

Viola: Rest in Peace.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:01 AM | Comments (5)

July 07, 2006

Hey Kids, Let's Put on a Blog!

How to express what we are feeling, what we are thinking?

How to harvest those special interests we have privately nurtured for years, for decades; the hobbies and avocations our parents assured us are silly, unrealistic, positively useless.

What to do:
With the white-hot outrage...
With the bottomless grief...
With the endless love...

More precisely: where to plaster these thoughts, musings, suggestions, less than precise ponderings?

What to do, and where to do it?

Chapter One

In May of 2004, bereft over Ariel's ZT'L death, our good and generous friend Jackie Danicki gently convinced us to go online, to begin blogging, hence Seraphic Secret.

This blog, this forum of all things Seraphic has altered our lives.

Our readers, our commenters, our Seraphic community provides friendship and nechama, condolence, when, at times, it appears that these qualities have been leeched from the universe.

One of our great pleasures as Seraphic Secret becomes less of a secret is to see some of our faithful readers create their own blogs. Often, they will tell us that we have inspired them.

In those words we find happiness, we find contentment.

Karen and I feel like Godfathers to Pearl, one of our first and most generous reader/commentors, whose Pearlies of Wisdom is one of the most beautifully written personal blogs in the Jewish world.

Pearl looks at her family and community and discovers, well, the Universe. Every morning, after I daven, after I eat breakfast, before I check my mail, before I read any other blog, I check in with Pearl, for it is good to begin the day with a poetic view of domestic life; a view that is both simple yet profoundly soulful. Also: look for Pearl's whacky wordplay; this woman cannot resist.

Chapter Two

The next Seraphic Secret reader to go off on her own was Randi, our Cruisin' Mom, whose glorious blog is at its very best when she dreamily takes us back to her Valley childhood.

These are innocent days of golden California sunshine, red Corvettes, big surf boards, and exciting trips to Westwood. Cruisin' Mom surprises with her offbeat humor. She's the Seinfeld of the Jewish bloggers in that she weaves narrative out of, well, seemingly nothing.

In truth, she's become such a crafty writer that she's able to bluff. You're caught up in the Southern California narrative--and you don't even know it. I have to tell you, as a professional writer, I sometimes marvel at her ability to pull it off.

Cruisin' Mom also hits powerful emotional buttons because her idyllic world splits like tree bark when her beloved father suddenly dies when she is but 10-years-old.

And absolutely don't miss Cruisin' Mom's hysterical entry about going shooting with yours truly for the very first time. Here, this innocent soccer mom, this rabidly anti NRA liberal Democrat turns into a trigger-happy, gun crazed femme fatale. It's a classic.

Chapter Three

He was a committed revolutionary Communist, a fanatic devoted to the overthrow of the American way of life. Baruch HaShem, he came to his senses, realized that he was in league with a most evil and destructive ideology and started on the path of a Baal Teshuva.

It was but a year ago that Seraphic friend Jeremiah began commenting on Seraphic Secret. Immediately, his unique literary style attracted attention. Jeremiah, it was clear to all Seraphic friends, was and is, an original and really, the comments section just seemed too small, too confining for his considerable intellectual powers.

Now, we have Jeremayakovka.

The blog's name?

Here's Jeremiah's explanation:"Its concept emerges from the three valiant personalities from whom I've fashioned its name, out of which I intend to shape its substance: the prophet Jeremiah, poet Vladimir Mayakovsky, and novelist Franz Kafka."

Okaaaay. Not too ambitious.

Jeremiah's blog is, how to say this without overstating the case? It's like a sniper's bullet. The prose is elegant, sharply worded, and always aimed at the hard and cruel heart of leftist American and European intellectuals--vile creatures our Jeremiah knows intimately. And of course, his sniper's scope is always trained on the Jihadists. As a former Marxist revolutionary, our Jeremiah is acutely familiar with tyranny in all its terrible incarnations.

Don't know why, but Jeremiah almost always ends up as: our Jeremiah.

Regarding the last California vote, when I queried our Jeremiah about casting his very first Republican ballot, his response was: "It was a hoot."

Chapter Four

For years, my father was Rabbi of a small shul in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. His loyal and incredibly forceful President was Mr. David Kinsberg, Z'L. Not more than five feet, three inches tall, Mr. Kinsberg loomed huge over my father's congregation. A passionate and opinionated man, our President had absolutely no qualms about wielding his power for the good of Israel and Torah--as he saw it.

When my father gave an Emergency Appeal for Israel and the wealthiest man in shul made his public pledge, Mr. Kinsberg could be heard sighing under his breath--extremely loudly: "You call that a pledge!?" And inevitably our wealthy congregant raised his pledge.

My father, after shul, invited Mr. Kinsberg to our home, ostensibly for a L'chaim, but really to take Mr. Kinsberg aside and gently suggest that maybe, just maybe publicly humiliating another congregnant was not exactly the correct thing to do.

And Mr. Kinsberg, with a big, infectious smile just slapped my father on the back and said: "Rabbi Avrech, that cheap so-and-so wouldn't give a dime if we didn't do what we do in public. Tell you the truth, for Eretz Yisroel I'd humiliate the so-and-so in Times Square!"

So-and-so. This is not some modest effort to cloak foul language. It is the language Mr. Kinsberg used when he wanted to use foul language.

Anyway, my father smiled. He just couldn't help it. He adored Mr. Kinsberg. He loved his President. To me he said, on more than one occasion: "I'm a lucky Rabbi to have such a congregational President."

And to me Mr. Kinsberg said: "Robert, do you know how lucky this shul is to have your father as a Rav? I 'm probably the only person in this shul with brains enough to realize what a gadol your father is."

And so, it was something of a pleasant and unexpected shock when I started reading comments signed by one: Ari Kinsberg. The writing was passionate, powerful and, well, opinionated; always brimming with Torah and an incredible love of Eretz Yisroel.

Could this Ari Kinsberg be related to...?

Deep in my gut, I knew the answer even before I wrote and posed the question.

Yes, this was David Kinsberg's grandson. My father's esteemed President's grandson had become a Seraphic Secret reader and commenter. And now Ari Kinsberg writes an absolutely dazzling blog, titled, oddly enough: Ari's Blog.

But listen Seraphic friends, and this is absolutely crucial: do not tell Mrs. Ari about Mr. Ari's Blog.

Mrs. Ari feels that Mr. Ari spends far too much time, as it is, reading blogs, and commenting on blogs, and Mrs. Ari does not want Mr. Ari to start his own blog. In fact, Mrs. Ari has a sneaking suspicion that if Mr. Ari is in charge of his very own web space Mrs. Ari and all their Little Aris will see even less of their beloved Mr. Ari.

And so, though I'm a great believer of honesty in marriage, of solid communication, all that good Dr. Phil stuff, I also feel it my civic and Zionist duty to support an absolutely top-notch blog.

So, if you happen to know Mrs. Ari, and if you happen to run into Mrs. Ari and if the conversation just happens to somehow be about blogging and bloggers, well, just, um... lie.

Yeah, that'll work.

I'm especially fond of Ari's Ratings system. Unfortunately, and quite inexplicably he has it posted at the very end of his blog so those coming without a photographic memory will be at a complete loss.

Memo to Ari: Post the Ratings Guidelines at the top of the blog, on your sidebar for instant reference. It's brilliant, why do you have it buried in no man's land?

Here they are:

Rating Advisory Explained and Guidelines for Comments Ratings.

Each post will be preceded by a "Rating Advisory" to warn readers concerning the nature of the post they will encounter.

B=Benign
C=Controversial
DYDPANC=Don't You Dare Post Any Negative Comments
P=Polemical

Chapter Five

If you're a Seraphic Secret reader. If you're a Seraphic Secret reader and commenter. Or if you're just a Seraphic Secret lurker...

...think about starting your own blog. Think about that one chamber in your heart, that one corner of your mind that we should know about. It's uniquely yours, uniquely your own to share.

The blogosphere has changed the world, is changing the world, and the rules of discourse. No longer can Dan Rather lie and get away with it. No longer can The NY Times commit sedition and easily skate past it. No longer can Presbyterian church antiSemites bully their membership into divesting from Israel. All this and more are the battleground that the blogosphere is fighting -- and winning.

It's also a place where I can etch in words the whacky narrative of How I Married Karen.

Karen and I wish you all a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:38 AM | Comments (31)

April 30, 2006

The Steven Vincent Foundation

Last week was a difficult time for Lisa Ramaci.

It was a year ago, on April 24, that Lisa last hugged her husband Steven Vincent goodbye and watched as he went off to seek truth in Iraq. There, this good and talented man was kidnapped with his translator, Nour Weidi. Steven was horribly tortured for over five long hours and finally murdered in cold blood. Nour, a lively and poetic young woman, survived--but just barely. Steven's book, In the Red Zone, is the best summation of post-war Iraq I have yet to read.

Lisa and I speak to one another by e-mail. I have told her of my grief for Ariel and she has told me about Steven. We have prayed alone and together for those we have lost.

The other day, Lisa sent me this most important interview she did about The Steven Vincent Foundation.

Most of us are probably not aware that there are brave journalists out there who are risking their lives every single day in pursuit of the truth. Yes, there are men and women with integrity, old fashioned values, who are not sitting in comfortable hotels and letting "freelancers" get shot at, do all the dirty work for them.

Let's not lose sight of the fact that not all journalists are hacks working for the Mainstream Media.

By the way, I want to draw your attention to an absolutely superb story about free-lancer and kidnap victim Jill Carroll, that exposes the truth about how the Mainstream Media uses and abuses free lance journalists. This two-part series is by new Seraphic friend David Paulin, at his new blog The Big Carnival. David's a former free lance journalist so he knows exactly what he's talking about.

Here's Part One.
Here's Part Two.

The days of the MSM are fast coming to a close, like dinosaurs they are roaring, trying to convince us and themselves that they are still relevant, still vital, but read Lisa's words, read Steven Vincent's blog and you'll fast understand that the MSM is dead, they just don't know it yet.

And of course, as Seraphic friend Michael Jennings has pointed out on many occassions, the business model that modern newspapers operate under is positively stuck in the 19th century and simply cannot hope to compete in the new global marketplace.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 01:11 PM | Comments (18)

April 28, 2006

Out of the Shadows

Efraim Halevy, former head of the Mossad, is in the Unites States promoting his new book, Man in the Shadows and making far too few appearances in the media. Apparently, Halevy's simple and politically quite unPC message is not a favorite of the liberal producers who dominate the airwaves of MSM, and so he has not been booked as often as one would expect from the former head of one of the most important, sophisticated and feared intelligence services in the world.

I have not yet read Halevy's book, but as soon as I do I will review it here. I have heard that it is superb.

The other night, I caught Halevy on Charlie Rose, where Brian Ross, sitting in for Rose, tried desperately and none too subtly, to get Halevy to denounce the American effort in Iraq.

Halevy was having none of it; elegantly and eloquently he made the case for America's aggressive war on Islamic terror. I'm quoting from memory here, but Halevy's main strategic thinking was: for America to prevail over this world-wide Islamic pansurgency she has no choice but to bring the fight to their shores, to Afghanistan and Iraq, to whatever land gives support to these barbarians.

The middle east, Halevy repeated starkly, is the fulcrum of the battle for western civilization.

To fight this war in America would be, Halevy stated, a disaster; the only way to fight and to win this life and death struggle is to slug it out on their soil.

Brian Ross looked absolutely stunned. Clearly, here was a man mugged by sanity.

As for Spielberg's "Munich," Halevy sighed wearily and dismissed it as a silly Hollywood fantasy having nothing to do with any reality whatsoever. And anyone who knows anything about the Mossad, about the aftermath of the Munich Massacre, of the Israeli retaliations against the Arabs terrorists, will nod their heads in agreement and dismiss the wretched Spielberg/Kushner collaboration, as did the American public; good people who know better than to equate Arab terrorists with Jewish victims.

Seraphic friend Irina Tsukerman has a fine write-up on her always excellent blog, The IgNoble Experiment, of Halevy's main points.

***

Seraphic Secret will be updated over the next few days, so if you experience any problems, the updating of Movable Type will, no doubt, be the reason. We have been flooded by spam over the past few weeks and we must take measures to control this form of cyber terror. How we hate these twisted creatures who send out these mass offers for pornography, Viagra and other strange drugs, questionable mortgages and G-d knows what else for we want none of it and we're pretty sure neither do you, and that is why we are working so hard to update our site so as to protect you, your family and loved ones from these crooked cyber creeps; and that's why this sentence is so long and overwrought and verges on becoming Proustian, but look we're tired and Shabbos beckons, so we just want to warn you again that Seraphic Secret might not be all she should be over the next few days so have patience, and just remember that what we're doing we're doing for you because without you we are nothing.

Karen and I wish all our Seraphic friends a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:28 PM | Comments (15)

April 26, 2006

What G-d Sends

"You know that I didn't want my son to join the army."

I nod. I'm having lunch with a friend from the film industry. We're not close friends, more like acquaintances, but Frank (not his real name) has asked to meet with me and of course I agree.

Ashen, that's the best way to describe his complexion. His son has just been rotated out of the Iraq and I expect Frank to be happy and relieved. But on the contrary, Frank seems more weighed down by sadness than when his son was in the war zone.

"The thing is, my son, he's just not doing well. Hell, he's in bad shape.
"You think he needs help, therapy?"
Frank shrugs.
"Did you suggest it to him?"
"I brought it up..."
"And?"
Frank shakes his head, hopelessly.
"You think it was the war?"
"Nah, he wasn't even in combat. He had, ah, problems before. We never wanted him to enlist. Never."
There is a long pause. Frank toys with his salad, stares out the window. He looks like he's about to weep.
"You know what somebody told me the other day?"
"What?"
"That G-d never sends us more than we can bear."
I take a deep breath.
"Frank, I'm here to tell you that that is simply not true. Every single day G-d sends us tragedies that are simply intolerable."
Frank looks at me.
"You'd know, huh?"
I look at him and nod my head, just once, but with perfect conviction.

Lunch is over and we step outside, wait for our cars.
"Kids, they just don't come with a how-to-manual, do they?"
He takes my hand, squeezes tight and thanks me.
"So, G-d really does send us stuff that's unbearable?"
"Every minute of every day."
"That's good, I feel much better. Weird, huh?"
"Not at all."
Frank hops into his Jag and roars away.

Somewhere in America, Frank's son is sitting in a hotel room, on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, trying to keep it from exploding.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:24 AM | Comments (50)

April 25, 2006

Yom Ha Shoah and M16's

This fine post from WestBankMama who now handles her M16 with proper care and respect. Thanks to our friend Jeremiah for bringing this to my attention by way of Solomonia.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:08 PM | Comments (15)

A Cry From the Heart

On this Yom Ha Shoah, I want to bring your attention to an amazing article written by Orly Wiesel, an emergency room physician in Israel. It comes from a superp blog The Augean Stables which was brought to my attention by our new friend David Paulin of The Big Carnival.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:56 AM | Comments (12)

April 16, 2006

Shanghai Jews

This from Seraphic Friend Michael Jennings who recently spent some time in Shanghai and was delighted to discover that here was a place where Jews were rescued during WWII.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:14 AM | Comments (9)

April 10, 2006

Hamas's Script

Karen and I had Shabbos lunch with a group of people, one of whom is a sort of roving Jewish diplomat. He's one of those behind-the-scenes men who seems to know just everybody.

The conversation, naturally, turned to Israel, and our friend explained that we would no longer hear any talk from Hamas about a separate Palestinian state. From now on, the new tactic they will follow will be "the single state solution." i.e. the the end of the state of Israel replaced by a, get this, "democratic Palestinian State."

This blog has been saying since its inception that the Palis have absolutely no interest in building a state, only destroying Israel. The PA went about this by stealth. Hamas will attempt to do it openly, in stages.

So, the next time you find yourself talking to an academic or a European, the conversation is going to go something like this:

You: We believe in a Jewish State, do you?
Them: Yes, most certainly, but will it be a Democracy?
You: Yes.
Them: Then you'll have no objection to allowing all Palestinian refugees to return and vote, correct?
You: No, we would like to have Jewish State.
Them: Ah, so you're nothing but a racist!

That's the script being written. Never mind that there are already twenty-two Arab/Islamic countries that are Judenrein; that Christians are a persecuted minority in almost every Arab country.

It's an astonishing phenomenon when your enemies accuse you of what they themselves are absolutely guilty of. You look around and you wait for the civilized world to come crashing down on these barbarians--and when it doesn't you realize that courage and goodness are in very short supply.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:21 AM | Comments (38)

March 31, 2006

Geoffrey Typede Thes Wordes

And on a lighter note, much thanks to Yehudit of the fine blog Kesher, for alerting me to the fact that one of my favorite authors, Geoffrey Chaucer, whom I thought was no longer alive, is still with us.

Is it alchemy?

And imagine my surprise to discover that Geoffrey has his own blog.

Here's what he has to say:

SCIANT PRESENTES ET FUTURI and alle those who maye linke to thys page, I Geoffrey Chaucer in the presence of the internette knowlechede thes wordes and typede them wyth myn owene fingres.

This looks very promising.

Karen and I wish you all a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:41 AM | Comments (4)

The Usual Suspects

And this just in from Seraphic Friend Jeremiah Duboff, who deconstructs a letter by Arab Militants that tries to dupe naive Americans into, oh gee-willikers, just read on. My first impulse was to laugh, but then I felt like weeping, realizing that this sort of propaganda plays well--especially on our Ivy League campuses.

Dear Friends:
The San Francisco Chapter of the American Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee is planning a protest next month to oppose American tax dollars that support oppression in other countries. They're asking concerned citizens -- like you and me -- for their support in the ongoing struggle against oppression and for peace and justice. Won't you please join me as I read between the lines of their tiresome efforts?

In solid hilarity,
Jeremiah


Tax Day Protest - Monday, April 17 th 12 PM

Come out on Tax Day and Palestinian Political Prisoners Day to demonstrate against the use of our taxes to fund occupation, imprisonment, and repression in Palestine, Iraq, and right here at home.
YES, we call for an end to all American funding to Hamas and the Palestinian Authority -- NOW!

We will also be delivering letters in support of the campaign to free Manal Ghannem and her two year old son Noor who are among the approximately 8000 Palestinian's currently being held in Israeli Prisons.
YES, write them and congratulate them on being incarcerated in an Israeli prison -- it's a step up from what their plight would be in a Palestinian one!

Protest US taxes for war, occupation and Incarceration
YES, we call for regime change in Iran, Syria, and North Korea -- for starters!

Monday, April 17th, 2006
12:00pm, Montgomery & Market in San Francisco
Someone TIP the IRS to this -- that'll be the place to start tracking down 2006 tax evaders!

-Press Conference: 11:30 Post & Market
-12:00 Rally in front of Dianne Feinstein's Office
-12:30 March to Israeli Consulate
HEY, Zombie -- You got that?
One Post St., San Francisco, CA (Near Montgomerey BART Station)

Sponsored by: SUSTAIN (Stop US Tax Aid to Israel Now) and ADC-SF

The usual suspects.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:06 AM | Comments (27)

Kartoonnacht

Credit: Seraphic Friend, Jeremiah Duboff for the brilliant title of this post.

This letter just in from another splendid Seraphic Friend, Antoine Clark:

The Western Standard, among other things, the only regular media
outlet for free-market views in Canada, is being sued by the Alberta
Human Rights Commission following what looks like a bogus complaint
about publishing the Danish cartoons.

Some of you can afford to donate money to the WS's defence fund. Some
of you have blogs that could expose the machinations of the AHRC. All
of you can email.

The best way to kill intimidation is for a lot of people to contact
the Alberta authorities and raise hell about press censorship,
intimidation by pursuing frivolous complaints etc. The
local police refused to take up the complaint on the grounds that
gagging the press is not its job.

I shall be posting something about this as soon as I get home this
evening. In the meantime, all of us could send an email to:
humanrights@gov.ab.ca and call the Canadian embassy (this tends to get
more attention than emails).
in the UK telephone Canadian High Commission: 020 7258 6600
in the USA telephone Candian Embassy: 202-682-1740
in France: 01.44.43.29.00

I suggest something along these lines:
You've heard that a complaint has been made. The police refused to
consider it on the grounds that it was frivolous. You understand that
the Western Standard will have to spend 75.000 Canadian dollars
defending themselves from what is obviously a bogus complaint. Why is
this agency advancing the cause of media intimidation and censorship?
This will reflect very badly on the reputation of the Alberta Human
Rights Commission, if it is seen to be an agency for crushing free
speech.

Best wishes,

Antoine Clarke

P.S. Here's the email I got from the Western Standard.

Dear Western Standard reader,

Our magazine has been sued for publishing the Danish cartoons, and I
need your help to fight back!
As you know, the Western Standard was the only mainstream media
organ in Canada to publish the Danish cartoons depicting the Muslim
prophet Mohammed.
We did so for a simple reason: the cartoons were the central fact in
one of the largest news stories of the year, and we're a news
magazine. We publish the facts and we let our readers make up their
minds.
Advertisers stood with us. Readers loved the fact that we treated
them like grown-ups. And we earned the respect of many other
journalists in Canada who envied our independence. In fact, according
to a COMPAS poll last month, fully 70% of Canada's working journalists
supported our decision to publish the cartoons.
But not Syed Soharwardy, a radical Calgary Muslim imam.
He asked the police to arrest me for publishing the cartoons. They
calmly explained to him that's not what police in Canada do.
So then he went to a far less liberal institution than the police:
the Alberta Human Rights Commission. Unlike the Calgary Police
Service, they didn't have the common sense to show him the door.
Earlier this month, I received a copy of Soharwardy's rambling,
hand-scrawled complaint. It is truly an embarrassing document. He
briefly complains that we published the Danish cartoons. But the bulk
of his complaint is that we dared to try to justify it - that we dared
to disagree with him.
Think about that: In Soharwardy's view, not only should the Canadian
media be banned from publishing the cartoons, but we should be banned
from defending our right to publish them. Perhaps the Charter of
Rights that guarantees our freedom of the press should be banned, too.
Soharwardy's complaint goes further than just the cartoons. It
refers to news articles we published about Hamas, a group labelled a
terrorist organization by the Canadian government. By including those
other articles, he shows his real agenda: censoring any criticism of
Muslim extremists.
Perhaps the most embarrassing thing about Soharwardy's complaint is
that he claims our cartoons caused him to receive hate mail. Indeed,
his complaint includes copies of a few e-mails from strangers to him.
Some of those e-mails even go so far as to call him "humourless" and
tell him to "lighten up". Perhaps that's hateful. But all of those
e-mails were sent to him before our magazine even published the
cartoons. Soharwardy isn't even pretending that this is a legitimate
complaint. He's not even trying to hide that this is a nuisance suit.
Soharwardy's complaint should have been thrown out immediately by
the Alberta Human Rights Commission, just like the police did. But it
wasn't. Which is why I'm writing to you today.
According to our lawyers, we will win this case. It's an infantile
complaint, without basis in facts or law. Frankly, it's an
embarrassment to the government of Alberta that their tribunal is open
to abuse like this.
Our lawyers tell us we're going to win. But not before we have to
spend hundreds of hours and up to $75,000 fighting this thing, at our
own expense. Soharwardy doesn't have to spend a dime - now that his
complaint has been filed, Alberta tax dollars will pay for the
prosecution of his complaint. We have to pay for this on our own.
Look, $75,000 isn't going to bankrupt us. But it will sting. We're a
small, independent magazine, not a huge company with deep pockets. All
of our money is needed to produce the best possible editorial product,
not to fight legal battles. This is clearly an abuse of process
designed to punish us and deter other media from daring to cross that
angry imam in the future.
One of the leaders in Canadian human rights law, Alan Borovoy, was
so disturbed by Soharwardy's abuse of the human rights commission that
he wrote a public letter about it in the Calgary Herald on March 16th.
"During the years when my colleagues and I were labouring to create
such commissions, we never imagined that they might ultimately be used
against freedom of speech," wrote Borovoy, who is general counsel for
the Canadian Civil Liberties Association. Censorship was "hardly the
role we had envisioned for human rights commissions. There should be
no question of the right to publish the impugned cartoons," he wrote.
Borovoy went even further - he said that the human rights laws
should be changed to avoid this sort of abuse in the future. "It would
be best, therefore, to change the provisions of the Human Rights Act
to remove any such ambiguities of interpretation," he wrote. That's an
amazing statement, coming from one of the fathers of the Canadian
human rights movement.
I agree with Borovoy: the law should be changed to stop future
abuses. But those changes will come too late for us - we're already
under attack. The human rights laws, designed as a shield, are being
used against us as a sword.
We will file our legal response to Soharwardy's shakedown this week.
And we will fight this battle to the end - not just for our own sake,
but to defend freedom of the press for all Canadians.
Do you believe that's important? If so, I'd ask you to help us
defray our costs. We're accepting donations through our website. It's
fast, easy and secure. Just click on
http://www.westernstandard.ca/freedom
You can donate any amount from $10 to $10,000. Please help the
Western Standard today - and protect freedom for all Canadians for
years to come.

Yours gratefully,
Ezra Levant
Publisher

P.S. Remember, Soharwardy's complaint will be prosecuted using tax
dollars and government lawyers. We have to rely on our own funds - and
the generous support of readers like you.

P.P.S. Please help us now, at Western Standard Legal Defence Fund.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 06:44 AM | Comments (15)

March 30, 2006

Terrorized

Seraphic Secret is blessed with many close friends who write to us regularly in the comments section, and privately. We have been corresponding with Vincent, not his real name, privately, for quite some time.

Vincent has been telling us his life story in bits and pieces, and we have been urging him to tell it in full, for we believe that it is profound and important.

It is the story of how blinkered and romantic leftist support of terorism can destroy families and almost destroy lives. Here, at last, is Vincent's story. We thank him for having the courage to write these words. We know that it was extremely difficult.

My mother is the archetype of the sort of insane leftist that we've all come to know so well in recent years. I remember, when I was about eight, asking her what the letters "USA" meant on a map on the evening news. I knew what America was, but didn't associate it with that abbreviation. It's the sort of simple little question that kids ask. Her explanation, instead of telling me what the letters actually meant, was simply to say, "They're the bad guys." That pretty much sums her up. That's the crap I grew up with, and it took me years to dig my way out of that sort of mentality. It probably didn't help that I was living in inner London, where that sort of thinking is the norm.

One of the many left-wing articles of faith in my household was that the IRA, the Irish Republican Army, were fighting the good fight. My mum celebrated when the Brighton Bomb went off, though she was disappointed that it didn't kill Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. And, again, I grew up thinking the same way, because that's what kids do.

At the time of the Victoria Bomb, in 1991, I was living with my dad. At the precise moment the bomb went off, I was in bed asleep, but my dad rang me and woke me up to tell me he was OK. The bomb was detonated at the entrance to platform # 3 a couple of minutes after the train arrived, which means that my dad should have been walking past it when it exploded.

But he'd overslept and missed his train.

Inevitably, it got me thinking. If my dad had been killed, he'd have been killed by the men my mother regarded as heroes. And, knowing her pretty well, I thought I knew what her reaction would be: she'd be upset that he'd been killed, but not to the extent of ceasing to support the IRA. She'd still regard them as fundamentally right.

And I, being a Londoner, was regarded by the IRA as a legitimate target. They were killing people in London all the time. They let off a bomb in Camden High Street, somewhere I hung out pretty much every weekend -- and gave the police a false warning, so that they were evacuating people towards the bomb when it exploded.

I suddenly realised that my mother supported the men who were trying to kill me. Had I been caught in a blast at any point, she'd have been upset, of course, but she'd have blamed the British Government and those bloody Northern Irish Protestants and anyone but the men who'd actually done it, whom she would have continued to support.

That sort of realisation can really put you off a person.

But, nevertheless, I stayed on good terms with her until I went to university. I went to St. Andrews, which is popular with the Northern Irish, so, all of a sudden, I was making friends with lots of Northern Irish people, many of them Protestants, and realising just how wrong the popular picture of them is.

And then I fell in love with one of them.

And I didn't tell my mum.

I was pretty sure that her reaction would be political and dreadful, and I absolutely dreaded her finding out.

I have huge arguments with my sister about this, who thinks that this is really no big deal. But what if I'd started going out with a black girl and dreaded my mum finding out because I knew she hated blacks? No-one seems to have any difficulty understanding the problem with that. The irony is that it is, in part, the staunch anti-racist values drummed into me from an early age by my mother that ended up helping to turn me against her.

Anyway, as long as I didn't tell her about my girlfriend, I could give her the benefit of the doubt. But then I did tell her, and her reaction was worse than even my worst cynicism had suspected. The moment I told her that my girlfriend was Northern Irish, she said, with absolutely no hesitation, "Well, I hope she's a good left-footer and not some bastard proddy."

Then I visited Northern Ireland itself and stayed with my girlfriend's family. Her father was a civil servant whom the police suspected was on an IRA hitlist, so the family would start a car by reaching in, turning the key in the ignition, and then getting into the car. That's the difference between immediate guaranteed death and mere life-threatening injury.

That was 1993, and my relationship with my mother has never really recovered. I can't imagine that it ever will. The Northern Irish are some of the nicest people in the world, and my mother thinks it's OK to kill them or torture them to death because of something that happened eight-hundred years ago.

My girlfriend and I split up at the end of that year, but, wonderfully enough, we got back together again a few years and failed relationships later, and are now happily married.

My mother was not invited to the wedding. I haven't spoken to her since sometime in 2001, and am much happier for it. Towards the end, conversations with her only depressed me anyway, and they'd become rather one-sided, because I had nothing to say to her.

That's a short version. There's lots more to it, of course -- mainly about the fact that she was a bloody awful mother anyway, who let me know on a daily basis that she'd wanted a daughter -- her feminism extended to holding it against her own offspring for being born male -- but those are the salient points.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 06:52 PM | Comments (32)

February 20, 2006

Pity the Poor Anti Semite

I'm at a book signing today here in LA at Sinai Temple on Wilshire Blvd and Beverly Glen, unveiling the soft cover version of The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to finish Part IV in my series, What Was Sharon Thinking? to post today.

However,I'd like you all to read this fine piece by Shrinkwrapped, a psychiatrist friend of mine who writes a fine blog with a unique point of view. This post is titled: Pity the Poor anti-Semite.

I will continue with my series tomorrow. I'll be writing about fighting terrorism after a proper security wall has been built.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 03:01 PM | Comments (20)

February 13, 2006

Cruisin' Mom - Natural Born Shooter

Randi looks exactly like Carole Landis—armed, and fashionable.

"I think we missed our exit."

Randi and I are on our way to the LA Gun Club, it's about a six minute drive from Casa Avrech, but put two bloggers in a car together, two bloggers who have been talking to each other for a year on the internet and, well, conversation happens. Lots of conversation.

Time and exits slip by.

Anyway, I turn around, manage to find the right exit.

This is all part of my diabolical plot to turn Cruisin' Mom, a liberal Democrat, into a gun totin' Republican.

We sign in, and step into the range. Randi is a fast learner. I start her off with a single action pistol, a Ruger Vaquero. Randi shoots, misses, shoots misses. But this is a determined lady. She bears down and soon enough she's getting some hits.

Shooting a gun is easy.

Hitting what you're aiming at is hard. Very hard.

In truth, most soldiers in every army in the world simply spray and pray. In Viet Nam, the average American soldier shot off over 250 rounds for every kill made. Whereas a trained sniper will expend 1.5 bullets for every kill—and this at distances of over five football fields.

Anywhooo. Back to Randi.

She's laughing and smiling like crazy. She is having a great time. Her hits are going where she aims them. More or less.

Every once in a while she makes a nice hit, swivels and cries: "Look at that!" And I gently remind her,"Um, you might not want to point that weapon in my direction."

"Oh, whoops."

The thing about Randi's patterns is, she hits the throat a lot. Sheesh. That's a tiny area. So, I can only conclude that Randi not only wants to kill, she wants to muffle all discussion.

Very interesting shooter.

Randi moves on to my Springfield .45 automatic, which kicks like a mule.

"Wow!" cries Randi, grinning hugely.

She likes it.

I mean really like it.

More throat hits.

I give her my rifle, a Winchester lever action—the rifle that won the West.

"It's sooooo heavy."

The rifle is 12lbs. of mahogany, brass and steel. A beautiful machine.

But Randi is, if anything, feisty, and she lines up the sights and blasts away.

More throat hits.

I have to admit, at this point, Randi is, well, sort of scaring me.

We actually run out of ammunition. Brass shell casings litter the floor. Randi has fired enough rounds to have fought the Battle of Fallujah.

While Randi washes up, I add her name and address to the NRA sign-up sheet.

Believe me, she's ready.

Check out Randi's side of the story at her blog, Cruisin Mom.

P.S. Randi, thanks for the babke. Delicious.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:44 AM | Comments (92)

February 09, 2006

Seraphic Secret: Not So Secret Anymore

Well, it's official. Seraphic Secret has won the Best Personal Blog category in the Jewish & Israeli Blog Awards sponsored by The Jerusalem Post.

Here is the link for the list of all the winners.

Karen and I are proud and happy, and we want to thank Yehudit of the fine blog Kesher who nominated us for the award.

Most of all we'd like to express our deep gratititude to all our readers and commenters, an unusually wonderful and raucous group who have built a true community where real friendships have been formed.

Seraphic Secret is a unique blog with a unique mission.

Gee, just yesterday we founded Seraphic University. It's a fine school to get a classical education.

And, get this, we have separate men's and women's housing facilities.

Look, if you go to Yale or Columbia they require you to live in coed dorms, plus use uni-sex bathrooms. They say it's to prepare you for "the real world." But the only place in the real world this actually prepares you for--is a career in adult films.

No, Seraphic University is committed to traditional values.

And what a great sports program we're building. Where else can you join a Jousting Squad where our students enter the lists in full steel armor. And let's not forget our crack Sharpshooting Team; they use real live ACLU lawyers as moving targets. Tempting, huh?

With joy comes sadness. I wish that Ariel ZT'L had lived to see Seraphic Secret. Even more important, I earnestly wish that Ariel has lived long enough to meet each and every one of you. Your intelligence, your good humor, and your depth would have touched him to the core.

Karen and I look forward to bringing you the best of our hearts and minds.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:11 AM | Comments (66)

February 06, 2006

The Winner

The envelope, please...

And the winner of the Seraphic Contest is...

Wait, I'm having trouble getting the envelope open...

Oh my gosh, she said she would do it. She bragged she would win. And she has.

Randi. Cruisin Mom.

Mazal Tov!

Here she comes down the red carpet wearing a Chanel gown, cut on the bias, natch, Manolo Blahnik heels, and jewels by Harry Winston.

Randi, we turn the comments section over to you for your acceptance speech. No longer than three minutes, please, then the music will kick in and so will the hook.

In the meantime, I'm signing a copy of The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden just for you and picking out our nicest Seraphic Press baseball cap--which I know you've been yearning for.

Thanks everyone. It's been fun.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:55 AM | Comments (42)

The Reveal

Okay, Seraphic Friends, in reality shows this is what's called: The Reveal.

The producers in these truly loony productions, "remake" some unfortunate young woman who is chained to a terrible job, lives in a tilted trailer, and no doubt, off-camera has a restraining order against the ex. Much network money is spent surgically enhancing the medical experiment, er, cast member, and turning her into a heavily painted creature who can now earn her daily bread as, well, an exotic dancer.

Here at Seraphic Secret, we're on a higher level of, um, so-called reality.

Here, at last, we can reveal our most frequent and eloquent commenters as children--and their identities.

So, check your scorecard, see how well, or how poorly you have fared. As Jake quipped to me: "It's harder than the NY Times Sunday Puzzle."

The envelope with the Seraphic Winner will be opened and announced, in five minutes...

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:37 AM | Comments (14)

February 05, 2006

Seraphic Reminder

Just a quick reminder, the deadline for submitting your answers for the Seraphic Contest is February 6, Monday morning, 10AM Pacific Time.

I plan on posting the correct answers, so if any of our Seraphic Photo Contributors do not wish your names posted with your pictures, please let me know by e-mail immediately: write to robert.avrech@gmail.com.

Personally, I hope you will all let everyone know who you were as a child. For we were all so young and innocent.

Let's go, folks. Make up your minds.

As Sun Tzu says: In battle, the worst decision is indecision.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:21 AM | Comments (25)

February 02, 2006

Seraphic Faces

Okay, the moment you've all been waiting for. More or less.

Drum roll, please.

Name the Seraphic Friend.

It all started because, well, I fell in love with Karen when I was 10-years old. So, commentor Pearl said, wouldn't it be fun to see pictures of Seraphic Secret Commentors when they were 10-years old? I went her one better and asked our readers to send in old photos -- and make a contest of it.

So, here's the idea: readers have to match up faces with the commentors who have submitted their photos.

Do the faces of the children reveal the future personalities that we find in the comments scattered in Seraphic Secret? Are there hints of this or that political belief? Does this expression betray a romantic heart, a personality that analyzes with the precision of a scientist?

Are the eyes truly the window to the soul?

Or are children's faces simply blank canvases upon which we paint future dreams?

Let's find out.

Below you will find:

My good friend, Joe Schick who writes the wonderful Zionist Conspiracy blog, that seems to be as much about the NY Jets as about, um, the Zionist Conspiracy.

Stacey, one of our first and most frequent commentors, and author of the delightful Stacey's Shmata. If she walked into a room, I'd know her in a second.

Psycho Toddler who comments here and writes the blog called, well, Psycho Toddler.

We have Randi, a frequent commentor who writes the Seinfeld-like Cruisin-Mom. She also brings me my morning coffee.

There's our correspondent from Taiwan, Danny Bloom, who tells us that he's never met a person he does not like.

Lance, one of our most frequent commentors who I have come to think of as Seraphic Secret's Karl Rove -- a huge compliment.

Sarah, our lovely friend from Israel, who writes the lovely blog Five Years Later.

There's Kent, a new and welcome commentor who writes the highly informative blog, Trolling in Shallow Waters.

Pearl, who's blog offers Pearls of Wisdom, and who is another frequent commentor, and a close friend.

We have Jack Be Nimble who writes the compelling Jack's Shack blog. We differ on many issues, but I love hearing his point of view.

Rachel L, who regularly comments from a very cold city somewhere in America. One of our first readers.

There's Michael Jennings our globe trotting correspondent who checks in every once in a while with incredibly smart comments.

And finally, Jake, whose comments frequently exceed in length my own posts, and whose lists of Ten Reasons Why cause me to type LOL with great frequency.

Okay, ponder the pictures. Then see the Offical Seraphic Rules Below.

Seraphic Rules:

1. This contest is open to all Seraphic Readers.
2. Match up the mug shot, er photo with the name.
3. Write me an e-mail with your answers: robert.avrech@gmail.com
4. You will not be credited with matching up your face with your picture. Sorry. Way too easy.
5. The idea is to go back and examine the comments made in Seraphic Secret and then try to match them up with the correct faces. Resist the temptation to google these people in the hopes of discovering an old photo. We're working on the honor system here, folks, okay?
6. The deadline is Monday, 10:AM PST.
7. The decision of the judges (Karen and I) are final.
8. In the event of a tie, well, it will be a tie.
9. First Prize is: An autographed copy of my prize winning novel, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, and a Seraphic Press baseball cap.
10. Ready, set, go.

Much thanks to all Seraphic Friends for submitting these adorable photos and leaving yourselves open, for all time, to cruel ridicule.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 04:03 PM | Comments (79)

January 19, 2006

Seraphic Secret Meets Zionist Conspiracy

One of the unseen benefits of this blog, and the internet in general is that my social life has expanded way beyond its normal boundaries--which is pretty limited: Karen and the girlses and the four walls of Casa Avrech are my world. Hollywood is where I work and it's a tedious place filled with -- no, I'm not going to go there.

For now.

So, by nature I'm a hermit, and hermetically sealed.

But Seraphic Secret has forced me into the world, into social interactions I would normally have, well, avoided.

And I'm a better person for it.

Um, maybe.

Well, probably not, but it sounds good.

So far I've met: Randi of Cruisin' Mom, when she so kindly attended the first Ariel Avrech Memorial Lecture. Pearl came all the way from Toronto to attend the same lecture and we spent many hours together at the Shabbos table. Sarah came by for a memorable Sunday afternoon and we talked about what and whom we have lost. And a month ago, our loquacious commentor Jake showed up for a few hours to chat about film and politics.

And then two weeks ago Joe Schick, of the fine blog The Zionist Conspiracy, with his lovely wife and year old baby, had Shabbos dinner with us.

A few things were immediately apparent to me. Our wives are really beautiful and really, really smart. Much smarter than we are. Both our wives are involved in health care, more scientific endeavors than us guys. While Joe and I blabbed on about blogging and bloggers, the people we suspect of faking their blogs, Karen was focused on keeping the meal moving and Joe's wife was busy with the baby. Though to be fair, after Joe ate, he took the baby and gave his wife a chance to eat and rest. Good husband.

And yes, yes, I helped Karen serve and clear the table. Good husband number two.

And you know, at some point in the day, every day, several times a day, Ariel's ZT'L memory rises, and the pain is just unbearable. But other times...

Joe's baby didn't have enough toys to play with. There are just so many toys you can travel with, right? So Karen and I crept into Ariel's room, rummaged in his drawers and pulled out some of his childhood toys. Watching Joe's baby play with Ariel's cars and trucks was a joy. I exchanged a long look with Karen. We smiled, and at the same moment we both offered to give the baby some of Ariel's toys.

Joe and his wife hesitated. We could tell, they just didn't know if they should accept our offer. But we assured them that it was okay. It was what we wanted. It was what Ariel would have wanted.

Karen and I helped make Joe and his wife's baby happy. And this made for a deeply meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:30 AM | Comments (29)

January 12, 2006

Seraphic Contest

Ten.

That's the magic number.

Seraphic Secret readers will recognize ten as the age I first laid eyes on Karen and fell hopelessly, helplessly in love with her.

I have been writing about this in our series, How I Married Karen.

The other day, Seraphic Friend Sarah, commented on our latest installment, My Ugetsu, Could you please post a photo of Karen when she was 10-years old? I think we'd all love to see the lovely vision that you could never forget.

As Offspring #3 would remark: "Duh!"

Meaning: why didn't we think of that?

Anywhooo, Karen and I looked at each other and held out our hand as if checking for rain. We started to dig in our shoeboxes in search of lost time.

And then Toronto Pearl chimed in with a great idea--which she has about every thirty-four seconds.

How about asking your loyal readers to submit photos of themselves when they were ten-years old. Wouldn't it be fun to see each other this way?

WHAP!

Slaaaap myself on the forehead.

Again, why didn't I think of that?

Karen and I like Pearl's idea so much that we immediately compose e-mails to our regular commenters telling them the idea and asking them to submit a photo, and then --

--and then, well thirty-four seconds have elapsed. And you know what happens next?

Writes Toronto Pearl: Instead of just posting the pictures, Robert, why don't you Mix and Match them on Seraphic Secret? Perhaps it could be our names, brief descriptions of who we are or what we do or what we're famous for in terms of commenting on your blog and then let people guess...Make it a contest.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

My head is really starting to ache.

So: Karen and I are asking all our Seraphic Friends, readers and commenters, to send in a Jpeg as an attachment, of their 10-year old self.

The geekier the better.

We'll post the pictures without names, but with some pertinent blog information and then you'll try and match the right names to the right 10-year old faces.

And the WINNER gets an autographed copy of The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, plus as an extra added bonus: a Seraphic Press Baseball Cap.

Karen and I look forward to seeing our Seraphic Friends at ten.

Send your photos to: robert.avrech@gmail.com

The deadline is Friday Jan 27. We'll start posting the photos the following Monday.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:19 AM | Comments (39)

January 04, 2006

Kaplan on CNN

Readers of Seraphic Secret will have come across many fine comments by Jake. Jake has been our friend for, oh, a long time. He was one of our original readers, along with Lance, Toronto Pearl and Cruisin Mom.

Karen and I tend to develop warm relationships with quite a few of our readers. The thing is, I'm not as scary as my political writing would lead you to believe. I'm actually, well, kinda nice. As long as you're not some lunatic leftie who likes to sing Kumbaya.

Anywhooo: Jake came to LA a few weeks ago and visited Casa Avrech for a few hours and even though Jake is a Liberal Hawk we're good friends with a great deal in common.

I told Jake about my enthusiasm for journalist Robert D. Kaplan. I said that Imperial Grunts was the most important book of the year.

Jake is a producer at CNN and he just sent me the following information.

Robert Kaplan will be a guest on my show, CNN's "In the Money, with Jack Cafferty" this Saturday and Sunday (repeat broadcast). It's on at 1pm Eastern Time on Saturday and 3pm Eastern Time on Sunday. (I'm pretty sure it's on at 10am Pacific on Saturday and 12 noon Pacific on Sunday). As they say, "check local listings." (We tape the show on Friday mornings). I answer all viewer emails and I will pass along viewer comments next week.

Yup, Jake booked Kaplan because of my ultra enthusiasm.

I hope you'll all watch the segment for Kaplan is an important voice; he knows what's going on in our military. He can tell you about wars in parts of the world you never knew existed. He understands war and low intensity conflict to such an extent that he's been asked to consult at the Pentagaon.

So, I guess that Seraphic Secret is actually having a positive effect on the media.

We're smiling.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:30 AM | Comments (13)

December 20, 2005

Seraphic Thanks

Want to thank an American soldier? Here's how to do do it. I urge all my readers to take a moment and send a note to a soldier overseas. It's hard work being a soldier. It's mostly really boring downtime punctuated by moments of gut churning fear. It helps to know that the folks back home are thinking of you.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:26 PM | Comments (2)

December 06, 2005

Birds of Baghdad

Another fine dispath from Michael Yon. I fear that the only time people pay attention to our soldiers in Iraq is when the names of the dead are listed in the papers or pimped out by politicians such as Barbara Boxer. We owe it to our fighting men and women to think about the sacrifices they are making on a day to day basis. What other country is willing to shed the blood of its young to bring freedom to the far shores of a land that has no knowledge of democracy?

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:16 AM | Comments (4)

October 31, 2005

Cathy Goes Public

For three years now, a close friend has been fighting lung cancer. She's a well known journalist here in Los Angeles and has not gone public with her illness.

Until now. Cathy Siepp has gone public. Cathy and her daughter Maia have had a Shabbos meal here at Casa Avrech and they shared a Passover seder with us.

As would be expected of this fine journalist, Cathy writes about her illness with sharp analytical skills, and her trademark dark humor.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:37 AM | Comments (2)

October 27, 2005

Leaving Brooklyn, Meet Goatboy, Larry Elder

I love a good sign and what could be more approriate than this sign posted on the Williamsburg Bridge.

Before the holidays Seraphic Friend Lisa sent us a present of the soap she and her family manufacture. She explained that her son Bobby was having severe allergic reaction to regular soaps and so Lisa started making Goatboy Soap. At first Lisa was reluctant to send us her product fearing that because we are kosher we might not be allowed to use it, but we assured her that since we are not eating the soap, well, it's no problem. After using Goatboy Soaps for a few weeks I can report that this is a wonderful product. The soaps come in many delicious scents, they work up a thick lather and a single bar seems to last forever. They also make great gifts. Thank you Lisa!

My good friend Larry Elder, visited Ariel in the hospital, and wrote a beautiful article about his visit before Ariel passed away. Larry has released a fine DVD called Michael and Me. It's Larry's take on the madness of the anti gun lobby in America. Specifically, Larry points out that guns save more lives than gun opponents are willing to admit. The scene where Larry confronts Michael Moore is priceless.

I spoke with Larry about his film and naturally we got on the topic of why so many Jews are pro gun control. Larry felt that Jews are just naturally Liberal and so unthinkingly fall into the party line. "It's really tragic, Robert," Larry said, "Jews of all people should realize that they should retain the right to bear arms. After the Holocaust, seeing what's going on in the state of Israel, every Jew should join the NRA."

This is a fine film and I urge all my readers to buy it and show it to all their friends.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:53 AM | Comments (10)

October 24, 2005

Have Shabbos Will Travel

Confession: the holidays are torture. Succos is supposed to be, z'man simchatanu, the time of our rejoicing. But we miss Ariel so much that joy is like a far shore. I sit in shul and watch the other men with their sons and I want to flee. Davening, praying, is a challenge, well, it's always a challenge, but particularly now. But as a wise man who lost two, yes two childen, once said to me: "It's supposed to be hard."

But every once in a while, something happens that's just... magical, there is no other word. For some precious moments I'm able to sit back and smile, chat with friends, meet new people and, well, become what I imagine normal is.

Last Friday night, we were invited by one of our best friends to Shabbos, Sabbath, dinner in their Succah. Their son, Yaakov, not his real name, was one of Ariel's ZT'L, best friends, and to this day, one of my most cherished photos is Yaakov holding Ariel's hand in the ICU. What the picture does not show is that Yaakov spent hours holding Ariel's hand. Most importantly Yaakov gave over divrei Torah, wisdom of Torah, to Ariel, spiritual fuel for our son.

We can always count on meeting interestng people at our friend's home for they are not insular Orthodox Jews; in fact, Baruch, (nhrn) and his wife, Adina,(nhrn), go out of their way to meet and befriend an incredibly diverse range of Jews: observant, not-so-observant, and completely secular Jews.

As we entered the home, Baruch introduced us to their other guests. There was Sarah (nhrn) and her two children. Baruch explained that Sarah's husband was upstairs, asleep.

"He's exhausted from work."
"Hard day at the office?" I quipped.
"Yes, protecting the President."
"Which President?"
"President Bush."

Oh.
My.
G-d.

Sarah explained that her husband was a member of the SWAT team with the **** County and was tapped by the Secret Service to help protect The President.

A few minutes later, Avraham, (nhrn), rumpled, wearing a yarmulke, and a tactical knife still clipped to his pocket, dragged himself downstairs and we all entered the Succah for Shabbos dinner.

It turned out that Sarah was also a cop. Both she and Avraham are observant Jews. Their teenage children go to Yeshiva.

I was, for a few minutes, in heaven. Yes, z'man simchatanu had finally materialized.

Avraham could not give details of protecting POTUS, but he did tell some hysterical Stupid Criminal Stories. CSI, he sniffed, is nonsense. Most perps are dumb as planks of wood. Naturally, his kids rolled their eyeballs as Avraham told his Stupid Criminal Stories, for they had heard them before. Many times.

When Avraham learned that I was a Hollywood screenwriter, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Who could blame him? Hollywood liberals are correctly perceived by cops (and the armed forces) as the enemy. Baruch immediately jumped in and informed Avraham that I was not one of those limousine liberals. In fact, Baruch assured Avraham of my Conservative credentials, adding that I was a member of the NRA.

It turns out that Avraham collects antique weapons. At one point, as he listed all the amazing rifles and pistols in his collection, he mentioned one rifle that I had written about in a screenplay and was intimately familiar with. And so, I took the opportuntiy to quote one of the characters from my own screenplay about this particularly wonderful rifle:

"A fine machine." I said in my best Clint Eastwood voice.

Karen cracked up, slapped the table and announced: "You have no idea how long Robert's waited to use that line!"

I smiled sheepishly for Karen is always there to keep me honest.

Oh, it was a lovely and lively evening. Only later, as we were walking home, Karen and I, Offspring #2 and her friend who is visiting from New York, (Offspring #3 is in NY), only then did I realize that Ariel would have loved meeting Avraham, would have taken immense pride in the fact that an observant Jew is a member of a SWAT team and was chosen to protect our President.

And so, yes, it sounds silly to say that the evening was magical, but for a few precious hours, under the roof of the Succah, I felt myself like any other man, enjoying the glow of Shabbos, the companionship of friends; for a few hours, grief, my default emotion was put on hold.

I wish all our readers a lovely and meaningful Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. I will not be able to blog until after Simchat Torah where I will write about the amazing Conservative Film Festival.

Oh yes, a fine article by Bloghead about the history Simchat Torah. I urge you all to read it.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:02 AM | Comments (18)

September 06, 2005

Seraphic Nose Job(s)

"Rachel (not her real name) looks great doesn't she?"
"Well of course she had her nose done."

It is Shabbos afternoon. Lunch at the Avrech home. Offspring #3 has three friends over for the Shabbos meal, and so counting Karen and OS #3 there are 5 girls and one male -- me.

There are moments in life that are so perfect there is no way they could have been planned.

I sit back and I'm pretty sure that I do not stop smiling for the entire meal. Why? Because as far as the girls are concerned I might as well be invisible. They are so deeply involved in their conversation, the give and take is so rapid, steeped in such teenage shorthand that I have to concentrate hard to extract every level of meaning as the sentences fly past at the speed of light.

I feeel like the anthropologist Claude Levi Strauss among some primitive Brazilian tribe. Except this tribe is Jewish Yeshiva teenagers who wear Juicy, and D&G. Yet a few of them also daven, pray, with the kind of fervor that just breaks your heart, and if you think they're just bratty materialistic girls you are very wrong for all of them have spent the summer performing one amazing charity project of one kind or another.

But the topic at hand is nose jobs.

Me, I thought that Rachel did look different, better. Naive male that I am I just naturally assumed that she outgrew her awkward stage and just, you know, flourished.

A lot I know.

Or as my mother Z"L would have said: "She grew into her face."
By the way, does that ever happen?

But here's the thing about this conversation that is so revealing. The girls are not making fun of the girls who have had nose jobs. The opposite. They are relieved. They are genuinely happy for them.

The central feeling is one of simple generosity and it boils down to this: the young women were miserable because their noses were either too big or crooked and now, post-surgery, well now they're so much happier. And it's not as if the nose jobs are all that radical. Each friend they discuss has had surgery that suits them. Every nose job is appropriate, subtle.

There is a whole world of Jewish nose job jokes. You can fill shelves with novels and short stories that have been written on the subject. There is more than a little bit of self-loathing in this culture. Take a look at the work of Philip Roth and writers of his generation. Their work fairly drips with contempt for Jewish women in general, and in particular for Jewish women who dare to try and be more beautiful.

Thank G-d, those days are over. Modern observant girls are confident and sassy and have absolutely no qualms about improving their looks.

I sit at the Shabbos, Sabbath lunch table and watch in amazement as the girls rock with laughter and compare noses.

"Where do you get your nose, are you adopted?"
"You're sooooo lucky, you've got a ski slope nose."
"I've got a little button, I wish it were just a little bigger."
"I want a nose job."
"No, your nose is perfect!"

Karen asks me if maybe she should do something with her nose.
I answer with real honesty.
"You're the most beautiful woman I have ever known. You're nose is perfect."
Karen smiles, starts clearing off the table, but she stops at a mirror and gravely studies her reflection for a few seconds.

No matter what any male says, it is women who are their own harshest critics. And in the end I suspect that women alter their looks more for themselves than for the approving gaze of any man.

Karen adds: When Robert told me he wanted to write about the contempt in post war literature for Jewish women who had nose jobs, I didn't relate to it. Now, after reading his comments I realize there is an element Robert neglected to write about that is totally foreign to the current generation.

Women of the fifties were mocked for wanting to look "less Jewish." It was related to ideas of anti-Semitism, that thank goodness are totally alien to our girls. They simply want to be more beautiful, and are not hiding their Jewishness.

Of course, there are those who will argue that we have adopted the WASP standards of beauty. However, If you raised this point to our teenagers they would look at you in complete bewilderment, having absolutely no idea what you are talking about.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 07:33 AM | Comments (30)

July 18, 2005

David Margolis Z"L

My friend David Margolis (Dovid Yoel ben Shia Halevi v'Mirel) passed away Sunday night at 11:30 PM Jerusalem time. May his memory be a blessing.

I met David and his wife Judith when we moved to Los Angeles in 1984. Our friendship continued through their aliyah to Eretz Yisroel. I sent an early draft of The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden to David and his feedback was invaluable. My final rewrite was based on his notes and I can say that if not for David, the book would not be as good as it is today. David was a fine novelist, short story writer and journalist. His wife and children adore him and he will be sorely missed by all who knew him.

It is odd, I thought that Ariel's death had inured me to the shock of unexpected death, but I am still stunned at the grief I experience.

Baruch Dayan Emes.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:53 AM | Comments (10)

July 15, 2005

Seraphic Knife Rebbe II

Yesterday, I wrote about my Mississippi friend Billy "Pup" Cochran and his wonderful site, Vintage Knives. But after publishing my post and looking at Billy's site once again, I realized that I completely overlooked the most vital aspect of Billy's enterprise: Its heart and soul.

There's a great moment in Citizen Kane where Joseph Cotten says: "Anybody can make a lot of money if that's all you want to do." Well, anybody can sell knives if that's all they want to do. But Billy wants to do much more than sell knives. Billy wants to dig into the guts of America. He wants to understand who we are and how we got to be this way. He's interested in road signs, license plates, he's fascinated by little mom and pop bakeries. Soon he's going to run a special feature about American music and the stories they tell. I must confess that I'm not familiar with any of the music he will feature. I think it's Christian Gospel. A gaping hole in my musical education.

Billy writes Last Cast a monthly column about all things American. Many of his customers send in letters and pictures and he's managed to build a lovely community of knife lovers, patriots, people who just love a good tale.

Billy is involved in a wonderful enterprise that reaches far beyond knives, it goes deep into the guts of the American soul and through my connection to Billy I feel like I understand America and Americans on a deeper level than at any other point in my life.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:54 AM | Comments (17)

July 14, 2005

Seraphic Knife Rebbe

Choose from a wide selection of knives at Nashville Knife Shop or make your own . Straight razors also.

I'm taking a short break from How I Married Karen. Believe it or not, dredging up all these wonderful old memories can be stressful. As Karen has rightly pointed out, it is a way of removing ourselves from our daily grief, for our romance was a time in our lives when Ariel was not yet alive.

When I was a child, I had a small collection of pocket knives. My father was a chaplain in the US Army and every so often he was posted to a far-off Army base where he would perform holiday services for our Jewish soldiers. I hated it when my father went away. But I absolutely loved it when he returned, for he always brought a gift, and it was always a pocket knife. The knives were never anything fancy. Just simple one or two blade affairs. I reveled in the seemingly gigantic power these little knives gave me: being able to whittle a piece of wood, carving my initials into a tree--yes, trees do grow in Brooklyn, playing mumblety-peg. Most of all, there was the simple relationship, almost primal, of man and his oldest tool. I remember the feel of the knives in my pocket. The weight of these small pieces of steel. The knives made me feel, well, important. They also made me feel "capable" -- the best word I can come up with. I loved the smooth action of the blades when they opened, and the decisive click when they snapped shut. There was one knife from Greenland that was a bit too decisive. My mother took it away from me when she discovered that my fingers were absolutely lacerated with deep gashes.

I'm sad, almost ashamed to confess that not one of those pocket knives is still around. When you're a kid you do not realize that the "junk" in your closet will someday be a treasure you yearn to once agan hold in your hands.

A few years ago, surfing the net, I came across Vintage Knives. An on-line site that specializes in the sale of beautuful knives, some old, some new, some made exclusively for them. Immediately, I was seized with a nostalgia so powerful that I wrote to the owner, Billy Cochran, and we have been writing to each other ever since. We are close friends. An unlikely cyber friendship deep as the ocean. After Ariel's death, this pious Christian offered genuine comfort that is hard to measure.

The Talmud teaches: "Aseh L'cha Rav." Make for yourself a teacher. Billy, an incredibly generous and honest family man, is my Rebbe, more precisely, My Knife Rebbe. He knows, well, everything there is to know about knives. My female readers are rolling their eyeballs. I can just hear them groaning, "Boys and their toys!" To which I say, "True, very true!" But look at Randall Handmade Knives. These are the knives that I collect. This is great American folk art, as finely wrought as Chippendale furniture, as elegant as Revere silver. And if you should want to purchase a Randall knife well, don't hold your breath, there's a four year waiting list. That's right, four years! You only have to wait four months for a Bentley automobile.

America is filled with brilliant knife craftsmen who make knives that are as beautiful and elegant as any works of art in any collection in any museum. Take a look at the stunning hunting knives made by Jim "Treeman" Behring.They are, in fact, homages to the first great American Knifemaker William Scagel. I own two of Jim's knives and let me tell you, I will not be using them. Ever. They have almost doubled in value and I only bought them five years ago.

Anyway, surf through Vintage Knives. Their motto is "Yesterday in the palm of your hand." Take it from this boy who loves his toys, they speak the truth. And if you're looking for a pretty solid investment, well, you can't lose buying a Randall Knife. In fact, there's a brisk trade in Randall's on e-Bay. There are people who buy a Randall on Monday and put it back up for auction on Tuesday. Randall knives rise in value that quickly. I love market capitalism. As my friend Jackie says: "The more capital, the less poverty."

I will be returning to How I Married Karen in a day or two. B'lee neder.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:37 AM | Comments (15)

June 26, 2005

Seraphic Dictionary

Karen's hand seeks mine under the table. Our fingers entwine and we hold on for dear life. So tight do we hold on to one another that the tips of our fingers turn white as parchment.

It's Friday night and we're having Shabbos dinner at one of our best friend's homes. One of the other guests, a fine and sensitive person, has just launched into a long and detailed account of a man who's searching for an organ. He will die soon if the transplant does not take place. Karen and I remember how we waited fruitlessly for a lung for Ariel. A lung that never materialized.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Karen whispers to me.
I hold her hand even tighter, as if this is a cure for nausea.
Should I break in, somehow halt the story, perhaps embarrass the story teller? There's no way he can know what effect he's having upon us. No, we just have to sit and wait it out.
We are rigid as pilasters in our seats. We pick, pick, pick at our food.
As always, Karen and I are among friends, wonderful generous people, but we are isolated; as it says in the Torah about people who have conracted tzora'as, we are "michutz lamachaneh," literally: "outside the camp," forever outside normal human discourse, speaking our own private language for which no dictionary can or should exist.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 03:16 AM | Comments (9)

June 22, 2005

Seraphic Shiva Call

When Karen and I started Seraphic Secret, our single thought was that this blog would serve as a public voice allowing us to reflect on the life of our beloved son, Ariel Chaim. But human nature and the web have a way of altering plans.

Soon, I found myself writing about my novel, The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, and telling my readers about Seraphic Press, the publishing house Karen and I founded in Ariel's memory.

Inevitably, I wrote about politics, an abiding passion, and I came out of the closet -- as a Conservative Republican. No small matter in Hollywood, a town and industry that genuflects to the most radical elements of the Democratic Party.

Believe me, if I confessed to being a sexual deviant, a drug addict, a drug addict and a sexual deviant, well, Hollywood will embrace you. But admit that your politics are conservative, that you support the state of Israel, that you actually believe that radical Islam is a greater threat to world security than, oh let's say, President Bush, or Prime Minister Sharon, admit that you own a gun, are a proud member of the NRA, admit that you oppose homosexual marriage, admit that you're not alarmed by so-called global warming, and God forbid warn that the most intense anti-Semitism in America comes from our African American neighbors; well admit all this in Hollywood and you might as well cut your throat two ways at once. These oh-so-tolerant liberals are the most intolerant group you could ever imagine.

And so Seraphic Secret has grown tentacles. Intense cyber relationships have been formed.

Toronto Pearl, one of my earliest and most generous readers made the trip from Canada to attend The Ariel Avrech Memorial Lecture. You would assume that our initial face-to-face encounter would be awkward, maybe even a bit weird. But it was no such thing. It was a meeting of old friends who could practically read each other's thoughts. Pearl ate every Shabbos meal with our family, she shmoozed with us and fit in like, well, like a member of the family.

Randi W, a more recent reader and commenter, drove from Chatsworth to attend the Memorial Lecture. Meeting Randi and her lovely mother was pure delight. I marvel at her generosity and her courage in showing up at an Orthodox shul for Randi just recently told me that she is, gasp, Reformed.
"There, I've said it," she wrote, as if finally confessing some hideous family secret.
"Not to worry," I wrote back, "I'm really not some ogre in a black hat."

And just this morning I learned that Michael G. a Seraphic Secret reader was sitting shiva for his father. I got hold of his cell number and called, paying a cyber shiva visit. When I introduced myself there was a long silence.
"Robert who?"
"Seraphic Secret," I said.
"Ooooh, Robert, Seraphic Secret!"
And then we talked, intimate friends connecting. Michael shared his grief with me, but went out of his way not to compare the loss of a father to a father's loss of a son. Clearly, this is an acutely sensitive and articulate man, even in grief.

Another reader, Karen S. from Montana, recently sent me her wedding pictures, also photos of her lovely house nestled in a bucolic mountain. She treated me to an informal but gripping account of how she and her family, hugely proud Jews, ended up in Montana, not quite the epicenter of Jewish American life. I am amazed by the geographical quirks of the Jewish people.

Yes, friendships have flourished. Our lives are enriched; and always the lovely and generous comments about Ariel give us some measure of comfort. Karen and I are eternally grateful; for comfort is in short supply when a beloved child lies beneath the cruel earth.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:27 AM | Comments (10)

May 16, 2005

Seraphic Deena

A child dies and parents are left with a pain so vast that language collapses. What to do? What can the parents do to honor and preserve the memory of their child?

The Deena Motechin Jacobs Gemilas Chesed Fund was established in June 1999 in memory of Deena Motechin Jacobs, Z"L, a young bride and aspiring teacher of Torah studies. Although Deena was only 20-years-old when she died she had already touched and enriched the lives of many people. Deena was an unusually spiritual young woman. Long before she was married, Deena dedicated her daily Torah learning, reciting of Tehillim, and especially her davening, as a z'chus for her friends and other girls of marriageable age to find proper shidduchim. It was her hope and prayer to recover from her illness and begin a career as a Jewish teacher, hopefully in her grade school alma mater: The Jewish Foundation/Yeshiva Tiferes Shmuel Ezra, in Staten Island. Unfortunately, Deena did not live to fulfill her dream.

To help perpetuate Deena's memory, the Deena Motechin Jacobs Gemilas Chesed Fund has become a leading provider of interest free loans and grants for Rebbeim, Moros, and other teachers in the yeshiva school sector. In addition to assisting dedicated educators who may be in financial need, Deena's fund also provides financial assistance for Hachnassas Kallah--assisting brides, grooms and their families with their wedding expenses.

The Deena Fund is tax exempt under section 501 (c)(3) of the Iternal Revenue Code.

Deena's mother, Joyce, is one of Karen's oldest friends. They met when they were teenagers at Camp Eton. As often happens, best friends lose touch with one another. But close to a year ago, Joyce ran across Seraphic Secret; something in the entries made her suspect that Ariel's mother might possibly be her old bunk mate. I could not have imagined a more powerful script: Two childhood friends separated for over forty years are, at last, reunited because of the tragic parallel deaths of their children--a young man and young woman who have an uncanny spiritual resemblance to one another.

Joyce and Karen have been writing to one another ever since. In fact, they were able to reunite face to face, in NY several months ago. The years apart melted away in a fraction of a second.

Karen and I never had the joy of meeting Deena. But from everything we've learned about this vivacious and caring young woman, it is obvious that the fund set up by her parents perfectly reflects the ambitions and inner life of Deena, Z"L.

For applications or to make a contribution please write to:

Deena Motechin Jacobs Gemilas Chesed Fund
763 Woolley Avenue
Staten Island, New York 10314
Tel: (718) 761-6042
Fax: (718) 761-9488

Deena's Yartzeit is Sunday, June 5th, 27 Iyar. May her holy neshama have an aliyah.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:05 AM | Comments (0)

May 03, 2005

Seraphic Beauty Secrets

Offspring # 1 returns to NY this morning. She leaves at five AM in order to make a 7 AM flight from Long Beach. Jet Blue rules. The house is quiet again. Offspring # 2 drags herself off to school. She's in a sulk. My offspring have grown even closer since Ariel died. When the offspring are together the atmosphere in the house is charged with laughter and joy. It's almost impossible not to smile when you see the offspring together. They try on each other's outfits; they obsessively exchange shoes; small mountains of clothing miraculously appear all over the house. Offspring go on onlysimchas and squeal with delight--not at the shiudduchim, but at the wedding gowns. Offspring wrestle like frisky puppies. Offspring huddle over the laptop and howl with laughter.
"What's so funny," I ask, feeling like the proverbial clueless parent.
"This girl on frumteens dot com," says OS #1.
"She's like soooooo weird," adds OS #2.
They show me the page they're looking at.
I read and you should too: My 71 Reasons Not to Talk to Guys.

I show it to Karen and she quite rightly observes that if you simply substitute "sleep with" instead of "talk to" then it makes a great deal more sense for a wider audience.

In any case, I'm convinced. No more talking to guys for me.

For my female readers, my friend Jackie has a fantastic new site, a beauty blog, that you absolutely have to see. Hillary Johnson, the LA Times's "beauty intellectual", and Jackie's new blog is all about makeup, skin care, hair care, salons, spas, treatments, and anything else that can help women in their glorious quest to look and feel better.

Upcoming features include the "Browser Wars," where the top eyebrow
artists in the world go head to head with one another in interviews, and a visit to the French town of Grasse, the perfume capital
of the world. In the meantime, they are talking about lip gloss, bad
packaging, and why men are beautiful too.

Jackie indicates that guest writers are welcome to submit ideas.

Here's a few articles I'd like to write.
1. How Manolo Blahnik Can Save Islamic Civilization.
2. What Women Really Talk About Behind the Mechitza.
3. Help, I'm Obsessed With My Wife and My Friends Think I'm Weird!
4. How LL Bean Changed my Life.
5. Beauty Tips from Hasidic Women: Beyond Bullet Proof Stockings.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:29 AM | Comments (2)

May 02, 2005

Seraphic Trigger Time

Friday, before Shabbos, I take our NY guest to the LA Gun Club for some trigger time. Our guest is all excited because he lives in NY and the odious Sullivan Law insures that only criminals have access to guns. I explain that normally you see lots of off-duty cops, and Asians store owners in the gun club. "You don't see a lot of observant Jews," I explain.

We step into the LA Gun Club and who do we run into, but three Orthodox boys. They are not aware that to shoot in the club you must be 21 years of age or accompanied by an adult.

I agree to take responsibility for the boys. Talk about Hashgacha P'rateet. If I did not show up they would have had to go home.
I sign the proper documents and choose guns for them to rent: a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver and a Baretta .45 automatic.

There is something vaguely familiar about the boys.
"What high school do you go to?"
"Yeshiva G'dolah," answers one of the boys.
They tell me their names.
My knees weaken.
"You used to visit my son Ariel in the hospital."
"You're Ariel's father?"
"Yes, I am."
Long silence.
"We think about him a lot," one of the boys confides.
I can only nod.

I lead the boys into the range and teach them the proper stance, how to gently bend their knees, how to breathe, sight and squeeze the trigger. They are smart young men and before too long they are popping off highly accurate groups.

It's a pleasure seeing yeshiva boys at the range. They understand the importance of self-defense and the second amendment. This is a new generation of Jews, politically incorrect, a far cry from the self-righteous liberal girlie-men who live in a utopian fog.

My NY guest, a YU student set to graduate in June, turns out to be a natural. He's got a good eye and he is hitting bulls-eyes within a half hour.

It's a nice way to go into Shabbos and the last days of Pesach.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:30 AM | Comments (2)

April 29, 2005

Seraphic Rabbi, Seraphic Reader

She has the face of a young beauty from 17th century Flemish portraits. Alabaster skin, cheekbones sharp as snow plows, eyes shaped like almonds, the vivid color of chipped glass. She is staring at me, whispering to her female companion. Or am I imagining all this? A moment later, nervous as a bird, she approaches me.
"Are you Robert Avrech?"

Karen and I have driven two hours to the Chevra Pesach program in Palm Springs to meet with Rabbi David Fohrman. He has graciously agreed to deliver the second Ariel Avrech Yahrtzeit Lecture, Sunday June 19, 11 AM, at the Young Israel of Century City. Ariel made us aware of Rabbi Fohrman's astonishing Torah tapes. He was in one of Rabbi Fohrman's chaburah's at Ner Yisroel and was deeply influeneced by Rabbi Fohrman's method of learning Torah. Naturally, Ariel wanted to share this knowledge with us. Karen and I listened to the tapes and we were just knocked out. Rabbi Fohrman is that rare Rebbe who understands the importance of learning Chumash and Navi. Unfortunately, the Yeshivish world has all but abandoned the deep study of written Torah in favor of Gemara, the Oral Law. I know the theory, that you will learn Chumash and Navi by studying Gemara, but let's face it, that's a smoke screen. The truth is that respect and status in the yeshivish world comes from studying Gemara. To know Torah and Navi is seen, sadly, as somehow not on the same high intellectual level. Rabbi Fohrman has raised the bar in Torah study. His ideas are all traditional mesorah, but he manages to inject fresh insights to these deeply familiar stories that, well, should be in the curriculum of every single yeshiva. His work is a gift to the world.

"Are you Robert Avrech?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. I just wanted you to know that a few months ago I was on bed rest and it was then that I discovered your blog. I love the way you write about your family and politics. Oh, and I just bought The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden."
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
"I also want you to know that I davened for Ariel when I was in high school. It was so hard for me to stop davening for him."
I can only nod.
We speak for a few minutes more and then she leaves. She is pregnant and I wish her a "B'sha'ah Tova."
"Look at that," says Karen, "you have fans."
I smile sheepishly. In truth, Karen and I are deeply touched. To hear a stranger speak of Ariel in such warm tones means the world to us.

We drive back to Los Angeles listening to one of Rabbi Fohrman's wonderful tapes and it occurs to me that no matter where I go in the world now chances are good that I will meet someone who knows Ariel through Seraphic Secret. His goodness is known and he is not forgotten; for this I am grateful.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:39 AM | Comments (5)

April 27, 2005

Seraphic Blogs

The blogosphere is wonderful. It provides me with a peek into the lives of people who would otherwise remain a mystery. Most interesting and most touching are the blogs of Hasidic and Hardedi Jews who don't quite fit in to their communities.

Yingele describes his life appropriately as: Jewish + eighteen = problems. His posts remind me why I thank HaShem every day that I'm no longer a teenager.

Meanwhile, Frummer a married man with children lives a double life. To his family and community he is an upright Haredi/Hasidic Jew, but in his mind and on his blog, he expresses doubts about the mindless adherence to certain minhagim in his community.

Perhaps most touching is Girlie, a Hasidic teenager who likes to be whistled at by men in the street; a child who yearns to bust out of her little shtetl.

Check out Also A Chussid. Hear him rant at his father for not cleaning on Pesach the way his Mama used to clean. Truly sad and perhaps in need of some medication.

Streimel describes himself as A Hasid and a Heretic. He lives the life of a Hasid but thinks and reasons like a heretic. Read and ponder his conflicts over eating non kosher food.

Want to know what it's like being the wife of an Orthodox Rabbi, check in with Renegade Rebbetzin, she toils over the stove, brings up her children and tells it like it is. A refreshing and adult blog.

In the mood for some intellectual (if long-winded) musings on Judaism? Take a look at Apikorsus Online. He's smart. He's well read. He's not too bitter and there's much to think about here.

For a not-so-pretty view of Hasidic life, arranged marriages, and the rigid hierchies of Hasidic life click to The Shaigetz. His analysis of how UK Hasidim look down on their boorish counterparts in America has the ring of truth.

Finally, one of the most revealing and deeply moving blogs comes from Barefoot Jewess. She's a convert. She wears tefillin. Her hashkafah is definitely not mine, but peering into the mind of this deeply devoted woman is a revelation. She writes beautifully and with clarity. The big problem is that she disappears for huge chunks of time so it's difficult getting any continuity.

These blogs are notes from the Jewish underground. They reveal in touching and direct ways that in the Jewish community there are men and women who feel so alienated, so confused that their only release are these anonymous confessionals sent out into cyberspace. True, much of this is normal teenage and human angst, but there is enough raw truth and pain in these blogs to remind us that the person standing next to us in shul or on-line at the bakery, might just be in need of friendship and compassion untainted by religious cliches and tired pieties.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 07:34 AM | Comments (8)

April 17, 2005

Seraphic Tapestry

Karen and I often think about the manner in which children have died and how it affects the parents. There is the child who is sick, you spend weeks, months, years by his side, and in a sense prepare yourself for the worst. Others parents are woken in the middle of the night by a phone call informing them that their child has been involved in a fatal car accident. Since starting this blog almost a year ago, we have heard from so many parents who have lost children in so many different ways. But of all the deaths we have seen, of all the young lives cut short, the agony of knowing that your child was brutally murdered by inhuman terrorists is a kind of pain that has no equal. And so, I bring to your attention this latest effort by The Koby Mandell Foundation.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:14 PM | Comments (0)

April 13, 2005

Seraphic Nechama Liba

Several months ago, Karen and I attended a Shabbos for grieving parents. There I met Glen Holman whose story of the life and death of his daughter Nechama Liba Z"L, brought me to tears on more than one occassion. It's odd, several times I tried writing about Glen and his wife and Nechama, but each time I gave up in despair, feeling that I was not doing justice to the thoughts and feelings of these lovely and brave people. Over the past few months, Glen has became a regular reader of Seraphic Secret. He often writes to me and his letters are always sensitive and insightful. The other day, Glen told me that he has started his own blog about Nechama Liba. It is powerful and I want to urge everyone to go to this blog and see what this fine man has to say.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 02:34 PM | Comments (0)

April 11, 2005

Another Child

Here's a blog by another father who lost a child. His daughter was killed while serving in the National Guard. Deeply moving.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:00 AM | Comments (0)

April 08, 2005

A Book, a Song, and Two Blogs

For the past few days I've been reading a fascinating book, Generation Kill, by Rolling Stone journalist Evan Wright. About the Iraqui war, this book stands out from so many others because of the writer's ability to understand and bond with the soldiers he's with. Wright was embedded with the Marines of First Recon, an elite unit who were the tip of the spear of the American push into Baghdad. The book is filled with powerful scenes of every day Marine life: the crushing boredom punctuated by sudden bursts of unimaginable violence, the stupidity of some commanding officers, the "everyday heroism" of a bunch of foul mouthed 19-year- old kids from America.

One of the aspects of life in Arab countries that is rarely if ever commented on by the mainstream media is the prevalence of homosexuality. It is not politically correct to point out that in Afghanistan it's all too common for tribal war lords to fight bloody battles over possession of some poor twelve-year-old-boy. When I lived in Israel, I often witnessed and commented on the obviously sexual relationships I was seeing between Arab men and young boys. My Israeli friends would laugh and just nod their heads for it was common knowledge that Arab men live lives so segragated from women that homosexuality is considered an acceptable release. But of course Arab societies make believe that it's just "healthy affection." Perfectly understandable, I suppose, when you consider that the Imams will and do have homosexuals publicly beheaded. Generation Kill is the only book honest enough to make reference to this hidden side of Arab life. Here's a short excerpt about the staus of women in Iraq and a description of some really smooth Iraqui hustlers:

...the most striking feature of the neighborhood is the hard labor performed by women. Covered in black robes, they squat beneath the sun in the empty-lot gardens, harvesting crops with knives, while children crawl at their feet. Others trudge past carrying sacks of grain on their heads. The division of labor exists even among children. Small boys run around playing soccer while little girls haul water. "Damn, the women are like mules here," Peterson abserves. "If we'd have fought these women instead of the men," another Marine comments, "we might have got our asses kicked."

The other culture shock for the Marines is that several [Arab] men seem to be hitting on them. One asks Garza to lift up his glasses. When he does, the man leans forward and says, "You have pretty eyes."

Another of them asks a Marine if he likes boys or girls. When the Marine says, "Girls," the man makes a face and says, "Girls, bah!" Then he points to a young man standing nearby, makes an obscene gesture with his fingers and says, "You go with my friend, you like."

Generation Kill is a fine book and if you want to get a feel for the chaos of war, this book does a superb job.

I'm listening to a beautiful CD by a group called Buried Beds. Is it a law that rock groups have to give themselves really stupid names? In any case, their music is melodic and lovely and their song "Camelia" is one of the most beautiful I have ever heard. The lead singer is a woman, so if your hashkafah precludes you from listening to a woman's voice, well, it's back to The Miami Boy's Choir for you. By the way, I like TMBC, but every once in a while I really need a break from all the oy-yoy-yoy.

I'd like to recommend two particularly powerful blogs, both by fiercely intelligent (is there any other kind?) Jewish women. On The Face is by Lisa, a Canadian living Israel. Her multi-part series, How Lisa Came to Israel should not be missed. It is a small masterpiece.

Nice Jewish Girl writes a poignant blog about the search for love and marriage, about the price paid for being shomer negiyah, about faith and doubt and crushing loneliness. If this blog does not bring tears to your eyes, well, there just might be something missing at your very core.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 12:20 AM | Comments (1)

April 06, 2005

Seraphic Champions

Congratulations to the YULA (Yeshiva University High School Los Angeles) boys for winning the Red Sarachek Basketball Tournament. By now everyone in the Yeshiva high school world takes it for granted that YULA boys are a powerhouse basktball school. What's not as well known is that the YULA girls are also a supremely talented team. This year YULA girls were invited to their first yeshiva girls tournament in Boca Raton. The YULA girls walked away with the First Place Tournament Championship. People have asked me why the YULA kids are so good. Do we practice more out here in California? Do we have great gym facilities? In fact, YULA boys do not have a gym and the girls just have half a gym. No, the reason our kids are so good is actually quite simple. YULA girls and boys play their regular basketball season in a secular league where the competition is brutal. If yeshiva kids only play other yeshiva kids, well, no offence, but how many frum kids do you know who have gone pro, much less been recruited to college on a basketball scholarship? On top of the basketball wins, this past year the YULA delegation also won the Model UN in NY. As one YULA student slyly commented to me: "All the yeshivas really hate us now."

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 07:25 PM | Comments (1)

March 23, 2005

Tagged

I have been tagged by my friend Jackie D. Usually, I spend hours, days, weeks agonizing over questions like these, but the internet moves at warp speed, and so I'll just let rip.

You're stuck inside Farnheit 451, which book do you want to be?
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I read this novel at least once a year. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to recite it?

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character? Are you kidding? I was a yeshiva kid. I had no choice but to fall in love with fictional characters. I am here to confess that my first massive crush was on Nancy Drew. Such a yenta, she drove me wild.

The last book you bought is:
The Pacific, short stories by Mark Helprin. He's the best writer in America, bar none. But because he's an outspoken conservative and Jewish he gets very bad reviews from the NY Times. But his work will live on and people will still be wondering if Michiko Kakutani is male or female.

The last book you read:
Everyday Psycho Killers by Lucy Corin. No doubt the scariest book I have read since, well, ever. Poetic, plotless, full of intricate descriptions of lizards and swamps. It's about the every day boredom of a nameless thirteen-year-old girl in South Florida. As a release from boredom our narrator imagines being abducted by "every day psycho killers." Finally, she wants to understand why she isn't a killer. This book, may I warn you, is not for everybody.

What are you currently reading?
I read several books at the same time. I know this is not how books should be read, but it's the only way I know how to keep myself literate: Sleep Toward Heaven by Amanda Eyre Ward, A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews, The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard.

Five books you would take to a deserted island.
The Torah
The Babylonian Talmud, Schottenstein Edition
In Search of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust
Refiner's Fire, by Mark Helprin
Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Who are you going to pass this stick to (three persons) and why?
M, because she is a remarkably articulate and well read orthodox teenager and I'm always curious what books young people are reading.

Toronto Pearl, because she is a professional editor at a major house and because she reads a vast array of books in all genres and has brought to my attention several fine works of fiction.

Joseph Schick, because ferocious intelligence seems to run in the Schick family and I'm really curiuous about Joe's taste in books.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 03:10 PM | Comments (5)

February 22, 2005

Seraphic Rachelle

Writing about Ariel zt"l brings me into contact with people from all over the world. Most wrenching is when Karen and I hear from other parents who have lost children. Some parents write to us privately, sharing their memories in profound and moving detail. Others want the Seraphic Press audience to meet their children here on this blog. Recently, Mildred Nashofer, mother of the extraordinary Rachelle ob"m, sent me a deeply moving letter along with two novels, now out of print, that Rachelle wrote before she died. Mildred has asked me to share the following with you.

Rachelle Nashofer was born in Brooklyn on November 23, 1959. At a very young age, it was determined that Rachelle had an extremely high IQ, and as a result she was admitted on a full scholarship to The Hebrew Institute of Long Island. Rachelle was also the recipient of a full scholarship to Machon Gold Seminary for Women in Israel.

Rachelle always enjoyed writing and she composed poems and songs from her earliest years. At the age of 16 Rachelle began writing her first novel, The Eyes of Tomorrow, published in 1986, Aegina Press.

Rachelle was admitted to Stern College where she enjoyed a reputation for academic excellence and for her involvement in a wide variety of college clubs. Among her many achievements, Rachelle left her mark by being instrumental in making sure that Stern College offered an accounting class, which she needed for the double major she was pursuing. In addition, Rachelle was listed in the "Who's Who of Outstanding Students."

Shortly thereafter, Rachelle became ill, but did not let her problems stand in her way. Passionately, she forged ahead, writing her second novel, The International Reunion, which was published in 2003. Sadly, the publisher went bankrupt and the book was never properly distributed.

Both of Rachelle's novels were listed on Amazon.com. In addition, Rachelle wrote five screenplays and composed six lyrics that have been put to music and are on cassette.

In 2004, Rachelle developed severe respiratory problems and died on August 18, 2004. Rachelle's mother, Mildred Nashofer, has made a commitment to perpetuate Rachelle's legacy through the publication and promotion of her writings and asks interested individuals to contact her by posting comments here. If you wish to call Mildred, please write to me privately and I will send you her phone number.

I have read Rachelles two novels and they are quite good. Unfortunately, they are not the kind of material that we at Seraphic Press are publishing. I urge my readers to write to Mildred and let her know that her daughter's story has touched them. We, the parents of children who have died, ask for one thing only: remember our children.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:34 AM | Comments (5)

February 21, 2005

Me and the WWW's

I am standing in the lobby of the Museum of Tolerance. Rabbi Berel Wein's film The Story of Maimonides has just had its West Coast premiere. I wrote the script. This is a fund raiser for Maalot, the new college for orthodox women here in Los Angeles. I spent a great deal of time researching the life of the Rambam. But as a dramatist, I have to take liberties. For instance, we know the name of Rambam's second wife, Jamila. We know that she was the daughter of Rav Mishael, Rambam's student and secratary, but we know little else. I wrote a scene showing Rambam and Jamila "meeting cute." I structured the scene on the classic screwball comedy model. Sitting with this audience of black hat men and WWW's (women with wigs), I got scared, really scared that they would be scandalized. But there was laughter as the Ramban courted Jamila and I realized that men and women, no matter how religious, all recognize the central truth of their relationships and delight in seeing it played out Jewish-style in eleventh century Egypt.

Ariel was alive when I was writing the script. I asked him to read the screenplay and check the facts. Ariel labored over the script for several days. He handed it back to me, saying: "It's very good Dad, but I think you missed some things and so I made a few notes. I hope you don't mind." Of course I didn't mind. I was happy to rewrite, to make the script more accurate. In truth, Ariel had qualms where I took dramatic liberties. He worried that certain groups would object. Ariel was always more conservative than me. I explained my reasons for taking dramatic license, he nodded his undertstanding, but I never truly convinced him. Ariel was more devoted to Torah and truth than to drama.

Sitting in the theatre, watching the film, a lump formed in my throat. I knew that Karen was feeling the same thing I was: that watching this film is painful because Ariel is not here to enjoy it.

The wife of a prominent Rav from our community walks up to me and tells me how much she likes the film. Now, she lowers her voice and says: "I have to tell you something, Mr. Avrech, I read your blog every single day."
"It's not too racy?"
She laughs, her laughter reminds me of a teenage girl. "No, no, not too racy. I love what you say about your son and your wife." She hurries off to her husband, a great scholar in our community. A few minutes later the wife of another Rebbe comes up to me.
"Mr. Avrech, I want you to know that I'm obsessed with your blog. I read it every day, sometimes twice a day."
I want to ask her if she does this secretly. If her husband, a very well known Rav on the other side of town, knows about this, but I decide that it would be an unfair question. "Keep writing. I love it," she says. And off she goes, with a quick conspiritorial look over her shoulder.

Is this blog forbiddden fruit? Does a religious woman feel as if she's doing something wrong when she spends hours reading this blog? Is it bitul z'man, a waste of time? Perhaps the fact that my words are mostly about Ariel, my son who died a year and a half ago, takes the edge off the situation.

I look around the room, these modest women are no longer a vast ocean of featureless females. I abruptly realize that each and every one of them is a radiant universe filled with hidden yearnings, pockets of secret wishes. These lovely and modest daughters of Israel have always been the backbone of the Jewish people and here in Los Angeles, on this rainy night, I recognize their beauty and their strength. Abruptly, Karen is standing next to me. Her hair is done up in a pony tail with a black barrette. She looks much as she did when I first met her in fourth grade. My heart stutters in my chest.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:06 AM | Comments (3)

January 31, 2005

Seraphic Baby

Several months ago, Karen and I attended a Shabbos retreat for grieving parents. The experience had such a profound effect on me that I wrote a three-part blog about it. I could have written more, much more.

One of my most vivid memories was hearing a fine young father talking about the death of two children and then adding, in almost a whisper, that they are "very, very worried" about another child. I remember staring at this young parent, a Lakewood Kollel student, and thinking to myself: how can he face the day?

Over Shabbos, I spent some time with this man and his wife and I was struck by their calm, by their devotion to HaShem and Torah. He was not one of these men who say that God has a plan and it is ultimately for the best. No, he was honestly struggling with his anger, with his grief, trying to find some answers in the thicket of bottomless tragedy.

After the weekend, he and I wrote a few e-mails to each other and I was optimistic that his child was going to be fine.

Right before Shabbos, I received word that the child has died. Karen and I have lost one child and our world has forever been ripped apart. This young couple have lost three children to a cruel and mysterious illness--perhaps genetic. Just a few minutes ago, I wrote an e-mail to this couple. I reached deep inside myself, trying to find words that contain some measure of comfort. I am quite sure that I failed. Is there any comfort to offer? If there is, I cannot find it. I cannot even imagine it.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 04:04 PM | Comments (5)

January 26, 2005

People of the Book

I'm excited to announce that Miriam Shaviv is finally ready to launch the world's first Jewish book blog, People of the Book. I am sure it's going to be a valuable and genuinely fascinating blog.

Contributers to the blog are:

Miriam Shaviv, former literary editor of The Jerusalem Post.

Paul Shaviv --

Robert Avrech, publisher, Seraphic Press -- http://www.seraphicpress.com/

Harry from the View From Here and Off the Beaten Bookshelf --

Rachel Berenblat, The Velveteen Rabbi --

Ayelet Waldman, author --

Shawn Landres from Religion and Society, co author w/Michael Berenbaum of After the Passion is Gone: American Religious Consequences --

Danny Bermant --

David Reuben, Eli Katz, Ariel Kahn, Azi Bermant, Judy Shaviv -- bibliophiles

Contributors can post about anything and everything to do with Jewish books/literature/authors, whenever you have anything to say. All posts can be cross-posted to your other blogs.

Please also let Miriam know if you know anyone else who would make a good contributor.

I'm delighted about this new blog; as a Jew and a book lover it's refreshing to see this kind of site open up in the blogosphere.

An essay I wrote about an obscure but wonderful Jewish novel The King's Persons by Joanne Greenberg is currently posted on the site.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:10 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 24, 2005

Seraphic Glamour

The interview last night with Rabbi Daniel Lapin on his radio show was a delight. However, I'm always amazed at how many people are obsessed with Hollywood. I want to talk about The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. I want to talk about Seraphic Press and why Karen and I have established this publishing house. But invariably, the conversation somehow always comes back to my career in Hollywood. I suppose I'm jaded. The stars that I have known are not terribly interesting people, certainly not very bright, but people are simply fascinated by Hollywood and its culture of glamour.

In truth, I have long felt that if you are interested in glamour, specifically glamorous leading ladies, then the place to look is Chinese movies. American stars are hugely overexposed and not a shred of glamour sticks to any of them. But look at the great Chinese actress Gong Li, billed in Asia as "The Most Beautiful Woman in the World." She has the cinematic presence of Garbo and Dietrich. Several years ago, I was in China researching a film and I had the chance to meet Gong Li. She was gracious but imperial, and I understood, perhaps for the first time, what a real star looks and acts like. I also met the stunning Ziyi Zhang who later starred in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, House of Flying Daggers and Hero. What Gong Li and Ziyi Zhang have besides beauty, is something that is totally missing from American cinema: mystery.

We know far too much about the messy lives and loves of American movie stars. True, the tabloids contribute to this lack of privacy. But American stars are also to blame. They pontificate on political issues far too readily, and good Lord do they say some stupid things. The actors and actresses in China tend to keep their distance from public pronouncements. They know, instinctively, that they are dream vessels to their millions of fans and so, for the most part, maintain a rigorous silence. If you get a chance, look at the films starring these two great actresses, and you will find yourself transported to another world.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 02:01 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 18, 2005

Seraphic Siblings

I just received this note from my young friend Michal. I have a strong feeling that in a few years Michal will be submitting work to Seraphic Press.

Dear Mr. Avrech, How are you? I have a small story that I hope you will enjoy regarding your book. My oldest brother Yosef is 12, and is most unconditionaly not an avid reader. Ever since I finished reading The Hebrew Kid, though, I thought he would enjoy it very much. Unfortunately, Yosef doesn't think very highly of taking suggestions from his sister, and so my not-so-subtle hints were met largely with the vast vernacular of preadolescent boys-grunts, heavy sighs, and the occasional "uh, whatever." Friday night, however, Yosef mentioned an upcoming book report on a work of Jewish fiction to my mother. Spotting my opening yet cautioned by previous attempts, I very eloquently kept my mouth shut and let my mother do the talking. I should probably mention here that, among her vast repertoire of talents, my mother is a brilliant orator, mediator and most importantly, tactical strategist. Somehow, (I really have no idea how) she eased open the window in Yosef's wall of intransigence and slipped The Hebrew Kid inside. (Or, in other words, my mother convinced him that the world might not end if he agreed to read it.) So tantalizing close was my moment of success, I could no longer restrain myself and I retrieved the book from the shelf. After a few feeble attempts at minimizing the enormity of the situation, Yosef took the book (which I had already opened to the first page) with a mixture of reluctance and suppressed excitement, and began to read. He read much of the night and finished the book after lunch on Shabbos. Through it all, he refused to comment on the story or characters, and would not tell me which chapter he was up to. He also barely even raised his head once as he read. Yosef has not mentioned The Hebrew Kid to me even once since Friday night, which I must tell you Mr. Avrech, is the highest form of praise from my brother. My mother has also reported that the following miraculous statement fell from his lips as she deftly interrogated him: "Yeah, I really liked it." The very fact that this sentence includes more syllables than Yosef's name is an unshakable testament to the success and appeal of The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. On a separate note, I would like to thank you, because you have inspired me to start a blog. I have always wanted to keep a consistent journal or diary, but to my frustration I have never been able to maintain it. As I am often on the computer, and it much easier for me to write when I can actually read what I have put down (my handwriting is past atrocious), the idea of a blog was very appealing to me. I began it last Motzei Shabbos and have already posted more entries than I have filled pages in all the lovely, chic and ultimately useless notebooks I have acquired over the years. I was hesitant to start because of the inherent insecurity of such an endeavor, but when I realized that I can include as much or as little personal information as I like, I decided to take the plunge. My link is Ink as Rain if you would like to visit. Thank you, Michal Schick

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:47 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 13, 2005

Seraphic Widow

Leah, tragically widowed at a young age, is a book-lover who recently became aware of The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. In seeking information about my book, Leah discovered this blog and wrote me a touching note. In subsequent letters, we have discussed the differences and the similarities in the experience of losing a child or a spouse. I told Leah that the pain one feels in losing a husband or wife is the only grief that I can imagine approaches the endless pain of losing a child. Here is Leah's thoughtful and articulate response.

A woman from my synagogue lost her son, at age fourteen, about six months after my husband died. She and I talked from time to time. Of course neither of us could know what the other was feeling, and everyone grieves differently anyway, but one difference between the loss of a child and the loss of a spouse became clear to me. And while I don't think our particular feelings are universal, I do think that they are common. When you are married, you and your spouse become one in more ways than you can realize until you are reduced to half. And that is how I felt - like half of me was missing. I wanted, and still want, to be with my husband - whether here in this life, or in the next. But my friend did not agree when I asked her if she felt that way, too. "No," she said, about her son. "He should be here, living his life." "So, I think what you are saying," I responded, "is that if you could change places with him you would." "In a heartbeat," she said. And that is the difference. A parent would give his/her life for a child. But you don't want to die for your spouse you want to die with your spouse, and many do. It is well-documented that among the elderly, when one goes, the other often follows within the year. I have a daughter who turned 15 on Tuesday, so I am needed here, and here I'll stay, but I do, in a way, look forward to the time of reuniting. I will never again fear death, because I know that wherever it is you go when you die, my husband is there. I'm not sure why I wanted to say all that, except that I believe the difference between the loss of a spouse and the loss of a child is not in the depth of the grief. It's just different, the way the relationships are different in life. You don't love your child more or less than you love your spouse, you love them differently.

I try not to think about life without Karen, my wife of twenty-seven years, the love of my life since I was ten years old. But when you have lost a child, well, you realize that anything can happen, now everything is possible. Tragic scenarios unfold in my mind in endless permutations. It's the dark side of being a writer: my imagination goes places I'd rather not follow. And so, when I ponder a life without Karen, all I see is a vast ocean of chilly nothingness; it is a fate worse than death. The Kabbalah says that when a loving husband and wife die they are reunited in heaven as a single being, a kind of Seraphic Janus. To be part of Karen, and I imagine also Ariel, is rather inviting.

Karen adds: These words ring so true. I can sum up the differences with an image. To be without my spouse would leave me lonely, divided, a twosome split. The emptiness is external. Imagine a picture torn in half. Without my son, the hole is an emptiness deep within me -- a cavity at the very core. Robert helps fill the emptiness.

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January 11, 2005

Trust

A pattern has emerged in mail that I receive from children who have read The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. The issue of trust, whom to trust and the consequences of trusting the right person, comes up over and over again. I have to admit, but as I was writing the book, it's not something to which I gave a great deal of thought. Several children have pointed out that if Ariel, The Hebrew Kid, had not trusted a certain person then disaster would have befallen him and his family.

This emphasis on trust should not be surprising for children live in a world that is predicated upon trusting adults for their safety. And so, with this in mind, I want to share a note I received a few days ago from Daniel Ben Zvi.

My ten year old daughter, Sarah Emily Ben-Zvi, just finished your book "The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden" -- one day before New Year of 2005. As she dictates, I'll type her words: "I feel speechless. The book was amazing. It made me feel so many different emotions like scared and relieved and happy. It made me realize so much about myself that I didn't even know about me. It made me understand how to be courageous in my own way. It made me realize how important it is to tell the truth and trust people. If the Hebrew Kid didn't trust the Apache Maiden then his sister Rebecca would've been killed. I suggest everyone should read it." .

Sarah is a 5th grade student at Sinai Akiba in Los Angeles. She loves to dance and make up shows with her co-stars: her eight-year-old brother, Joey, and seven-year-old sister, Amy. They put on some very funny shows which sometimes show beautiful lessons of kindness between friends. Sarah likes being the pied piper, leading the march off to Temple on Saturday mornings

I'm glad to learn that my book carries such a lovely and positive message. I've also learned that this author has a great deal to learn from his readers.

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January 07, 2005

A Tsunami of Emotions

Karen and I receive a good deal of mail from parents who have lost children. All the letters are gut-wrenching and beautiful. I wish I could print them all. Soon after we established Seraphic Press and this blog, a friend of Karen's, Joyce Siegel Motechin, whom she had not seen in forty years, since they were children in summer camp, wrote with the news that she too had lost a child, her beloved Deena ZT"L. Now Karen and Joyce write to one another regularly. Their correspondence is nothing less than a detailed map of two wounded souls, two mothers struggling with life, family, emunah, God, and bottomless grief, in sometimes measured, often passionate, but always articulate tones. Here is the latest letter from Joyce. We thank her for allowing us to share in her most private thoughts.

Dear Karen,
I just finished reading numerous articles on the Aish HaTorah web site regarding the tsunami. I guess that is where we all have been this week: in tsunami land. Just trying to comprehend the enormity of this disaster is impossible. Looking at the photos of young children, parents looking for their loved ones is heart breaking. How many more people grieving for their children. I don't know where this disaster took you but I was reeling from it. The numbers are staggering. So many more people will be walking on our path, they just are getting there on a very different course. The end will ultimately be the same--trying to go on in the best way possible incorporating grief with life. Again one of the Aish HaTorah writers reiterated what we already know--do not ask why it happened, but rather how can we learn from this disaster, or how to live our lives--take on another mitzvah, live each day to its fullest. Everything we already know, but maybe this time I'll just try a little harder. They are worth reading

The whys creep into my head. Why does my daughter Deena, 20-year-old beautiful, spiritual young lady with so much to offer this world die? Emotionally I can keep very busy getting very exhausted! This Shabbos, I took a short nap. I had a dream about Deena. It was so real! She came back and was very much alive. I held her close. Then she started to say that she was feeling sick and thought she would be leaving again. I begged her to stay near me and maybe if I just kept holding her close she wouldn't leave. I woke up before the dream ended or perhaps that's when it ended. But I was really in a state. For a few short moments I felt like I had Deena back again. I think what triggered this dream was a conversation I had with my granddaughter Tali. She was one-week-old when Deena died. She showed me a picture of her mom, Chaya, with Deena. It was when Chaya was going to study in Israel. We were at the airport saying goodbye. So I take a picture of the sisters. Deena was about thirteen. But she looked young and childish. We spoke about her Aunt Deena for awhile. The next thing I know Tali is singing a song that she composed (you know how kids do that) about Deena with lyrics that included: "We miss you and wish you would come back..." It was such an innocent moment to watch a five-year-old go on in song about her dead Aunt. Hence the dream.

Well its 2005. I have resolved with the rest of the population to take off some weight, eat healthy, live healthy, exercise, live a more spiritual life, give up loshon hara, have positive thoughts, let go of negativity, etc.

And some of Karen's answer:

I'm going through a bad time now, really feeling Ariel's absence, with the constant feeling, Did this really happen? How can I go on in life when one part of me has to be shut down, ignored so that I can go on. It feels like I have to be dishonest in some way. L'havdil, but I still have this thought, I feel like someone who commits terrible crimes and then goes home to wife and children and acts the perfect husband. I guess what I'm saying is that some part of my life is now inconsistent, or lacking in continuity, some part always has to be in darkness, because to see the whole picture is unbearable.

Robert's confession: I often imagine Ariel ZT"L and Deena ZT"L together, watching Karen and Joyce. Our children are smiling, rejoicing that their parents, childhood friends, have rekindled and deepened their friendship.

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January 04, 2005

Sammy Gets an A

The only subject I excelled in when I was in grade school was English. I actually looked forward to reading a book and then writing a report. My love for books and stories was formed at a young age. I can still remember the excitement I felt when I opened a new Hardy Boys volume, or the surge of energy I felt when reading the latest Tom Swift series. The wonderful black and white illustrations are still vivid in my mind. In a sense, The Hebrew Kid is my way of creating an exciting and meaningful adventure series. And so I was hugely grateful to learn, just a few days ago, that eleven-year-old Sammy Maoz chose The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden as the subject for his school book report. Sammy is a student at Yeshiva Derech HaTorah in Brooklyn. Besides being a member of the math league, Sammy enjoys a wide range of literary genres: action, fantasy, and mysteries.

Dear Mr. Avrech, My name is Sammy Maoz and my father is Jason Maoz [Editor in Chief] of The Jewish Press. My father gave me the copy of your book that you sent to him. I read it right away and loved it. I can't wait for the next one. I had to do a book report for my 6th grade English class on a book about historical fiction. I chose your book and my teacher approved it. I got an "A" on the report. Attached is a copy of it. I hope you enjoy it.

The title of my book is The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden and the author is Robert J. Avrech. The genre is historical fiction and it has 220 pages. The publisher is Seraphic Press. Robert J. Avrech is a screenwriter producer in Hollywood. Among his best films are A Stranger Among Us, and Devil’s Arithmetic. Mr. Avrech lives with his family in Los Angles. This is his first novel, and it’s in memory of his son Ariel Chaim Avrech.

The story takes place in the late 1800's in Arizona. In the West there were Apaches. The people didn’t have electricity, cars, and trains. They traveled by wagons pulled by horse. The main characters are Ariel and Lozen. Ariel is a 12-year-old kid who is going to be Bar Mitzva. Lozen is an Apache girl whose brother is a great Apache chief. Doc Holliday AKA John Henry Holliday was famous for being a pioneer doctor. Ariel became more mature as the story goes on.

Ariel is becoming 13 but he needs to find ten Jewish people for his Bar Mitzva. Doc Holliday brings ten Jewish people for Ariel. The most exciting part was when Ariel’s sister Rebecca was kidnapped and Ariel had to fight together with Lozen and used his gun for the first time.

I liked it because it was thrilling and scary. I loved where he described the background and added Doc Holliday to the story. I would have liked to live back then because you would ride horses and in wagons and all food was homemade. An alternate ending would be that Lozen would become Jewish and join Ariel and his family.

My hope is that Sammy grows to love books, to feel that fine literature is a central portion of his life. And perhaps when he's older and reflecting on the influence books have had on him, he will remember that one of the first books that fired his imagination was written for and in memory of a young man named Ariel.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 11:37 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 29, 2004

Meet Michal

As I have said before, some of our happiest, most satisfying moments are when readers write to us, telling us how they feel about my novel The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. A few days ago, I received an unusually articulate and moving letter from seventeen-year-old Michal Schick.

Dear Robert Avrech,

I read The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden a few weeks ago, and I greatly enjoyed it. The story and the narration had a tender, precocious flavor to it, but at the same time was unquestionably genuine. What I found particularly engaging was the feeling that I was reading about a family I knew, even though I have never come across a story about Orthodox Jews in the west before. The characters were lively and complex (something I was not looking for in a book of this length), and I really enjoyed the interaction of the Issacson family with every stripe of persona in the American West. (Ariel's classic Yiddishe Mama berating the Apache was perfect!) Rebecca's character did chafe my nerves a bit, but I have a sneaking suspicion this has to do with the fact that she is quite similar to myself in many aspects. As for Ariel himself, I was quite blown away. He literally came to life before my eyes. I could picture perfectly this slight Jewish boy, who had seen so much sorrow in his young life, walking straight backed through the desert with a Chumash tucked firmly under his arm and in his heart. It was fascinating to read about how he and Lozen bonded, neither having met anyone quite like the other in their lives, but feeling that easy, instant connection. I loved their conversation about marriage near the end of the book - so mature for their age, yet so very easy to understand. When I finally was able to share in Ariel's long awaited Bar Mitzvah, his joy was thoroughly my own.

When I first came to your website, I was looking for more information on The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. I was not expecting to be drawn into the life of your son, but I am very grateful I have. Reading about Ariel's life has brought tears to my eyes on more than one occasion, and I thank you for sharing anecdotes about him so that so many others can learn from his inspiration.

One last question - will anything become of Max and Rebecca?
Looking forward to reading The Hebrew Kid and Buffalo Bill.

Michal Schick

I was so taken with Michal's incredibly mature review that I immediately wrote back and asked Michal to tell me something about herself.

Here is her response:

I live in New York, in Queens. I attend Shevach High School for Girls (a bit of a long shot, but your daughters might have heard of it). My mother and I have been spreading the word about your book, and I think that it does appeal to a wide range of age groups although the prime interest is probably at about 6th or 7th grade. I find that books most popular among my peer group fall into the 'chick lit' category - light, breezy satire about what they know, or want to know. For myself, I am a self confessed addict to the fantasy genre, but whenever I pull myself away from the dead weight of the latest tome, I enjoy reading historical fiction and the like. I really think it's wonderful that there is now a publishing company devoted to releasing quality Jewish books. When I was younger, I devoured every Jewish book I could find, and while I understand their value for a certain niche, the majority of those books were mediocre efforts at best. My mother has been waiting years for such a development, and whenever we discuss it I can see how excited the prospect of Seraphic Press makes her.

Thank you,
Michal Schick

Once, as she was helping me set up this blog, my friend Jackie of The Big Blog Company said to me, "A blogger gets the readers he deserves." If this is so, then I am blessed.

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December 24, 2004

Rivka's Review

As I've observed several times, our greatest joy is in hearing from young readers who have enjoyed The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. Of course, you say, what author does not enjoy good reviews? But there is something more going on here. Something much deeper. For when you read the book you're also getting to know Ariel--our son Ariel, ZT"L; you see, the character of The Hebrew Kid is based on our son's personality, his pious, generous nature; his core goodness. And so, reading The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden is also a bit like peering into a unique soul; a soul that I hope is etched, with some amount of accuracy, between the pages of our book.

Recently, Serpahic Friend Azriel Ganz kindly informed us that everyone in his family was reading The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. He said that we should soon expect a book review from his daughter Rivka Miriam. True to his word, right before Shabbos, I received this review, and I wanted to share it.

Rivka Miriam's review:

You've been emailing back and forth with my dad, Azriel Ganz and I was really excited when I found out I could write to you.

I really enjoyed reading your book. Actually, it took me no more than two nights to read it. Not because it was to easy. a) Because I could not put it down, and b) because I'm a book worm. But seriously, I think the way everything worked out was really cool.

Everything is depicted so well. I knew exactly what was going on and was able to picture it clearly. When you described how Rebecca (which is actually my name) kept her hands "soft and white" I was able to picture her long delicate fingers. I even felt her despair when she saw her ruined hands after she was saved from the scalp hunters.

Ariel was extremely smart for a twelve year old boy.(I am also twelve years old). Perhaps it was all of his Jewish studies. And his unique friendship with one of the most feared warriors of the age was especially interesting. And it was definitely useful.

Ariel' s easy-going attitude and ability to see the good in everyone was probably his most useful weapon. Imagine if he had just taken out his gun and shot Doc Holliday with it instead of conversing with him and learning he was a good man, if not a bit crazy. No Bar-Mitzvah minyan for him.

I also learned alot about Yiddishkiet in this book, something I wouldn't have expected from a book about the wild west.

The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden was very funny, very sad and very exciting. I really enjoyed it and I'm looking forward to your next book.

Finally, my dad says hi.

Sincerely,

Rivka Miriam Ganz

Thank you Rivka Miriam. I'm so glad you like my book. I hope you will recommend it to all your friends at school. Your review is amazingly sophisticated and articulate for one so young. You are very smart. You managed to pick up on one of the most important characteristics of The Hebrew Kid: his optimistic nature. No matter how bad things look, no matter how bleak, The Hebrew Kid forges ahead, determined to set things right. This is a uniquely American trait and mixed in with his Yiddishkiet, it brings forth a new kind of heroic model: the halachic man of action.

Finally, response to The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden has been so positive, sales have been so strong, and so many have urged me to make it into a series, that I have plunged into writing the next volume: The Hebrew Kid and Buffalo Bill.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:44 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

December 21, 2004

The True Answer

Karen and I receive, on a daily basis, many beautiful and deeply moving letters. The internet and e-mail have once again made us a nation of letter-writers and for this we are enriched and elevated. For a long time, our generation thought that writing letters was something people did back in the "olden days." But now, e-mail being so common, and so easy to use, people are again investing energy and time into words sent out into cyber space, ultimately binding people together in ways never before imagined. Strangers are now intimate friends. Karen and I, because of this website/blog/diary/confessional/whatever, have moved from an abyss of terrible isolation into a womb of caring friends, most of whom we would not recognize in a face-to-face encounter.

I wish I could share with you all of the mail we receive, but of course, that is not possible. But Seraphic Friend Sara, mother to Timmy ZT"L, sent this e-mail a few days ago and gave me permission to share it with all of you.

Sara writes:

Timmy’s yahrzeit is in two days, and lately I’ve had much less energy than usual. Just doing my job, taking care of the kids and my usual appointments have pretty much taken up the strength I have.

But I just caught up on your blog, and feel touched, as always, to share a little bit in your lives.

Recently, you’ve written about feeling happy sometimes, together with the sadness at Ariel’s memory (I really loved your Chanukah story). That makes me feel very good. For me, it was a huge blessing when I started to be able to enjoy my memories of Timmmy and feel more than just the pain of watching her suffer and then losing her, and I wish that blessing for you as well. I, for one, am glad you and Karen got out and enjoyed shopping together! I do know how hard it is, not to feel that the enjoyment isn’t somehow a betrayal, but I’m learning to let go of that feeling.

The ache is always there, waiting to surface together with all the things I want to say when asked how I am. I want to say that I’m no longer the person I was, and often feel as if I don’t even know who I am anymore. But I almost never say those things. I’ve finally learned to say “fine” when people ask, even if I’m not. The true answer would always be too long, too complex, and too true for most people to handle.

Sara

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December 16, 2004

To Blog or Not to Blog

Several of you who have been reading this blog/website/diary/confessional/whatever have asked me how it is done. I'm happy to tell you that enlightenment is on the way. If you are interested in blogging, and wondering how you can use your own blog to write about your life, your family, your work, even increase visibility of your profession, my friends at the Big Blog Company in London are coming to LA and would be all too glad to help you. They are the wonderful, generous people who set up Seraphic Secret . They will be conducting 'blogging bootcamps' for writers and journalists, and would like to invite any interested Seraphic Friends of mine to come along and find out more. The sessions are, get this, free of charge, last one hour, and all attendees will go away with their own blogs and other goodies. All levels of computer literacy can be catered for. For more information on dates, times and locations, you can email jackie@bigblog.net.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 09:44 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 14, 2004

Sarah Reviews The Hebrew Kid

I love when people tell me how much they enjoy The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden. But my greatest joy is reserved for the enthusiastic notices I get from children.

I ran into Daniel P. Ben Zvi, Mediator and attorney, right before Chanukah in "613 The Mitzvah Store" a local Jewish bookstore here in Los Angeles. Daniel introduced himself to me, told me how much he has admired my film work and was now buying the book for his young daughter, Sarah. Daniel and I chatted for a few minutes and then shyly, Daniel expressed his sadness over Ariel's death. I am always touched when strangers talk about Ariel as if they know him. I realize how uncomfortable it must be for people to talk to the parent of a child who has died. They sense the unfathomable pain and they are reluctant to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing. But all anyone really has to say are these simple words: "I have no idea what you're feeling, but I am sorry for your loss." And that's pretty much what Daniel said to me; there in the tiny store bursting with Chanukah shoppers, two complete strangers made an intimate connection.

Anyway, here's what Daniel wrote to me just a few minutes ago:

Robert:

Thanks so much for the book!

Sarah our ten-year-old is in the middle of reading it now and she loves it and she finds it very dramatic. She can barely sleep waiting to find out what happens at the end. Those are her specific words just now. So I thought I would share them with you. Chag Sameach, Robert.

Daniel

Daniel strikes me as an honest and fine man and if you should find yourself in need of a mediator you can contact him at: daniel@dbmediation.com

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December 10, 2004

The Chinese Mitzvah

I was sure that it was a joke.

One of those internet gags that spring up hourly on the web. The e-mail said: I am a Jew who lives in China and I just wanted to tell you how much Seraphic Secret means to me.

Before hitting the delete button, something prompted me to read the note again, this time more carefully. I abruptly realized that it was genuine. This was a sincere note from a fellow Jew living a world, several time zones away. His name is Dan Halevi Bloom and he is a most unique Seraphic Friend.

Dan has been living in China for many years. An accomplished journalist, Dan writes popular traveler's guides to China and like Walt Whitman, Dan travels the country by bicycle and peddles his popular series in town and village markets. Apparently, Dan is quite well known in China and his books are, by Chinese standards, best sellers. I wish I could review his books, but I do not read Mandarin. Dan is fluent in the dialect and like so many Jews in history, Dan has sucessfully immersed himself in an alien land; he has managed to penetrate the deep cultural divides.

What strikes me about Dan, more than anything else, is his deep and abiding connection to the Jewish people. His e-mails brim with "ahavat Yisroel" the love of Judaism. It is no small accomplishment to live in a society that has no Jewish presence at all and yet manage to maintain this profound connection. It is far easier to go native and forget your roots. Dan works hard at maintaing his connections. Witness this story published in the NY Times several days ago:

THE NEW YORK TIMES

December 2, 2004

"Bubbie and Zadie"

by Lisa Napoli, NY Times reporter,

Jewish children have no Santa Claus, but thanks to a man in Taiwan,
they have Bubbie and Zadie (bubbieandzadie.blogspot.com).

Who? Daniel Halevi Bloom, a freelance editor and reporter, invented
these Jewish grandparents (the names are Yiddish for Grandma and
Grandpa) in 1983 to bring Hanukkah alive for children, particularly
those without living grandparents. Back then the medium was snail
mail, but Mr. Bloom reckons that today's Bubbie and Zadie are e-mail
users.

With Hanukkah days away, Mr. Bloom has been busy corresponding with visitors to his site. Zipporeh Cohen, 13, wrote: "My own bubbie and zadie passed away last year, and I am very sad. I live in Cleveland. Did you by any chance know my bubbie and zadie, Hannah and Joe Freedman? They were so sweet and kind, and I miss them terribly."

It is not just children who are inspired to write. Mr. Bloom shared a
letter from a 45-year-old New Yorker who wrote, "Thank you from a
grown-up child who has never forgotten his own bubbie and zadie."

Mr. Bloom, 55, a Boston native who has lived in Taiwan since 1996,
says he has received 10,000 letters from children over the last 21
years. He claims to have answered every one.

Knowing Dan as I do, I am certain that he has answered every single letter. How many of us can claim ten-thousand mitzvah?

Karen and I hope that all our Seraphic friends have a happy Chanukah and a most meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 08:20 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

December 06, 2004

Another Seraphic Friend

Sara has been writing to me almost from the beginning of this website back in May. She too lost a child after a long illness and her incredibly powerful and articulate e-mails continue to strike a powerful chord. Those of us who have lost children live in a separate universe from the rest of mankind. Sara's observations on death and mourning and grief are so familiar that it's almost as if her words and mine are interchangable.

Sara was a practising lawyer in Jerusalem, but when her daughter, Timmi, became ill Sara quickly reevaluated her life and decided that it was "about rich people's money" and this was not what she wanted to do. Now Sara mediates and raises funds for Israeli non-profit organizations.

Here's a sample of Sara's powerful words: She's writing about a group session for grieving parents:

My new support group is mixed, for men and women together (also religious and secular). It meets once a week under the guidance of a very experienced psychologist, who gave a good impression at the first meeting. Because the group has only just started, so it’s early to say how it will be. I heard a lot of very sad stories, of course, and felt very empathetic, but only the future will tell if any bonds or relationships will come of it. One thing that it did do for me so far is that as I began to introduce myself, I found myself unable to choke out the words “I’m the mother of seven children.” I turned red in the face and began crying, and cried on and off for some time after that. I didn’t expect this – I’ve told people my story so many times by now, and have gotten used to saying that I have seven children, one of whom died – but the tears were very welcome, as (as I’ve said before) I’m not able to cry enough.

Sara's blog, Five Years Later, is beautifully written, from-the-gut, and I recommend it to all my readers.

Karen and I feel tremendous strength and warmth from Sara, each and every e-mail that we receive is treated as the precious communication it is.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:45 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 03, 2004

Seraphic Friends

One of the pleasures of writing this blog is meeting people I never would have met otherwise. The presence of Seraphic Secret on the web makes possible new and profound friendships that transcend time and space. These are relationships that exist without face-to-face interaction. Many of you who read Seraphic Secret have offered words of comfort, words of support for which we are eternally grateful. Some of you have lost children and find some measure of comfort in the pages of Seraphic Secret. All of you are deeply empathetic people who by reaching out to Karen and I are performing a tremendous mitzvah. For us, you are all Seraphic friends.
Karen and I feel that we are bound to so many of you in a genuinely intimate manner that over the next few days we'd like to use this space to write about and introduce some of our new and wonderful friends.

Pearl S., from Canada, is a most accomplished woman: a frum poet and editor, Pearl has been reading and writing to Seraphic Secret almost from the very beginning. Recently, Pearl was kind enough to send me Parchment, a journal of contemporary Canadian Jewish writing, ISBN 0-9689766-3-8. The writing is of the highest quality featuring an eclectic mix of fiction, essays, memoir and poetry. I have not had a chance to read the whole issue but I've read enough to recommend this publication to my readers--who are a highly literate and articulate group. The e-mails Karen and I receive are a testament to this. Pearl's poem Remembered Vignettes offers memories of a trip she took to Israel twenty years ago. I love these stanzas describing a girls' religious seminary in Safed:

inside the cold stone building
girls are huddled in a central hall,
grouped around an ancient-looking black telephone,
giggling, talking excitedly among themselves.
one girl holds the receiver to her ear,
waiting and listening.

"i got a blessing! i got a blessing!
the rebbe gave his blessings for a good shidduch!"
an impromptu hora is danced
these future brides without their grooms.

A yasher koach to Editor Adam Fuerstenberg for putting together a first-rate Jewish literary journal. Anyone interested in subscribing, write to:

Parchment
Centre for Jewish Studies, Vanier 260
York University
4700 Keele Street
Toronto, Ontario M3J 1P3

Pearl's e-mails to Seraphic Secret are infused with the same warmth and lyrical imagery that makes her poetry so compelling. Her advice in promoting and publicizing The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden has also been excellent and businesslike. For a small publisher with limited resources, this is deeply appreciated.

There are so many of you I want to write about: Joyce, Malky, Debbie, Mr. Brown, Jackie, Tzipi, Sara, RW, Surie & Joe... forgive me if I miss anybody. I hope to write about all of you, with your permission, of course.

I hope you all have a meaningful Shabbos.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at 10:34 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

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