The apartheid slander against Israel

Prolog:

"Apartheid-Israel" is a modern slander directed towards Jews. It falls squarely within the framework of historic Jew-hatred, and is no different in intent than the age-old hate teachings, such as the blood-libel, the accusation that Jews poisoned wells to spread the 'black death', and the myth that Jews have a 'secret cabal' to take over the world. It is intended to delegitimize Israel’s right to exist, and it is cloaked in “political opinion” to allow it unqualified agency. If the many Jew-hating slanders weren't used to hate, plunder, and murder, they would be laughable. But they aren't laughable at all. They're evil.

In the following paragraphs I'll outline
1. a short history of this slander,
2. its hypocrisy and double standards, and
3. which countries and peoples in the Middle East are truly apartheid.

It is only after all these things are acknowledged and understood, that the rule of law as it exists in Israel today, including its many failures, can be honestly discussed.

1. A short history of the apartheid slander.

The "Israel is apartheid" slander emerged as a propaganda tool by the Palestinians in the early 1970's as part of their multi-phased war to delegitimize, and ultimately destroy Israel and wipe it off the map. More recently it was picked up by the BDS movement, driven by Palestinian, Muslim, "liberal" Christian, and leftist anti-Zionists to propagate their various versions of Israel-hatred and Jew-hatred. Their propaganda program has now become main stream, not unlike the hate propaganda generated by the nazis in the 1930's, or by the medieval Christian church. Thus, it is treated in Wikipedia as a matter of discussion and controversy, and not for what it really is -- Jew-hatred and slander. And of course, it has become a cause celebre in the UN, an organization with an overt and aggressive anti-Zionist agenda.

Jew-hatred, like racism, has very deep roots, and in many historic eras and in many parts of the modern world it is simply taken for granted as a valid world-view. But because it is widespread does not mean it is true, honest, or moral. Indeed, it is none of these.

2. The hypocrisy of this slander

In short, Israel is held to a standard that no other country in the world is held to. There is, of course, discrimination against Palestinians in Israel, as there is discrimination against Jews by Palestinians. But economically, socially, and politically, Palestinian citizens of Israel have a definably better life than Palestinians in ANY other country in the world. Period. Their economic and social status is higher, and their opportunities are vastly greater than Palestinians (or Arabs, in general) living in any other country. Palestinians in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and other Arab countries are still confined to refugee camps, which are more like concentration camps. They are kept in these camps because their "Arab brothers" don't want them as fellow citizens, and in truth, couldn't care less about them. They are used and brutally abused as pawns in the long-term Arab/Muslim war against Israel's right to exist. But, if one must make apartheid accusations, then first look at the plight of Algerians in France, Pakistanis in England, Turks in Germany, Kurds in Turkey, etc. The Palestinians in Israel have vastly better lives than any of these people. Yet Israel is slandered with the accusation of being apartheid.

And what about the West Bank? Aren't Palestinians there grossly discriminated against? First, West Bank Palestinians in general have better, more prosperous, freer lives than Palestinians in any Arab country. Period. Second, the West Bank is not part of Israel, and Israel is not bound by the same laws as it is for its own citizens. Third, the Palestinians in the West Bank have created their own fate, vis a vis Israel, due to their hatred, violence, and unwillingness to make peace, and ultimately to establish themselves as an independent country.

Palestinians of the West Bank have instigated 2 uprisings, both of which were exceedingly costly in lives both to Israel and themselves. In the 2nd intifada (uprising) 1000 Israeli civilians were murdered by terrorist attacks and suicide bombings in public places like cafes and synagogues. That would be equivalent to 30,000 Americans dying in anti-American riots. These uprisings were not about equal rights. They were intended as acts of warfare to destabilize Israel. They were intended to draw other Arab countries into the conflict, in a widespread war of annihilation, to "drive the Jews into the sea." Their military ambitions were a disastrous failure, but they have been successful in propagating their hatred.

In effect, what the apartheid-Israel slanderers are saying is: "Palestinians are allowed to hate Israel, deny Israel the right to exist, and perpetrate all kinds of violence, but Israel must treat Palestinians as if they were devoted citizens, ignoring their hatred and violence." It's ridiculous, but that's what is expected of Israel. Indeed, even more egregiously, Jews are not allowed to live in the West Bank, AT ALL. If they were, there’d be no need for settlements. Jews are forbidden to live in the West Bank (even tho Jews have been indigenous there for over 3000 years), and selling land to a Jew is a crime punishable by death according to Palestinian law! That's apartheid.

As for the Palestinians of Gaza, both their attitude and their violence are yet more extreme than that of West Bank Palestinians. Hamas, the theocratic dictatorship that rules Gaza, has avowed in their charter, as well as consistently in public statements (right up to the very day in which I’m writing this essay, June 2, 2021) that their goal is to destroy Israel and kill all its Jews. They have diverted a significant proportion of all the humanitarian aid they have received, as well as goods that come in thru Egypt and Israel, towards war with Israel. They have used that “aid” and materials earmarked for public welfare to build and amass a huge rocket arsenal, and to construct a vast "subway" system of military attack tunnels under their population centers, tunnels with no civilian use whatsoever. They use their own citizens (and foreign news agencies) as human shields, including placing munitions and military installations and operations rooms in and beneath hospitals, mosques, schools, apartment buildings, and office buildings. They use the shield of those same locations to stage rocket attacks on Israeli civilian populations. Aside from the 2 wars they started with Israel in the last decade, during "peacetime" they have fired over 10,000 rockets at Israeli cities, and have burned thousands of acres of farmland and orchards. And yet they claim, in a shockingly cynical irony, that they have been victimized by Israel!! Again, it would be laughable if it weren't evil. The same money and creativity could have been used to turn Gaza into a premier seaside vacation destination. But no. Many in Gaza suffer because their own government (with widespread public support) prefers to use poverty as a means of perpetuating hatred of Israel, and as an international propaganda tool.

3. Apartheid and double standards

The real apartheid in the Middle East exists in every Arab country, as well as Iran and Turkey. Kurds, Druze, Baha'is, Armenians, numerous Christian sects, Zoroastrians, bedouin peoples, Berbers, and a host of other minority peoples in the Middle East have all been periodically stripped of their rights, persecuted, ethnically cleansed, and suffered genocides in the last 80 years. All these, and other egregious acts of apartheid, discrimination, and oppression have been ignored or made light of. Instead, the one and only country with a constitution that requires equal treatment for all citizens, Israel, is cynically accused of being apartheid.

Appalling genocides involving the murder of many hundreds of thousands or millions of innocent citizens have occurred in Africa and S.E. Asia, the Middle East (remember ISIS?? Saddam Hussein?? Hafez al-Assad and his son Bashar??), and now in China against it's large Uighur minority, and yet Israel is cynically accused of apartheid. Here you see the grip of Jew-hatred driving the thinking of masses of people, many of whom imagine they are moral exemplars. They are no such thing. They are hypocrites and bigots.

And it seems no one (at least no one “woke”) is allowed to mention the elephant in the room. No one is allowed to mention that Islam itself is avowedly apartheid. The dhimma system is one of the defining features of Islamic law, and it specifically establishes the legal primacy of Muslims over all other citizens. Jews and Christians are formally and specifically second class citizens, and can be denied most legal privileges at the will of the ruler and his/her agents. Members of other religions have even fewer rights, and are even more at risk. From a western point of view, the dhimma is archaic and medieval, but it is still a defining feature of law in every Arab country, and nearly every Muslim country, sometimes constitutionally, but always from the ground up. The dhimma is how Muslims are taught to treat non-Muslims. And yet Israel with its modern constitution guaranteeing equal rights for all citizens, and its rule of law that commonly sides with Palestinians, is slanderously accused of being apartheid.

Finally, the epicenter of Jew-hatred in the world today is the Middle East (including countries as far east as Pakistan and Bangledesh). Sadly, in this era, Islam is an active agent in promoting Jew-hatred. It has not always been so, and hopefully a time will come when once again Islam will embrace tolerance towards its Abrahamic brother, and all others. But right now, public and private schools from Morocco to Bangledesh teach Jew-hatred; the various media promote Jew-hatred; religious leaders preach Jew-hatred; and governments enforce Jew-hatred. And from this epicenter, Jew-hatred in all its forms, including the apartheid slander, is being promoted in every country of the world. It has rampantly spread across social media, feeding the roots of Jew-hatred that seem to dwell in every human being, and spreading it like a pandemic, fed by lies, hatred, and ignorance.

Bottom line: Israel-bashing is Jew-hatred. Period.

So am I saying Israel is above criticism?

NO! I am saying that it is only at this point, when one is sure that Jew-hatred and its anti-Israel biases have been squarely looked at, acknowledged, and refuted unconditionally, that one can then look at Israel, see its many failures in its relations with the Palestinians, look at the comparable Palestinian and Arab failures, and understand them in context. But until one has reached this point of honest self-evaluation, and careful understanding of history, the discussion about "Israel's crimes" is just another kind of Ku Klux Klan cross burning. It is hatred, parading itself unashamedly in public.

excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen -- the 3rd of 3 meditations

Continuing the story line from my previous two posts (April 8 and 13, 2021) in which the sage, Yose ben Halafta is being led by a child into the ruins of Betar…

And once again I feel that hand gripped in mine, tugging me. His sweet eyes look up at me.
“The sad lady. That’s her name. She likes to read Hosea to me up on the rooftop when I can’t sleep.”
A wonderment. And on we go, deeper descending inside Betar.

We come to a stark and open place, what might have been the marketplace, now deathly silent. Even the doves refrain from keening their God-taught psalms. Just a breathy mumble, like *Hannah at prayer* praying the curse be lifted from her. [Note: 1 Sam. 1:10-13]
“A vain prayer if she lived now. No more will children laugh in this place”

As if a hand is gripping my throat, and I can’t breathe. Shock and fear. What is this that knows my thoughts?
“You’re lost, old man, and no return, yet you cling to hope that there’s a path or a Halakha you know from here. Hope is a lie, white-washing the truth.”
And finally I see a faint trace of a shade, or is it a blasted oak?

The boy urgently tugs on my hand, but I must see who addresses me in such a prescient and cynic voice.
“What ails you shade that you spit these words at me as if I trespass you”
“And who be this Roman chump that intrudes?”
“I see you don’t know all my thoughts. Roman, certainly I am not! In the secret synagogues I am known as Yose the teacher; some call me ‘sage.’”
“Son of Halafta! I had heard that, along with Khutspit, you were torn to pieces and had your tongue ripped out.”
“I’m still here, at it still wags. You seem to know me. Who are you?”

Ignoring me, he continues his rant:
“How long will you flout those worn-out beliefs?”
When I don’t answer, he frowns and spits.
“*For three transgressions or even four,* I will not turn back to the path of the Lor. What my eyes have seen be proof enough that the Lor has turned away from us.” [Note: Amos 1:3]
“What are these so-called proofs of yours?”

Again he frowns and spits in the wind.
“Madness drives the human spirit. Else explain what the Zealots did, burning three years store of grain, and breaking cisterns to force a fight against a siege invincible? Madness. Then came utter ruin and massacres unknown before. Roman soldiers tore down The House, burnt the Holy of Holies to ash, murdered their ten thousands and more, and swaggered our plunder back in Rome. Humiliations followed that. Priests stripped naked, driven thru the streets, beaten, pissed on, blinded, killed. Women raped while their children looked on. Infants thrown from the Temple walls, hundreds, their bodies splattered in piles. And who survived? Cowards who fled, and sages who hid in garbage heaps. And of those sages, many a one were martyred, burnt, beheaded, flayed. And who prevails? Lupis the beast, lean and hungry, godless, wild. Caesar has seized this whole world. There’s your proof. You need more?”

My chest tightens. Words fail. Dismayed, I turn my eyes to the ground. Again, I feel the tug on my hand.
“I told you not to go in there. He yells at everyone that way.”
Stumbling on many a stump and stone, we hustle back into the welcoming ruins, the thick shadows, the silent gloom. Now the dog begins to bark. The boy stops and shushes me. A moan, a cry, a screech, a howl off in the distance, drawing near.
The boy now yanks his hand from mine and runs away. And then a shout.

“Father! I’ve been searching for you.”
The dog is yipping, scamper and skip, and the three emerge from a shattered tomb.

The first tainted shades of dawn begin to paint the eastern sky.
“Peace be upon you, prayerful man.”
“And peace be upon you, father and sage.”
“I see my son has guided you thru these ruins. No doubt you met my friend Elisha, him who once stood among the elite of Israel, til tragedies and their harsh blows broke his heart and crushed his will. Now anger’s currents ravage him like a house washed out by flood and broken up in the surge of waves. There’s still a spark of faith in him that in a gilgul, maybe two, will flare again and shine new light. A broken heart is slow to heal. But you, Reb Yose, I told you before, you shouldn’t enter a ruins to pray.”

Wonders abound. Who is this?
“I heard a voice luring me. Here just a moan of a mourning dove, there, a minyan praying psalms. Such congregations called to me.”
“You should have stayed on the road and prayed. Many a danger lurks in here.”
“True, but dangers also stalk the road, and many disruptions too.”
“Then shorten your prayer and quicken your step back to a place where Shekhina sings.”
“Master and teacher, how do you know my name? Have we met before?”
“In other bodies and other times we have met. But in this place, horizons limit all you see, all you hear, all you feel, and you can’t remember anything beyond their tight constricting curves. And so you don’t remember me.”
“And does that not apply to you, too? Or should I call you ‘Divine Envoy?’”

Tarnished silver streaks the clouds, with edges burnished to a brilliant gleam. The brighter the light, the more transparent the man and his son. Now disappeared.
All that remained, a yipping dog which followed me down the long road to Tzippori, where it too disappeared.

excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen -- the 2nd of 3 meditations

Continuing the story line from my previous post (April 8, 2021) in which the sage, Yose ben Halafta is being led by a child into the ruins of Betar…

Now further we wander thru Betar’s streets. Are we walking in circles here? I keep repeating the same phrase...
Mellekh maymeet u’m’khiyay u’mutsme’ukh yeshu’ah...
Creator of death and life; our matrix and deliverer.

And now I hear a keening psalm with an accent foreign to this age. I urge the child to turn aside to a little house with its dome caved in. Peering into a doorway’s abyss, there, a shimmering ghostly light, like a damsel, her eyes mad with grief. Seeing me she cringes away to a corner, compelled by horror or fear.

“Go away you demon scourge. Leave me be like times before when you and your brothers had all fled from him who spake and freed me from you.”
“Fear not damsel. Look at me, a man of flesh from Adam’s world, who heard your moans among the doves and has come to see if I might salve.”

Slow her terrors wash from her face, replaced by a flickering show of moods, many full of her former despair, mixed with glimmers of doubtful hopes, which maybe inspired her to confess:
“Look at me, so empty and lost, waiting many a long year for him whose touch was purest joy to return and make me new again. Betrothed we were when he set off to his father’s house, not so far. But see how years in moments pass, and once again I am beset by demons, all prick and bite, who spew their lies and leave me besmirched with doubt and anger, hurt and hate. My troubles compile and redouble my fears that he is dead and will not return. I, who was great among the redeemed, am become a widow, become a thrall.”

“Do I hear you a-right, or wrongly infer that him you speak of is the Nazarene who claimed he was the anointed one? Surely you must know he is dead.”
“Do I hear a-right, or wrongly infer that you be a rabbi and Pharisee?”
“This much is true: rabbi I am.”

Then you are as lost as I now am! You who ever live in doubt and never know redemption’s touch.”
“Dame, you mistake your doubt for mine. Doubt is not what harrows me. Sin? Sure. Grief? Much. Wonderment at why sin exists. Exile from our Holy Land. But never exile from the Lor.”
“But then the Lor stepped down to earth. Why turn your back upon the sun?”
“Yours are words for Roman and Greek, them who seek gods they can see and touch, with human features and human faults. Give them that in a Perfect Man and see how they rush to follow him. But here you are, praying psalms in Aramaic. You are a Jew. Why do you still cling to him? You are ever present to the Lor.

“He healed me and he lifted me. He held me and loved me. My love for him is personal.”
“Then healer and husband, but not God. Look at this world, still so benighted. Him you expect to rise from his grave cannot do such a ghostly thing. Much hubris his disciples displayed, claiming he was the body of God. And vastly more by those followers who will trample this world with their hobnail boots.”
“Kind your voice but vicious your words, battering me with your hard beliefs. Is it not enough for you that demons gorge upon my soul?”

See. Like a house that slowly cracks and crumbles when an earthquake heaves. So, a bitter wailing breaks and shakes this woman to piteous sobs. And who am I to crush her hopes?
“Sister, your grief brings sorrow to me, touching my own pangs of loss. But perhaps our griefs have hardened us. We are taught, the Lor’s Presence is near at hand, fills this room, fills this ruined land, this world. Is there not a tiny flame of hope flickering in your heart? Shelter it. Don’t let it die. ”

And now the mourning dove cries out,
“Weep no more. Weep no more.”
As I turn to leave, I ask of her,
“Sister, may I know your name?”
“Miriam of Magdala...”
And now that inner light in her quickly fades and she is gone.

excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen -- 3 meditations

Here are 3 scenes set in the Tannaitic era, after about 100 CE. The Atternen Ju (Eternal Jew) is reminiscing about some stories he heard from the mouths of the sages, stories that he is recording to be used as guided meditations.

This particular triptych of stories is told by the Tanna, Yose ben Halafta. In them he tells of meetings with remarkable men and women. The story’s setting is based on a well-known midrash, in which Elijah asks Yose why he went into a ruins to pray.

Recognizing that many people have difficulty reading my poetry, I have translated the text back into standard English (what I call “ole Eenglish), prose. Perhaps later I’ll post the poetry itself.

Here is the first of the 3 scenes. In coming days I’ll post the other two.
Thus...

One night I was walking past the ruins of Betar. A moaning dove perched on an arch lured me into the rubble to pray.
“Hail, spirit. What troubles you?”
I called to him. He moaned a reply. As I approached he lifted wing and flew to a pillar further in, and still he called, imploring me, call and response, to pray with him. And yet still further, he lit on a branch of a ghastly myrtle burnt in the siege. And there we began to pray the 18, [note: the 18 blessings, core of the 3 daily prayer sessions] and I got as far as ‘lee shanay affar,’ ‘those who sleep in the dust.’

And now, as the dove ceases his moaning and leaps from the branch and flies away, what do I hear? A weeping child?
And there, behold, he sits at my feet. Our eyes meet and he takes my hand, and I, I know not what to do. I must not interrupt my prayer. Nor may I leave this child alone.

And so, as he leads, I repeat this phrase:
Mee khummokha b’al g’vurote, u’mee do mellukh?
Who is like You, Master and strength, and who can be compared to you?

And now it seems we’re lost in a maze. There, the dove praying his moans. There the myrtle, its branches like arms, frantic, reaching to an empty sky. Now the dove, moaning his prayers on a pillar leaning in an empty lot. A twig cracks. Gravel kicked. And all around the echo of moans. And now a snarl and now a growl. And now an animal charging at us; a great wolf! It leaps at the boy.
And licks his face. Is this a dog?
“This is what I’ve been looking for.” The first words the boy has said.

Now the dog leads us deeper in, into a warren of rubble and ruins, rebels and runes. Do I see a face staring at us? Wrinkled like one who the years deform, haggard, unkempt, mournful, old. His voice intones like the joyless dead.
“I once ruled the heavenly spheres with grandeur such as none could compare. ‘Pharaoh’ they would whisper and bow low, and those that knew me called me ‘god.’ I, even I, was punished severe by that Hebrew Lor whose power I dared. Search ye now thru my opulent home, where lapis and gold once tiled the streets, now rubble and mudbrick and stinking tombs. Prophet, what further ruin will you vent on one who knows not how to repent?

In awe I dwelt on his fearsome word, until I dared to ask of him,
“What, oh pharaoh, compels you to dwell here in Betar far from your Nile?”
“For me, that river never ceased to flow in blood, bringing pestilence. But here my stony and envious heart finds pleasure, seeing how Roman gods have avenged my loss to that Adonai.”

Just then the child whispered to me,
“But he said to me, he came here to live because Betar appeared to him just like Fustat, his ancient home, which every year decays still more. Here he hopes to learn from the Jew how to repent and serve the Lor.”
“Curse you child,” that specter forswore, and disappeared back into the stones.
And once again, that dove and his moan….

13 Ways of Looking at a Redtail

I never much liked Wally Stevens’ poetry, but, hell, I’m not above stealing a good title!

Walking in Riverside Park yesterday I sited a redtail, and snapped a photo of her (him? them?). Interestingly, New York has one of the highest densities of raptors in the US. Lots of squirrels and rats to eat, I guess. Anyway, here are 13 ways of looking at that redtail…

A portrait study

I was skyping the other day and I guess the person onscreen was in a bright light: his face was totally washed out. I took a screen shot, which turned out to have a strong blue shading, and from that I worked up this series of transformations. FYI, they are not presented here in the order in which they were produced. This is not a chronological development of the image, but I did try to present a sort of visual narrative in this ordering.
Always glad to get your feedback, critical or otherwise…

Meanwhile, back on the farm...

Dang, all my posts this year have been so heady, you might surmise that all I did was sit around and think abstractly. Foo!! I not only like to philosophize with a hammer (to quote my good friend Fred), I like working with concrete concrete, and lumbering around lumber yards.

Here’s a project I worked on in that sweaty covid summer that seems so long ago, in preparation for converting an existing shed into a tiny house. I needed a new shed for all the junk in the existing one! (Dammit, too much stuff!!) We had a neglected little section of the side yard in which we had considered planting a fruit tree, but it probably didn’t get enough sun, so I had the bright idea of putting a new shed there. The rest of this shaggy dog’s tail can be gathered from the following slideshow (sideshow?):

Lost book by Abarbanel, 3

The following lines are an excerpt from a book within a book: a lost mystical text on meditation within The Atternen Juez Talen. In this scene the storyline is intended to act as a guided meditation, leading the spiritual explorer on an elevated path thru a troubled psychological landscape. The endpoint aspires to a state of greater clarity, undistorted by the mostly unconscious conceptual aberrations and emotional whirlpools that shape our thinking.

The scene takes as its starting point a midrash about Rabbi Yossi (ben Halafta), who turns aside one night while walking in the vicinity of Jerusalem, to pray in a ruins. He is referred to as ‘Prophet’ in the monologue below. The scene also has another important literary referent: Shelley's brilliant poem The Triumph of Life, which to my eyes is among the greatest pieces of literature ever written. Thanks, Percy. You are ever an inspiration.

This, the "old English" version in prose:

Inside the darkness I see a face, wrinkled like one who the years deform, haggard, unkempt, mournful with dread. His voice intones like the joyless dead.

"I once ruled the heavenly spheres with grandeur such as none can compare. 'Pharaoh' they whispered, them bowed low, and those who knew me trembled in fear. I, even I, was punished severe by that Hebrew Lor whose power I dared. Look ye, now at my opulent home where lapis and gold once tiled the rooms, now rubble of mudbrick, a putrid tomb. Prophet, what further ruin do you vent on one who never learnt to repent?"

Lost book by Abarbanel, 2

Continuing the topic begun in my October 8, 2020 post, here’s an excerpt from the Kabbalistic book Abarbanel and his 2 secretaries are compiling. I present first the prose translation into Old English (what you probably think of as ‘normal’ English), and then the original original version in poetry:

Ole Eenglish proze verzhen:

In that same year in Yavne I heard Shimon ben Zoma leyn a drash in the week of V’Yishlakh. He taught:

Let us walk in Yaakov’s steps. Seeing the brutes and the blades and the blood [around him], he lifted himself from cushion and tent and set out down the rocky road to find that vaunted holy home. Lain his head on the crusty earth, Kedusha’s rolling thru his mind to crack the klipas worrying(? whirling) him. Down the angel minyans came. Took his hand and up they went. There, Shekhina like a dancing flame, hot and shapely, is waiting for him. Seven levels of kippurim to open the first fold of the tent and remove the embroidered garment of her. And seven more for the second fold and the deeper desires awoken in him. Now Shekhina urges him on, to tend the flock that it increase; be it strong, be it fecund. And so a vast and devoted host informed the will of Yaakov. He wanted to return to the Adam world with all this holy host of the Lor, to bring atonements to the waiting world. He descends to the river’s edge, three finger widths from the Camp of the Lor. There Adam confronted him and wrestled him into a human shell, that the host of angel messengers could pour thru the body of his soul – Ma’aseh Merkava – and enter the vacuous Adam realms to work redeemings into us.

The errijjennel verzhen az powessee:

In them same yeerz in Yovnuh I heerz
Shemone ben Zomuh laen on a drush
In the week a Vuh’Yishlukh*. He tot:
* week wen Berraysheet/Jen 32:4-36:43 iz red
Let us wok in Yuh’Uhkoevz steps.
Seeyen the bruten the bladen the blud,
He liffen himselv frum koushennes tent
An set owt down the rokkee ro
Tu fien that vonted holee ho*.
* eka d’omray: home
Laen iz hed on the krustee erth,
Keddueshuhz* rolen thru iz mien
* holenessez; holeyes praerz
Tu krak the klepuhz werlen him.
Down the aenjel minyenz kum,
Touk iz han an up than gon.
Thaer, Shekhenuh, dansen flame,
Hottes shaepleez waten fer him.
Sevven levvelz a keporreem*
* uttoenmenz
Tu open the fers foelen the tens
An remmuve the broiderd garmen uv her.
An sevven mor fer the sekken foel
An the deepes dezziyerz a woken him.
Now Shekhenuhz erj him on
Tu tend the flok that it in krees;
Be it streng, an be fekkunt.
An so a vas devvoten hoes
In formen in tens a Yuh’Ukkoev
A wonten rettern tu Addum werlz
With awl this holee hoesten the Lor,
Tu breeng a toenz tu the watee werlz.
Dessendes him tu this rivverree ej,
Three feenger withs frum the kampen the Lor.
Thaer Addum kunfrunten him
An ressel him tu a hyumen shel,
That the hoes (uv a) aenjel messejjerz
Kan por thru the boddeyen iz seel --
Muh’uhsay maerkuvvuh --
An enter the vakyuwes Addum relmz
Tu werk reddeemenz* intu us.
* ennummeez uv the Juwen reed this az “red demenz”

Megillat Esther: a golden drinking vessel

This 16 second video shows the development of an illumination for the Megillat Esther Josh and I are producing. Here’s the text of the video’s voice-over:

This illumination is based on a golden drinking vessel from the Achaemenid period. Conceivably, Xerxes, Achashverosh, could have used this vessel during the festivities described in the Book of Esther. I produced the image using gold leaf and water color.

Lost book by Isaac Abarbanel

My current work on The Atternen Juez Talen is taking place in Portugal and Spain in the years leading up to 1492, a momentous and disastrous year.

The Eternal Jew has become the secretary to the treasurer of Portugal, Don Isaac Abarbanel. Outside his work for the government, Don Isaac, the Eternal Jew, and Batkol (the Eternal Jew’s wife) are compiling notes on making spiritual ascents into the upper spheres of the soul.

Their researches try to create a map, to lay out the stages/levels of the soul ( what we might now call the unconscious, or in Jungian terms, the collective unconscious) and how those stages will be experienced — what will be seen, what will be felt, how to proceed, how to know where you are, and how to know where to go from where you are. You might call it ‘existential Kabbalah.’

Unfortunately, with the death of King Alfonso V, the new king, John II, is obsessed with consolidating his power over the independent princes of the kingdom. This leads to a blood bath, and Don Isaac and his retinue must flee to Castile (in modern-day Spain). Don Isaac decides to abandon his researches. Deeply disappointed, the Eternal Jew transcribes what notes they have, hoping at a later time they’ll be able to return to the project.

What follows is the introduction to the section entitled The Ladder of Ascents. Below, I present first the metaEnglish version in poetry, and then the “old English” (what you call modern English) translation in prose.

Now, I bin sor let down by this.
Shor fowndatenz kum beffor
Ubsservuttorreez on an upper dek,
But awlso shor, wen the hyumen seel
Be klaruffiez ennuf tu see
Beyon theze opake ellummenz,
An withowt unseen an distorten feelz,
Then perhaps theze noets that we kumpile
On hiten sens an speret ussents
May be uv yuse tu the arkutteks
Uv nu naeshenz an enliten seelz,
Tu aenjelfoke a nokken ar dor.
Aenjelfoke waeten on us tu urrize.
Theze noets then, may thay serv the Lor.

~~~~~~~~

Now, I been sore let down by this. Sure, foundations come before observatories on upper decks, but also, sure, when the human soul is clarified enough to see beyond these opaque elements, and without unseen and distorting feelings, then perhaps these notes that we compiled on heightened senses and spiritual ascents may be of use to the architects of new nations and enlightened souls, and to the angelfolk that knock at our door. Angelfolk waitin’ on us to arise. These notes, then, may they serve the Lor.

Shana Tova 5781: excerpts from life and imagination

Looking critically at myself (these Days of Awe and ow and ecch, and all), I believe the best part of me is my poetry. As a person, as a husband, father, saba, I don't come close to what I may be capable of. But, perhaps, in my poetry I come close, or closer.

Thus I post this excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen, modified a bit, to try to express my thoughts, grasp the moment, send you Shana Tova greetings, and maybe even lift you a few degrees in the process...

The first light of the new rising sun and Nancy and I, chewing the facts...

Just like any old morning talk before Rosh Hashana and its stairways to heaven where the Judge is waiting to thin the flock.

The seventh month and the first of the year. That’s Jewish time: all relative! And all relative the way we see things; backwards, twisted, turned upside down. Looking up to heaven, and it turns out we're looking down into the pit of ourselves. Imagine.

And there, Divine Being. Imagine! And there, you, and you're not saying, 'cut me a break' or 'this is all a crock' or 'save the religious crap for some other fool'. There you are, saying ‘Hineni’, 'Here I am.' And there your Divine Being is, saying, 'That's not all of you. Stop hiding and show me more!'

Shock and awe. Now the holiness of the day like a mountain hangs over your head. “Will you be My partner or not?” says your Divine Being, and who isn’t ready to faint?

The book of all we say and think, of all we did, and all we didn’t do; the book we wrote with our own hands and spoke with our own mouths; that book! It reads itself back to us while our Divine Being is looking right there into the pit and piteousness of us. Who will stand there and still have faith and not just run, all trauma, away?

The Divine Being of all the worlds is standing before your face and turning your page.
Days of Awe.

May your pages be many, full of wonders, and may they be turned gently.
With love and awe,

Studies of a painted room

The other night, standing in my study looking into the dining room where Nancy was working, I saw a strange thing: the walls, tho all painted the same color, were all different shades. I pulled out my camera and took a picture to verify that I wasn’t in an altered state. The camera saw it my way too. So I decided to run the camera image thru some altered states, and here’s what emerged:

Further Notes on Human Evolution, part 2

Continuing where I left off from my previous post…

… Still, we can glimpse that direction and purpose, using our own direction and purpose to guide our imagination. But more importantly, by seeing purpose and direction in evolution -- as in our own lives -- we can begin to positively effect our own evolution towards a better future, one that I am inclined to imagine would be more peaceful, respectful, balanced, and healthy than the present state of our species and its civilization.

Perhaps predator humans at the crest of local power and wealth waves might prefer to imagine a feudal, slave society that serves them and them alone, but I’d like to point out that human development clearly shows that predator species and predator individuals will be extincted (found less fit) more rapidly than other, less predatorial types. The saber-toothed tiger, the lion, the modern tiger, the cougar, the wolverine and so many other predators are targeted first by humans seeking to build a place for themselves. This is true for the most aggressive humans as well. Nature may create predators but it does not love them. And human nature has a particular antipathy for predatorial types.

Thus I speak of our species emerging into the “teenage” years of its life span, and the implications that has for us human children as we begin to grasp and manage our purpose, meaning, and direction, that is, as we begin to move towards greater maturity.

Like all growth in a population, some individuals will begin to mature a little sooner than others. Some individuals (we often call them prophets, sages, geniuses) speak to and for our future with guiding principles and values. Particularly meaningful to me are teachings that promote one law for all people alike, and for taking care of the needy and most vulnerable in society. Our prophets and geniuses are not perfect, and they may also say many things that are still embedded in adolescent thinking. But they have seen a glimmering of the future, and that can inspire and guide us.

Others speak forcefully and with great popularity, and yet they speak from the moral and social ignorance of our species’ prepubescence. They are fearful of people and ideas that they don’t know (xenophobic); predatorial towards those that are different or weaker (bigoted); certain of their knowledge, though it is profoundly limited (fundamentalist, authoritarian); without regard for or awareness of their impact on the world around them (anti-environmentalist); and/or concerned only with matters of status (idol worshiping). These are people on the back edge of the evolutionary wave, and yet they are often the people whose voices are the loudest or most popular.

One’s status in society is not a measure of one’s moral and spiritual growth. Indeed “high status” may be a measure of a person’s lack of growth, showing s/he is mired in the dogpack values of ego, aggression, vanity, and consumption. The same is true for those obsessed with power. Often very backwards in their moral and social values, those who seek political power are often among the people most resistant to societal growth, and most opposed to implementing legal and structural changes to facilitate unbiased justice, equal opportunity, and a sense of economic security which will enhance creativity and accelerate our intellectual, moral, and spiritual development.

The dogpack mind is very powerful in our psyche, and very essential. But I believe our evolutionary growth allows for the possibility of diminishing its most destructive aspects, such as unrestrained aggression and fear, while enhancing the dogpack virtues of social responsibility and semi-egalitarian authority structures. Individual commitment to that kind of evolutionary growth is a first step in its manifestation.

Further Notes on Human Evolution

Here’s the opening paragraphs to a short essay that continues to develop the logic of a critique of pure randomness in evolution. My thesis: evolution is purposeful and directed, altho we have extremely limited access to what that purpose and direction is.

~~~~~~~~~

As I have suggested elsewhere, we humans are entering our teenage years as a species. In the last 5000 years, in this dawning of “civilization,” we have grown from adolescents, perhaps about 10 years old, to young teenagers, say 13 years old (by way of comparing species-time to individual-time).

We have grown from an innocent but raw and unmediated selfishness, guided by a “dogpack mind” that Darwinians have enshrined as ‘survival of the fittest,’ towards an emerging “teenage” sense of the value of other, and of community, while still gripped by the dogpack mind that drives us towards all kinds of self-serving bigotries and forms of violence.

But let me step back for a moment, to make clear my context.

What is meant by this term ‘survival of the fittest?’ It is generally interpreted as meaning that life and its evolution is changing randomly, that is, without specific purpose and without intended or even definable direction, serving temporary imbalances in nature. Fitness is just a way of describing temporary species survival. Is a lion more fit than a sparrow? Is an oak more fit than a fern or moss or algae? Such an understanding of evolution implies very specifically that the process is godless. Evolution has no purpose or direction. It only serves temporary states of ‘fitness.’

Now, it is conceivable that the universe is purposeless and directionless, but I don’t believe that it is. In fact, I don’t believe that anyone, literally anyone, believes that it is! In our heart of hearts we all believe that there is meaning and purpose in our lives. We also believe there is purpose in our collective lives, as well, although we may bitterly disagree on what that meaning and purpose is. As a species we humans are utterly absorbed in and devoted to matters of purpose and direction. Indeed, the loss of hope in the purposefulness of our lives drives us to suicide. But even suicidal actions that address such a state are in themselves a desperate grasping at meaning, at purpose, in which the suicidal individual can at least direct one last act towards rejecting their hopelessness and helplessness.

And if we human beings are so driven, so utterly absorbed in the idea of meaning, purpose, direction, is this then a species-wide delusion?

I believe not. The very term ‘evolution’ inherently involves direction, and our obsession with exploring our evolution is a function of the purposefulness that shapes our every thought. The ideology of randomness in evolution is the real delusion! It is a positivist reduction and simplification, and while false, it does serve the purpose of helping us collect data with, perhaps, a little less emotional and ideological baggage. In this way it can be seen as having some value, even though it is neither truthful nor accurate in its understanding.

That said, we must be very careful not to assume what we mere humans, a genomic wavelet hurtling forward on the vast tidal wave of life-evolution, have any but the dimmest understanding of the direction and greater purpose of evolution. Indeed, the universe, and the purpose that drives it is arguably something like a quarter-billion times vaster and more enduring than the flickering space-time of our individual lives (assuming the universe is 13.7 billion years old).

Still, we can glimpse that direction and purpose, using our own direction and purpose to guide our imagination….

Eternal Jew: scenes in Majorca

Our hero has been involved in map-making, a profession surprisingly dominated by Jews in the 100 years before Columbus. These maps were fundamental to the European expeditions around the Cape of Good Hope to India and then to the New World. He is now in Palma, Majorca, arguably the capital of map-making in the mid fifteenth century.

Here’s a prose excerpt, followed by the original poetry in its altered English:

And in them days, Aragon’s noose was squeezin’ tighter on the church’s lands, trying to choke out heresy, and alternate readings of their bible tales, and personal knowledge of God in the world. And as for pagans, Muslims, and Jews, a sword was pressin’ against our necks. Hard to breathe; harder to move. Like we fell into a vortex of hell in Dante’s tale of hopeless souls; trying to find a reliable map out of these hell-lands coiled in hate.

But forgive. I’m rushin’ ahead of myself. I still must describe the secret lives hidin’ inside of Palma’s walls. And Batkol insists that I reveal the book she writ in Genoa.

Like I says, that priest hustled us thru private courtyards and mazy ways an into a house with nary a knock. Expectin’ a parlor, much surprised, we stands in a kitchen, fragrant with bread. The cook nearly drops her tray of cakes, and stifles a scream,

”O Father Enrique! You frighten me.”
“So sorry, Noor. Senor Vallseca awaits us. We came the back way to save time.”

She leads us into a sittin’ room.

Juan Vallseca
Man of stone. Face a mask. Sits like sphinx; desert winds slowly etch his mask away; slowly pit his stony eyes. Flickers of inner light escape. He taps his finger on his thigh. His stone casting begins to crack. As if an echo from a far hill, words escape from his chest, words of welcome from a distant place.

Father Enrique
“My sphinx-hearted man of faith, my dear friend, Senor Juan...”
A well-trained hound at his master’s feet, tho sharp of tooth and mastiff tall. Knows the hand that feeds him well, that makes him sit or whips his haunch. None too fawning but well restrained.

Gabriel Vallseca
Puppy scampers, yip and yap, nipping toes, yip and yap, chasin’ his tail, yip and yap...
In walks Gabby with a wide grin and a flaky pastry in his hand, crumbs flying as he says hello.

Father Enrique
The light dims and shadows streak his etched cheeks, his deep eyes now enlarged to dark pools as evening dulls the rosy clouds, and the bright sky turns deeper blue. Is that the Nazarene I see on a further hill, his robes blowing in the risen wind; or only Paul, sharp of tongue and dark of thoughts, come to Rome to challenge law? His voice is soft but his fist is clenched, and his next words transform the mood...
“What, now, are we to do?...”


Here’s the original poetry:

An in them tiemz Aruggonz noos
Bin skweezen titer on the cherchen lanz,
Tryen a choke owt harusseez
An alternet reedz a thaer bibel taelz,
An persennel knowenz a God in the werl.
An az fer pagen, Mouzlem, an Ju,
A sord wer prest uggens ar neks;
Hard tu breeth; harder tu muve.
Like we fel intu a vortex a hel
In Dontayz talen a hoeples seelz,
Tryen a fien a reliyubbel map
Tu exkape theze hel-lanz an koyelz a hate.

But fergiv. I rusht uhhed a myselv.
I stil mus deskribe the seekret lievz
Hiden inside a Pawlmuhz wawls.
An Butkoel insists that I reveel
The bouk her rit in Zhennovuh.

Like I sez, that prees husselt us
Thru privet kortyardz an mazee wayz
An intu a hows with naree a nok.
Expektenz a parler, much serpriez
We stanz in a kichen, fraegren a bred.
The kouk neerlee drops her tray a kaeks
An stifelz a skreem.
“O, Fother Enreek! Yu friten me!”
“So sawree, Noor.
“Seenyor Valsekkuh awaten us.
“We kum the bak way az saven time.”
She leed us intu a sitten room….

Hwon Valsekkuh
Man a stone. Fase a mask.
Sits like sfeenx; dezzer winz
Slolee ech hiz mask uwway,
Slolee pit hiz stonee iy.
Flikkerres inner lite exkape.
He tap iz feenger on iz thi.
Iz stone kastenz start tu krak.
Az if an ekko frum a distan hil,
Werdz exkapen frum hiz ches,
Werdz a welkum frum a far plase.

Fother Enreek
“My sfeenx-hartes man a faeth,
“My deer fren, Seenyor Hwon...”
A wel-traent hown at iz master feets,
Tho sharp a-tooth an mastif tawl;
Knoez the han az feed him wel,
That make him sitz or wip hiz honch;
Nun too fonnee, but wel-restraenz.

Eternal Jew's Rescue of Batkol

Here’s a new scene from The Atternen Juez Talen, translated out of MetaEnglish poetry into standard prose.

These events take place in the hills outside of Genoa, where Saadya, the Eternal Jew and his wife Batkol have settled. The year is about 1420 CE.

While I be bent to a draftin' desk, pourin' thru maps ...

Batkol set out on a different route. Leavin' such chaos and madness to me, she discovered that herbs and cures from extracts, infusions, oils and salves be well-developed in Liguria's hills....

So off she gone a second time, out to see them sorcerous dames, me absorbed in work, and yet concerned for her wanderin' alone. And my worries increased day by day, til after a week my mind won't bend to interpretin' sketches and decipherin' scrawl.

After mornin’ prayers I'm sittin' at the bench, and I thrown up my hands.
"I gotta find my wife, now gone over a week. That ain't right. I'm worried sick."
Out the door and up the road I hustles. I remembers a town up the river where she first gone to learn about healers in the hills. Walkin' all night, I arrived the next day, and begun askin' about women that heal. Well, men, they don't know a pimple from a pox. But women, soon as they hear me ask where that healer dwelt, they clams right up, all suspicious and evil eyes.

So nothin' for it. I'm up the road to a further hamlet. There I tells some juicy yarns about my wife. I exaggerates just a teeny bit, sayin', a wonder healer she be, with many a potion to soothe the soul. There's chitter and chatter a-plenty now. That gone on for a day or some, when a miserable crone come beggin' me to brang some potions for her sickly girl.
"I'll send my wife in a fortnight or so."
says I, and her shoulder sags like a roof on a rotten hut; she's all dismayed.
"That won't do, oh no, not at all. I needs them remedies right away. Guess I must go to that sorcerer,"
says she, and I mumbles,
"Suit yourself."
But soft and secret I watch her close. The very next morn she's out the door and up the road and down some trail and onto paths only animals use, and come to that witch.

I expected to find Batkol inside, when I knocked and gone in. And there, that witch starts screamin' at me, and pulls a knife, howlin' the while like some wild and injured animal --
What the hell was Batkol doin' there amongst such souls untouched by God? --
Thankfully, my walkin' stick kept that hyena woman at bay while I drags Batkol down the trail a ways, til she collapsed. I carried her -- fragile as a dried out stick of birch -- til I couldn't hear them howls no more. Then I built a litter to lay her on and drag her nice and comfortable thru them hills and hamlets and towns. Many a gasp and askance look we drawn, but nary an offer of help -- like I been some brute that beat my wife -- til we come to the outskirts of Genoa, where I hired a wagon for the cobbled streets.