Lighting up the Darkness and the Smog Check Place

By Dnoll

Tzipori Mosaic
I decided not to go to the wedding. It was at 3:30 on Friday afternoon for Heaven's sake… I mean, what were they thinking? How was the Rabbi even going to officiate the whole deal? Then I realized… This was not going to be a 'religious' affair; so, in my very special brand of finite wisdom, I conveniently forgot about it and made other Friday plans, which, happened to be ultimately (and rudely) interrupted by the appointment that we had… to get a smog check on our old car. Sheesh… the previous week, after waiting for about an hour and a half in the hot sun and spending about 300 shekels, it had failed… We were instructed by the guy at the garage to put this special German engine cleaner stuff in the tank and run it up and down the hills around here; we had only one day left to pass it — Friday. So, I put my plans on hold, crossed my fingers, and drove like a bat-outa-hell to get the last drop out of the German engine cleaner stuff before they plumbed the tail pipe with that alien probe thing.

Rewind to the week before:

While trying to navigate the sequence of eventual events at the smog check place, I walked up to one of the Arab technicians that worked there on the tell-all smog machine. As I was asking him where I should go to process my (oh-so-Russian style) paper-work, the other Arab worker guy in front of him started to back up a car with a rev, rev of his engine. I thought, "Is that guy going to stop?" You know how it works: first you have a flash of a thought, then a realization, and then it really sets in, then you watch it happen right in front of your eyes. The Arab got pinched between two cars, one of which was traveling at a 'really' high rate of speed, the other with the hood propped up. I knew I was going to watch the guy get cut in two… I just knew it. In that moment, as I was trying 'so' hard to navigate the corridors of existence in my life here, I was forced to let out a scream of terror. I yelled out at the top of my lungs, "Heeeeeyyyyyyy!!!!" The car stopped, just as it pinched the Arab's trousers. He couldn't move and began to protest the other Arab's driving, but in such a weird way that I thought this must be totally normal, like this was exactly what happened every single day at the smog check place…

Fast forward to the following Friday morning:

On the way to the smog check, my wonderfully accurate and timely wife began to tell me about the wedding that I had conveniently forgotten about. I, regrettably (and in-the-moment style innocently), had a flash of rage and confusion. I even 'pretended' that I didn't remember it; but, I knew right then that I had only covered it with blindness. I apologized to my wife, but was still steaming on the inside and began to sink deeper into the seat of the car. Now all my plans were ruined and on top of that, I had to go to this pseudo-wedding, this sham of reality here in the Promised Land. (Sometimes I can be such a putz…) So, we got to the smog check place and this time my wife had a plan to get the car to pass, in case the alien tail-pipe enema didn't go so well. She was going to flirt with the guy to get him to pass the car. I continued to melt into the seat and watched as she sauntered up and (really looking great) started to small talk the technician. Long story short, he neglected to probe the tail pipe completely, he smiled at my wife, then at me, and we drove away wondering what had happened. We were 'off' to the wedding.

Fast forward to about 3:30 that same Friday afternoon:

After about a 45 minute drive away to an ancient city called Tzipori, we arrived at the wedding. It was held at a private ranch, resplendent with all the frills. We parked the car and walked the rest of the way and upon entering the reception area, were greeted by an over-arching sign saying "Wellcome!" Yeah, it was misspelled… The whole place seemed to be styled after some kind of American / Texas ranch. Suffice it to say, it was not a typical Israeli wedding. We made our way over to someone that looked official and asked him if the food was kosher… no surprise there, so I went to the bar to order a beer (beer is kosher, for those of you that didn't know). The young women behind the bar were all scantily clad, hiking their miniskirts back down at every turn. After receiving a tall Tuborg, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Immediately I got nervous and felt I needed to explain that, "Beer was kosher" to the short bald guy that had said something that I didn't quite understand… I was thinking, "What is an Ed?" Oy, the guy was the father of the bride and they wanted me to be a witness at the wedding!

All I remember is hearing my wife say, "Well, you look like the only Jew here," I assume since the Rabbi and I were the only ones wearing a kippah. I ducked as a maître d' type raised a stanchion and admitted me into the private sanctum where only family and close friends were allowed. We arrived at a group of tables, one of which was covered with half eaten sausages and beer glasses. Me, the father of the bride, the father of the groom (and owner of the ranch), the groom, and the other witness (who had a cowboy hat on that the rabbi insisted he wear for lack of a kippah) all sat down and began signing the kettuba (wedding contract).

About this time, I realized that there was a hulking figure wandering about in the shadows behind us. He had long black dread-locks, hair everywhere, and looked vaguely familiar. I kept looking at him and catching his eye, as if he was waiting for me to recognize him. Yeah, as it turns out he is quite a famous musician in Israel – Mosh Ben-Ari. He played the wedding march and I assume, since the entire place was decked out like a concert hall, a rock concert later that night, which we couldn't stay to see… bummer…

We left, neck-in-neck with the rabbi, after 10 minutes under the Hupa (wedding canopy), as all the quests began to make their way over to the sumptuous roasting meat on spits that surrounded the gourmet tables at the edge of the stage. I was absolutely blown away by the wealth, but even more so at how little anyone there knew about the holiness of the event, the reason for the gathering in the first place. We were all surrounded by extreme beauty and affluence, smack in the middle of the ancient Holy Land, and I was confused at the lack of knowledge, the inability to see the true depth in life; but, it wasn't until I read a commentary on the parsha, Be'halot'cha (Numbers 8-12), for this week that I truly understood what had really happened.

Fast forward to yesterday:

I read: "When you kindle the lights, toward the (face) center of the Menorah shall the seven lights shine." The commentary went on to explain that the Menorah had seven lights, one in the center that pointed straight up and three on each side of it that pointed towards the center. The Sages explain that the three lights on the right represent those who are totally committed to spirituality and Torah, while the three lights on the left represent the people who spend most of their time dwelling in matters of the world. As well, instead of the Torah using the word "Lehadlik," meaning to kindle, it uses the word "Be'halot'cha," which literally means: to elevate. By pointing all of the lights toward the center, the Torah is teaching us that no matter whether a person is on the left or on the right, no matter whether a person is dwelling in this world or reaching for the next, what is of utmost importance (and really all that ultimately matters) is that each one of us focus our attention toward the Creator, who is at the center of the Menorah, who is at the center of the Universe, who is ultimate Truth and at the Center of each and every one of us.

What's the bottom line…? Well, I guess I just have to say it then… "We're all One baby!"

Shabbat Shalom!!

Popular posts from this blog

Am Israel Khai / עם ישראל חי

By
Image
  My Dad - He was the tallest man I knew of, not only physically, but mentally and spiritually. It wasn’t always very easy to talk with him, but when we did, and when I needed him, he was there for me completely, without any hesitation. He loved the garden, loved his wife, loved his children, and he loved his work. He was an urban planner that conceptualized a perfect society and implemented his and other’s ideas to build environments to sustain a perfect population of residents. And it worked, right up until the time when his job ended, 10 years before his forced retirement … due to corporate takeover. The American dream, of building from scratch a perfect world, a society that worked together for the needs of all its members, became sullied. Fear of not having enough and greed began to shake my father’s foundation of hard work and faith. My father grew up in a working class family, his birth father having left him and his mother when my father was only five years old. His stepfathe
Read more

Paper Plane

By
Image
The glee in her eyes told the story from the beginning to its end. Well, except the part where we all jumped into the air screaming… My young student stood at the back corner of the room, eyebrows pursed in concentration. She inched her way forward, begging my attention, with a paper plane she had folded; also begging… So, I agreed. She could throw it in one direction only, towards the garbage can in the opposite corner. She grinned before our lesson, and I knew she would try it. I breathed in as it flew, around one student, then another. It arced to and fro, ascending then dropping down, but (no way) just enough. Then it swooped up, stalled, and came down … exactly into the corner alcove… It landed perfectly into the trashcan that I had asked for, a hole in one. We all screamed as we jumped from our seats, TWO POINTS! And then our lesson began.
Read more

The Open Window

By
Image
It’s cold, and a love-couch. It must be the contact, the surface It’s got to be the shallow stuff, the breaking-the-surface thing That thing that sings its way into the bowels of the thing, that thing Tension that breaks and becomes self-realized. The stuff of source, which is never seen That thing Then, there’s   the other thing. The one open on the other side, of things That thing But, I keep looking at the glass between, the skim-off of cream at the seam Of that thing It lurks behind brain-matter, waiting to sing, that thing Like it never was, it disappeared without a trace Nesting Wrenches
Read more

The Difference between Inspiration and Impulsivity

By
Image
Inspiration is an impulsive phenomenon. Or … the light of the impulse of the flame of inspiration creates itself into the opposite, the muck underneath, the foundation of wealth that resides under each dump. I beg to differ, however, since the place I think of when down is up, the happy-place. That place bursts into fireworks and phlegm, it soars into the unknown. I like it, and when it goes. It comes from nowhere, but lands now. It builds itself into stars and hiccups, slipping. Shine lands on foundation, as it calls and disappears timely. The plain of pattern stains tattoos onto film. Flatulence’ don’t exist, the grey-zone we believe. It rams into the animal in front and welds all pell-mell into the mohel. It never actually sings. In the spire of will, we want wafflery with it, neat squares to glisten and mine – digging deep in order to shine, the ton of milling and shavings pour down until still. The difference is nil, ton and void, since the arch flows up again then down. It is
Read more

Family Couch

By
Image
HEY, MOISHE! - click here  -  I wasn’t displeased about sitting in-between my parents – and I had the TV-clicker, so pressed it and began to watch. It was a convoluted revenge story developing, and I knew it. My mind fluttered between whether I was in control, or if my hand was being forced. We all watched for a few segments of time, and then I got bored and nervous. I fast-forwarded super-fast to the end. Then the bullets started flying. The screen we watched became systematically shredded, with fibers and smoke fluttering like worms in the wind, but still smoking from ashes flipping from behind. I suppose I was just angry. It was irrational, considering the love that I’d had. They looked at me in the dream like I was criminally-insane. Mouths hung wide and low with eyes pinned to my lapel, lower than my sight could even see. I mumbled nothing and moved back to the carnage, and stewed—then I woke up. It was good to remember, as I do now, building bridges and zip-lines straight down. A
Read more

Three Thumbs

By
Image
There’s a rule and two others that I found while navigating the Ramon Crater. Back in Boulder there was a devil’s thumb, but this was different. In the crater I rediscovered three of them, rules of thumb, rules to live by, and rules that were meant. The devil is fantasy, I always suspected, but the cultural paradigms sent down in time would never relent! So, in the crater, I stuck my head in the desert, into the sands of time, and I learned as much as I could, till mostly I was spent. And spent I was, coming up from the barren lands down below, on the globe we live upon. I kept learning long after sundown, the rules to live by … and, until now, not making a sound. Rule one I learned from my father, as we hiked in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the highlands of California. We arrived at a campsite daily, with packs upon our backs, to find that others had left things behind. My family was small, only four with my mother and brother, but we learned that leaving a place better than when we c
Read more

Seed

By
Image
There’s a knowing left under the world that reminds me of me. I think it sometimes, this knowing, but it leaves soon thereafter, spitting nonsense into my memory of it being. The life it left always tilts my reservoir of love but never touches my lips up, never begs to begin. I sing, I dance, slamming it out unseen, but always tasting the wishing in which it began ~ image:  Etrog in Space, 10-2016  
Read more

From Pickles to Bubble Gum

By
Image
  I fell for it again today, the inevitable trap set for unwary teachers at the high school where I’m ever so slowly becoming an educator, and along the way developing some great relationships with the next generation of young Israeli leaders. This year had been a tough one, having met with my students for only a short period of time before we left for the holidays, and subsequently unable to return. By the end of Sukkot, we had all wrapped up a wonderful holiday season with family and friends, eaten and drunken far too much, and were ready for one more day of rest before the start of the real teaching season began, Sunday morning, October 8. Then, school was cancelled. It was far too dangerous, you see, to send kids out into our world. It was far too horrible to even comprehend what had happened. Each of us went into reaction mode, protecting our families, our neighborhoods, ourselves and each other, listening for the latest news, preparing for the worst, both mentally and physically.
Read more

Man, Woman, and the Arab Spring-board

By Dnoll
Image
The Middle East is getting hot. No, really, the air around here must be full of electric Kool-Aid or something. I mean, from the local hardware store, to the parliamentary building, and all the way downstream to my little family, we have been struggling to get along with each other for days now. For the last two weeks, the energy has gone up and down with rapidly decelerating acceleration, creating all kinds of interpersonal mayhem and sociological eddy current-crevasses. Even the dogs ran away and, for the first time since they have been our four-legged family additions, they had to spend the night in doggy-jail at the pound (at 300 Shekels apiece!). They just took off for a day on the town; I guess until the evil dog catcher snatched them from their revelry. Maybe it has something to do with the changing weather here in the Middle East, with sticky, sweaty, sloth-slug inclinations taking shape in our sub-consciousnesses. Or it could be the changing political climate that always invol
Read more

The End of Being a New English Teacher

By
Image
As a new English teacher I am required by the Ministry of Education to take a new teacher workshop for my ongoing training. It is bureaucratic business at best; at worst a sausage factory spilling out unknowns and just more mess. Oy, a student in 10 th just now texted me that her Moed Bet was scheduled for another Gush, to which, having stopped writing this, I replied: My schedule shows Gush B - lessons 1 and 2. But, no matter, whenever you have English, you will be taking the Moed Bet —English Lit., tests… wow. I just finished grading the rest, from both Gush’s pupils a pile of damn tests. That’s the hardest part of my job, I can attest, grading and writing, commenting and scoring … that is definitely the worst and the best. Actually, there ‘is’ that Zen that creeps in from the edge of the classroom, slinking in and only then becoming relevant—when students notice life moving in front of them, when they exert themselves into a realm of the living. Yes, there are other realms too, w
Read more