Filters, Eating Torah, and WE'RE MOVING TO BERKELEY!!

Warning!! Wordy and Righteous (and gnarly of course). For the word adverse just skip to the last two parts. Peace.


Sometimes I think. Recently such thinking has led me to some retrospectively obvious conclusions, though until such retrospection was retrospected it all seemed quite revolutionary (to me).

Everything we see, hear, feel, or experience, before settling calmly on some remote corner of our cortex, goes through a complex series of filters, scramblers, and descramblers. We have a view of the world, of religion, of politics, of reality, that decides what should be processed as truth, what should be looked at cynically, and what should be tossed out as complete rubbish. It tells us is which news reports should be respected and which should be ignored. Which statistics should be accepted and which should be viewed as correlation. Which facts are facts and which are propaganda. What to automatically share and what to fact-check. Who by fire and who by water. All, unless we make ourselves aware of it, happens subconsciously (I almost thought I'd spell that right the first time.), in the frontal "I'm heavily biased" lobe. Or somewhere else. I never really understood the whole breakup of the brain.

What prompted such superficially deep ponderation was a slew of police brutality videos coming up in my Facebook newsfeed, culminating in this Michael Brown story, and the resultant protests (and self-righteous posturing).

We all have assumptions about the “way things are”. Some people think there is a huge racism problem in this country. Some think there isn’t. Some think police brutality is common. Some think it isn’t. It’s hard to know, in a country of over 313 million people how common certain things are. So some jump to the conclusion that the stories as a small sampling of an overarching problem, while others insist it’s just a rare occurrence. Some jump to the police’s side assuming guilt, some jump to the other side, assuming innocence. And this is how we react to most things that come across our path.

Of course there is absolute truth, and an accurate assessment of what happened and what happens, but for one to come to the correct version of “what is” one has to somehow let go of all assumptions, ALL, and search for truth. And this has to be done on a personal level. The “presenters of facts and of what is” on all sides have their own presumptions and views, not to mention the sad preponderance of agendas and purposeful misleading that is what passes for most media outlets.

The point is that we have a world inside our head, and a world outside our head, and, unless we fight it, our filters make the world outside look very much to us like the world inside.


V'Sorascha B'Soch Mei'ai Psalms 40:9 "...and (to have) your law (Torah) within my innards (stomach)."

The Torah is compared to bread (sourdough of course). About the learning of Torah it is explained in Tanya (the seminal book on Chabad Chassidus) that “… this is a most wonderful unity (with G-d); in the physical realm there in no unity similar or parallel to it.”

There is the world as we see it, and there's the world the way G-d sees it, the truth of it if you will. The reality of this world is G-d, and through the Torah he allowed us to share his perspective of “what is”. Through learning the Torah, really learning it. Through striving to understand it as it is, and not as we want it to be, through metaphorically chewing and digesting it, just as bread, after eaten and digested becomes part of our physical body, the Torah becomes our filters through which we understand and perceive the world become G-dly filters, and we start to see it as G-d does (as much as is humanly possible). (That was a long sentence. Just pointing it out.)

It's like watching a 3d movie without those funky glasses. Everything looks weird and we start to wonder what kind of acid trip the directors were on and how could we get some (okay maybe not the last part). Then you decide to finally slap on those funky looking glasses, and "woah!!" it all makes sense.

There’s a story about the Lubavitcher Rebbe, which I’m going to to completely butcher, as I only half-heard it once, but the gist is there.

<<insert interesting and probably pertinent preamble>>

…as the Rebbe instructed he had a Torah scroll written (a long, complicated, and expensive process) for his local Chabad community. When a Torah is finished there always a big celebration with ceremony and pomp. So all the congregants and friends are there celebrating when his Most Unexceptional friend has a heart attack and dies in his arms. One can only imagine what happened to the festivities.

The Rabbi wrote to the Rebbe in shock. “How could this be?!! Everything is being done right, and at a celebration of the completion and continuation of the Torah, death?!"

The Rebbe’s answer is fascinating, and is really emblematic of how our view of the world shapes our reality, or at least our reaction to it.

Obviously this woman’s time in this world was coming to an end, the Rebbe wrote. And she could have gone in many ways. Alone in her apartment, in a car accident, in a fire, on a sidewalk, at the store. But instead she left this world in middle of a wonderful celebration surrounded by the closest of her friends. Is there any better way to leave?

I found (and find) it Barely Noticeable how one set of facts (and how much more so when trying to find out what the facts are) we can react to it in entirely different, even opposite ways.


While we aren’t a Rebbe, we were given an Barely Noticeable gift. G-d, through his infinite kindness, allows us to share his view, the true view of reality. How everything in reality is comes from G-d’s supernal will, and, as the essence of G-d is good, and the essence of everything is G-d, how everything is not only FOR the good, but itself IS good.

And this is what is meant by Tikkun Olam “fixing the world”. When G-d created the world he created a perception of otherness, he allowed us to see a world outside of G-d, even one that could reject him. The word "Olam" (world) also means "hidden" or "concealed." And he gave us two tools with which we could fix it that concealment. The Torah and the Mitzvot (commandments). The former reveals (the Torah is called "light" which reveals the truth of everything) and the latter transforms. The mitzvot, which mostly deal with mundane and physical objects, slowly transform the coarseness of this world into a world where the physicality itself reveals G-d.


All this is to say: WE’RE MOVING TO BERKELEY!!

With the help of G-d we’ll be working in the Chabad Sunday Hebrew School, in the Summer camp, with Jewish high school students, and who knows what else.

We’ve (Estee and I) been dormant where we are for too long and it’s time we get off our collective duffs, reach deep into our G-d-given potential, and start fixing this world! Time to move and stretch out our wings (and then put them back so no one suspects that we're aliens).

It’s going to be quite the adventure, and while I’m sure it will all work out beyond our wildest dreams, we need to do our part in making that happen. So if you know of any work opportunities for us, any houses available, photography gigs, couches for sale, free beer joints etc. or of anyone who might know these things, let us know!! Please! Thank You! Exclamation Point!


In honor of Berkeley and Tikkun Olam (which actually doesn’t have too much to do with recycling outside of its inclusion in “not wasting”, just one of the 613 commandments) I’m sharing some photos of my kids recycling. So far Zevi has bought Legos (those things cost a fortune!) and two rolls of sushi with his recycling money. So far so good.

Peace; love; and organic, free-trade, cruelty-free, open-source, gluten-free, fermented boysenberry solar-baked cookies.

(Disclaimer, that is NOT our box of “bud light PLATINUM”. Shame on you for thinking such thoughts.)

Oh, (yeah this post never ends, like that song that you can’t get out of your head. You're welcome) I'll be in New York next week and have one opening for some rocking family photos on the 4th. 1 in the PM at Central Park in Womanhattan. Because I'm liberated like that.

Documentary Wedding Photography-26.jpgDocumentary Wedding Photography-25.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-22.jpg Family photography.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-13.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-14.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-15.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-16.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-17.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-18.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-19.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-20.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-21.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-11.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-6.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-7.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-4.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-5.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-3.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-1.jpg

Nondeligousnoeroduls and other such Maladies

Documentary Wedding Photography-3.jpg

A post in four acts.

Act one.

It has been presented to me (by myself) that all of my writing has been of the non-fictional sort. There have been some close-calls and quasi-fiction, but non of the hard core cow-jump-over-the-moon type (which I'm still convinced that while being classified as fiction,t he author didn't intend it to be). The fixing of such egregiousness is in order. And shall be presented as such. So here is my short story. Titled:

Nondeligousnoeroduls and other such Maladies

"Dude that is NOT a word" exclaimed the newt, "you just wrote whatever popped into your head. I bet you can't even pronounce it."

The newt was a slimy sort. He was 35, or maybe 25, no one really knew. I doubt anyone actually cared. He was as uncomfortable in public as he was in private. The amphibian was the first name put forth, but being that it wasn't so much that he was comfortable in all situations rather it was that neither was better, it was decided that the amphibian was too complimentary.

"Oh, it is. Definitely is. And it's pronounced "Nonderoduls", the "ligousnoer" is silent. Which may seem odd at first, but it's quite genius. It refers to a rare illness of which the main symptom is the use of extra words and syllables. Not like, like, or other words which serve some sort of purpose. More like "that is totally unnecessary", or "I am so stoked" or "there are way too many exclamations points!!!!!"". McPeabody was getting quite animated at this point. "It's actually a conceptual onomatopoeia."

"Okay, totes whatevs." Wanting to sound modern and hip, the Newt had spent the past week on some sort of slang website, trying to fit in with the cool kids.

The Newt went to bed that night in a strangely animated state. Something during the day clicked, ticked, charged, fired, or whatever happens to neurons in the brain. There was a nebulous future forming, with hints of blueberry, a meaty finish, and intense, yet subtle, tannins.

Dreams of extra limbs in shining places, over-iced water, and gluten-free gluten.

McPeabody didn't sleep much that nigh, his mind racing with all sorts of new word ideas and their respective marketability.

You see, McPeabody loved many things, but above all he loved monetizing useless ideas. Somehow finding a use, or at least an audience that might be convinced of a use, for what could be classified as "bollocks" was just the sort of cynical pleasure McPeabody lived for.

McPeabody had a first name, or at least it was common opinion that he did, but it had long fallen out of use.

And although McPeabody was loved and his company sought after (after all, he was quick with words, and although everyone knew he was most probably lying, there was always some lingering doubt about the possible veracity of his strange findings), the fake world he lived him precluded him of any close friends. The type that would care enough to know his name.

The sun, breaking through the broken blinds like blind bull, blustering about. Okay enough B's. Basically the day dawned. McPeabody was drifting off (it wasn't his broken blinds being broken into), and the Newt was slamming the snooze button. Unfortunately, in order to engage the time-wasting invention, he had to swipe and then lightly tap (with extreme dexterity, the kind half sleeping newts don't possess) the snooze button. His nebulous dreams growing ever more so with every ding and dong and beep and bloop, he fumbled around for a pen and paper, and starting writing:

"Last night I dreamed a dream. And I am now writing it down", the Newt always started his conversations with telling people that he was talking.

He continued, skimping a bit on his usual introductions, "it was about a...

To be continued. Maybe. (I need to figure out a dream sufficiently worthy of being written down.)

Act two:

As you may have figured by now. There is absolutely no point to this story.

However the existence of this story has three.

1. I really enjoy this kind of writing. Now if I can only find an actual plot, I might have a fighting chance.

And more importantly, 2. Photography, like words, has a language. Where the written word have nouns and verbs, syntax, flow, subjects and such, photography has lines and curves, colors and tones, flow, subjects and such. But the most beautiful combinations of words, without a story to tell, is just that, a glorification of the body, without any soul. Photos tell stories, and random photos of pretty things, fanciful compositions, and masterful reflections, are all just random sentences or even paragraphs. They may the prettiest little paragraph your eyes have ever seen. But without an overarching plot, or even better, a subject behind the plot (in a way that Anna Kerenina is not (just) a book about a wayward woman, or The Alchemist is not (just) about a dude who turns stuff into gold), it's pointless, dead.

3. Fiction is amazing in the sense that one could write about himself, or certain aspects of himself, in a completely candid and studious way (and then, if one is read enough, he could watch the critics argue if the author is talking about himself or not). I need to explore this more.

4. I have a lot more to say on the subject but need to clarify my thoughts (and words). So this isn't a point. Just a random paragraph.

Act three:

I'm contemplating splitting up my blog in two. One photo heavy with recent work, stories, news, whatever. And another for my ramblings, especially for those not photography related. I'd love to hear your thoughts about that, or other ideas you may have. I feel that many come for photos and get turned off my this mountain of words (and vice versa).

Act four:

January, Febraur, Mar, Ap, M, these months keep on getting shorter. Sometime last year (right before Passover) I decided that I was going to develop all my black and white film myself (instead of sending them off to a lab). A. To save money and B. I wanted more control (and to learn the process).

Well it took me 9 months to actually start, and by then I had a backload of over 70 rolls. And while I've been slowly decreasing that pile, I'm still shooting and developing current work so it's going to take me some time. There's film from Shlomo's birth that still hasn't seen the light of day (well it has for about 1/15 of a second).

I've wanted to post the "best of 2013" for, well, ever since 2014 started, and haven't really shared much personal work since that best-of post was so imminent. Which it obviously wasn't.

So here are some photos from a trip to Idyllwild in early January (from which I still have some film to develop…).


Peace, harmony, and gluten-free quinoa brownies.

Oh right, and I made meself a new website. It’s still under construction and will be closed intermittently between 6/2014 and 9/2016 (you’ll only get that if you drive a lot). Let me know how you like it and if there are any bugs, quirks, oddities, or wormholes. Pretty please.

Documentary Wedding Photography-2-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-3-2.jpgDocumentary Wedding Photography-1-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-4-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-6-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-7-2.jpg  Documentary Wedding Photography-10-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-8-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-9-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-11.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-12.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-13.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-15.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-16.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-17.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-1.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-2.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-3.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-4.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-5.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-6.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-7.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-8.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-9.jpg Documentary Wedding Photography-10.jpg

Organic, (relatively) Healthy Cookies

Quite often our neighbors can't come over to play because they are doing homework. And my daughter thinks that just isn't fair. "Why can't I have homework?" She asks. If something holds someone back from coming over to our estate, it must supersede it in the fun category. What is this magical thing called "homework" that rules others' lives, she wonders.

"I know math" declares my oldest. We were doing some "learnin", and every time I brought up a possible subject, he was suspicious. "Is that called learnin?" he asks.

Formal learning is not something we do too much with our kids. If they get interested in a subject we'll go to the library and get a few books about it, talk about it, maybe watch a youtube video or two about it. We learn by doing, by living. But sometimes they want to "do learnin". So we'll go over some writing, some math, some Jewish history or theology.

Over Chanukah, my kids got a good amount of Channukah gelt (which, contrary to popular opinion, is not a chocolate coin). Zusha, when getting his second dollar, looked it over, turned it around a couple time, "I, I, I, I, I, don't want any more monies" (this was during his stuttering phase). Mendel got a bit more and just gave them to me, didn't care too much. Chanaleh was a bit excited, counted her money, and promptly misplaced it (we found it later, after many tears). Zevi was over the top. He loved getting money, kept on comparing how much he got with how much the others ones did. Over the next couple of weeks we learned a lot about money. How change works, where money comes from (well, we tried talking about that, it's complicated), how to save, how to spend, what costs how, and how costs who, and most of all, how he could get more monies.

29 hours, 98,217 questions later, mostly asked during telephone conversations and late Friday afternoon, Estee and the two older kids decided to make an Orange Juice and Cookie stand. The kids made the OJ (fresh squeezed, it turns out there's a reason people sell lemonade, it's waaaaaay easier and cheaper), and made a large part of the cookies. We made some signs, put them up, set up our little stand, and waited.

We started late, on a chilly (for Southern California standards), afternoon. $.50 for a cookie, 5 for $2.00, $1.00 for a cup of orange juice. They learned how to make cookies, what goes into making money, how to talk maturely to adults, semi-complicated math ("How much could I get for $5.00", "If I want 6 cookies and 2 cups of orange juice, how much will that be", "$4.50? I have a $10, how much change do I get?"), tithing, and customer service.

During the hour and a half they were out there (we had to close shop when it got dark), they pulled in about $30 dollars (minus the 50 cents they gave to someone who needed some extra change for the bus). Which sounds pretty darn good for a chilly afternoon, though after coating the hour and a half of prep, 45 minutes of clean-up, and the cost of the ingredients, the hourly rate drops into the low twos. But I can see some serious income in the Summer…

Documentary family photography-1-2.jpg Documentary family photography-2-2.jpg Documentary family photography-4-2.jpg Documentary family photography-9-2.jpg Documentary family photography-11-2.jpg Documentary family photography-33-2.jpg Documentary family photography-36-2.jpg Documentary family photography-38-2.jpg Documentary family photography-39-2.jpg Documentary family photography-40-2.jpg Documentary family photography-41-2.jpg Documentary family photography-14-2.jpg Documentary family photography-15-2.jpg Documentary family photography-17-2.jpg Documentary family photography-19-2.jpg Documentary family photography-20-2.jpg Documentary family photography-22-2.jpg Documentary family photography-23-2.jpg Documentary family photography-24-2.jpg Documentary family photography-25-2.jpg Documentary family photography-27-2.jpg Documentary family photography-29-2.jpg Documentary family photography-31-2.jpg Documentary family photography-30-2.jpg

Birds of Small Bag

"Eagles are smaller than me, but their wings are bigger. The Tawny Eagle is the biggest." "The Condor is a vulture. Like in Lion King. Their wings are soooo big. We saw one at he zoo."

"Seagulls are baby eagles. So they are smaller."

"LOOOOOOOOK!!! A pigeon!!"

"Why can't we fly?"

"Can birds swim?"

"Can we go swimming?"

"Can we buy a new pool?"

We homeschool. That is to say our kids stay home and don't go to school. In my very limited experience and slightly less limited thoughts, it seems that the most important aspect of homeschooling (especially in the younger ages), is to foster and encourage kids natural curiosity about anything and everything. One week it might be worms, the next gardening, the combustion engine, or maybe Egypt and the ten plagues (or Mongolia. They are convinced that "bad people" live there). One of the great advantages of homeschooling is that you can spend as much time on whatever subject your kid is interested in at any given moment. A kid may be obsessed with whales in 4th grade, but by the time they learn about them in 5th grade he's into tractors. Or by the time he actually gets excited about them, the class has moved on to the indigenous people previously known as "the Indians".

Lately the older half of the Berkowitz offspring have been mindjacked by anything with wings. Ostriches (the biggest. Doesn't fly. Crazy people with sun addled Aussie minds ride them), Peregrine Falcons (the fastest, not that strong or big), Condors (especially the California one, not that many left, bigger than Tatty (me), lays eggs on cliffs), Eagles (they LOVE eagles, they fly the highest), Seagulls, Pigeons, and lately, Terns, Herons, and Ospreys.

So one Tuesday morning, in the latter part of the early hours we packed up some apples, cheese, water and cameras and headed to the Bolsa Chica Wetlands (sounds much better in Spanish. The English version would be "Small Bag Wetlands". Don't ask.) The wetlands are (is?) a huge swab of land on the Huntington Beach coast set aside for all sorts of odd birds and their even odder watchers. The real estate value of this land chunk is seriously crazy.

We saw stingrays, ospreys, terns, herons, seagulls, bird watchers with monstrous camera lenses, bird watchers with ipads, bird watchers with binoculars, barnacles, pelicans, and red ants. The kids were most excited about the ants.

We ran, danced, climbed, photographed, whined, dined, cried, and spent 20 minutes looking through the cracks in the bridge at pigeon nests.

We did end up buying a pool and swimming in said pool, but that's another story.

photo-1-4.jpg photo-2.jpg photo-3.jpg photo-5.jpg photo-8.jpg photo-1-3.jpg photo-1-2.jpg photo-10.jpg photo-11.jpg photo-12.jpg photo-14.jpg photo-16.jpg photo-17.jpg photo-18.jpg photo-19.jpg photo-20.jpg photo-21.jpg photo-25.jpg photo-22.jpg photo-23.jpg photo-24.jpgphoto-1-6.jpg

Bris & Stuff

This here photographed bris (circumcision) belonged to my second most favorite fat baby. At the time, he was just an eight day old with possible hints of chubbiness. A bit confused at the hubbub, just wanting to eat and sleep. Maybe poop a bit. I can totally commiserate. Deep down, I’m just an eight day old baby with a huge beard, and an advanced appreciation for hoppy beer. Speaking of which, I very much appreciate whatever forces have been behind recent social change. In the past year I have received more compliments in reference to my mass of facial hair than I have in the previous 28 combined (yes, I am aware that the first 15 don’t count, but statistics are all about embellishment). Maybe it’s the hipsters, or maybe something happened in the past year which tipped my beard from “impressive” to “oh my!! I’d kill for that thing”. It may have to do with the disappearing bees. Or not.

Mr. Father here (Arnon Shorr) is a film producer/director and a friend of mine. I don’t know much about them newfangled moving pictures, but in tribute to Arnon’s cinemaness I have these all cropped to a 16:9 ratio. I'm considerate like that.

photo-1.jpg photo-2.jpg photo-4.jpg photo-5.jpg photo-6.jpg photo-7.jpg photo-8.jpg photo-9.jpg photo-11.jpg photo-12.jpg photo-13.jpg photo-14.jpg photo-15.jpg photo-16.jpg photo-17.jpg photo-18.jpg photo-19.jpg photo-21.jpg photo-22.jpg photo-24.jpg

the Bar {Mitzvah} // Temecula camera-wielding crazy man (take that google!!)

It’s not working. The “it” inside, which is somehow supposed to guide my typing until I somehow catch on, is either lazy, drunk, sleeping, or just out of town for a bit. I seems as though I may have to think in advance (I hear the word for this ridiculus concept is “plan”) about what to write here. Which may be a good thing. The way things normally work around here is first we have a lengthy unrelated preamble, possibly followed by a very short amble, and sometimes concluded with a postamble. This time there will be an actual amble.

Thirteen years and thirty five days ago (somewhere around there), a cute and chunky nephew was born to my sister in Temecula. Well, she didn’t have the nephew, and I’m not sure who did, she had a son. The first child born in their new place of living (numero uno was born in the city of New York, and numero dos was born in Boulder, Colorado). Much excitement, joy, bustle and hustle was had by all. Number three was followed for four, five, six, and seven. Well, number three grew up (actually for the first few years most of his growth was sideways) into a remarkable young man (made even more so by his love of Estee’s sourdough bread), whose good cheer, cute cheeks, crazy humor, and pure heart reminds me of myself at that age. And though I don't really remember much of myself at that age, I do assume I was awesome. Nothing has come up to disprove this theory (and the fact that I used to ask an adult to tuck my pants into my sneakers just made me cooler).

In the months before Eli Chaim’s Bar Mitzvah, his family has been hit by some pretty intense challenges. We don’t know why G-d does what he does or what His plans are, but we do know that He never gives anyone something they can’t handle. We also know that life itself is a miracle; to be cherished, guarded, loved, and lived. And somehow, we have absolute faith that all will be good. Not only in the macro but in the micro. In my life and in yours.

Challenges have the paradoxical tendency to bring out the beauty in life, the truth in friendship, and the pure awesomeness that is family. The Temecula community and the Chabad community both near and far have been immensely inspiring in their support and friendship. And we are incredibly thankful. You could check out my inspiring sister's inspiring blog for inspiring posts in inspiring topics. And now I can't use that word for a month.

I wasn’t the official photographer here, and if I wasn't family I would have loved to have been. Loved the sunniness (which is funny because I used to be terrified of it. I would beg and pray for clouds to make the photographing easier. But easy doesn't equal interesting), the outdoorness, the vineyardness. But it's good I wasn't; the food was too good and my kids were going bananas. Until they found the one thing that will forever be the joy of any and all children. Dirt. Loads and piles and mounds of it.

Here is a small glimpse of some of the festivities, captured on a bunch of random expired film stocks on some random cameras and all scanned by me.


photo-2.jpg documentary family photography-13.jpg documentary family photography-7.jpg documentary family photography-6.jpg photo-18.jpg photo-8.jpg photo-9.jpg photo-13.jpg photo-26.jpg photo-27.jpg photo-28.jpg photo-32.jpg photo-30.jpg photo-1-2.jpg photo-25.jpg photo-31.jpg photo-1-3.jpg photo-10.jpg documentary family photography-7.jpg photo-23.jpg photo-29.jpg photo-22.jpg photo-33.jpg documentary family photography-8.jpg documentary family photography-5.jpg photo-3.jpg photo-4.jpg photo-38.jpg photo-36.jpg photo-34.jpg photo-21.jpg photo-35.jpg documentary family photography-14.jpg photo-5.jpg documentary family photography-6.jpg photo-17.jpg documentary family photography-2.jpg documentary family photography-3.jpg photo-15.jpg photo-16.jpg photo-19.jpg documentary family photography-9.jpg documentary family photography-11.jpg photo-11.jpg photo-6.jpg

A few weeks ago I left my lightmeter at my sister's house. When I went to pick it up she gave me a roll of film that she thought I left there.Turns out I didn't. It was some random roll of film from (I'm assuming) a cheap point and shoot or disposable camera from almost thirteen years ago. This is Eli Chaim (the Bar Mitzvah dude) when he was a wee li'l lad, and his two older siblings. I had no clue what it was until I scanned it in (a few minutes after I scanned the photos above). I love random lost film!!

photo-1-4.jpg photo-3-2.jpg photo-2-2.jpg photo-4-2.jpg