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.

Unpacking my brain

I was dreaming about knives. It was 2005, summer was winter, and I was 21 or so, living in Pretoria, South Africa, studying to become a Rabbi. There was this book I borrowed (indeterminately, none of the other students knew of its existence) from the school titled Minchas Yitzchak (or Minchas something-or-another). For almost a week, all day, in school and out, I was trying to understand (never really did) why exactly a knife had different kosher laws than any other utensil, and how each possible reason fit into how the differences manifest themselves in actual law. Before falling asleep I’d get comfy, open up the Minchas Yitzchak and try to wrap my mind around the knife issue.

Well, since that year, my mind hasn’t been doing too much wrapping. Yeah, I think here and there, maybe post a snarky status on Facebook about my purported thinking, but thinking ain’t no wrapping.

Recently, in addition to all the regular Dr. Seuss’s (and now a whole bunch of bird books), Estee took out a biography on Albert Einstein. The fact that most of the physics and math are beyond me doesn’t bother me as much as the realization that I haven’t really grappled with any concept in years. I learn here and there, but most of the time, when coming across some obtuse concept, I don’t really chase after it and actually figure it out. Or try my heart out.

Chassidus explains that every concept is like a river, with depth, breadth, and length. The breadth is understanding the concept with all it’s facets, particulars, details. Its length is being able to bring down that topic with examples, parables, and analogies, until you could explain it to a child. It’s also the ability to apply the concept in day to day life. The depth is the essence of the concept, from which all the details flow out. It’s understanding the principles behind the concept.

The conceptual river is one I haven’t sailed, swam, or drowned in recently. And Landsickness is quietly taking its toll.

It’s time to reach up, bring down the box, and unpack my brain.

***

I’ve been a bit obsessed recently with instant film. It seems to me the truest medium for capturing memories. It not only captures the moment but it even captures the fleetingness of it. All you’re left with is one print and one funky negative, an imprint, a memory of the print, and the memory is never the same as the actual moment.

There are some major ideas brewing in my prefrontal cortex involving polaroids, aerial lenses, and some ancient cameras. Prepare to be amazed. You’ve got time.

In the meantime, here are some recent Polaroids, some prints some negatives, (okay disclaimer, Polaroid is pretty much defunct, these are actually Fuji instant peel away prints (same tech as Polaroid) but if I called them by their real name (Fuji FP3000b) no one would have a clue as to what I was referring to) of my fambly.

Thanks for visiting, and come back soon! Free digital cookies (and beer) for all.

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.

Enjoy.

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!!

My heart, my soul, my money

Starting with a blank sheet of pearly white paper. The kind with that lovely sort of linen texture. Eagerly awaiting those first few drops of dark, rich ink. Absorbing them, becoming one, inseparable. Together becoming so much more than each could become by their lonesome selves.

The tangible beginning, the physical binding. It starts slow, maybe a bit hesitantly, almost fearful. And then it starts coming, quick, almost too quick, as if this newly opened channel of thoughts would close as quickly as it opened. The ideas coursing through your body, down your arm, as your hand scribbles furiously to keep up; you watch amazed, detached, as this ink and paper combination, somehow, magically, become a physical embodiment of your thoughts, your emotions, of you.

And you keep on writing, knowing, even if not understanding, that the physical act of touching your ink to paper, sparked this clarity of thought, allowing you to know yourself in ways you never knew you could.

I can’t say I know Yossi and Tal very well. What I do know, is that I get a wonderful feeling when I think about them. I’ve learned to trust my instincts and impressions about people, and there’s a simplicity and calmness about these two that I really respect.

I don’t know who's the ink and who’s the paper (though the color of their dress seems to give it away). Nor am I sure if the spontaneous analogy has any bearing in reality. What I am sure of is that whatever awesomeness each one has, when it is combined with the other’s, something special will happen.

I expect great things from you two!

The Courage to be Free

Passover just passed. I tried to get it to stay, I really did. We even conveniently forgot to put blood on our doorpost this year so maybe it would stick around for a bit. It didn't.

(For the record, we never put blood on our doorposts, and neither does anyone else.)

The story of the exodus from Egypt is fairly well known (though the details are most often a bit misconstrued): Hebrews go down to Egypt; have many, may kids; Egyptians freak out; Enslave the Hebrews; Moses tells Pharaoh to let the Jews go; Ten plagues; yadadada.

A lesser known aspect of Passover is the fact that only a small portion of the Hebrews left Egypt. Eighty percent didn't want to leave Egypt, and were killed during the plague of darkness.

Which begs the question: HUH?!

Why would anyone want to stay as slaves in a land where you were hated.

In my community here in Long Beach, on the seventh day of Passover we have a little gathering were a bunch of people go up to the podium to share something interesting they learned about Passover.

In addition to learning that Manschewitz's biggest customer is McDonald, I also heard a wonderful explanation of the above question.

Chassidus explains that leaving Egypt isn't something that only happened way back when, but it's a constant process. The Hebrew word for Egypt is "Mitzrayim" which can also be read as "Meitzarim" which mean borders, or boundaries. Leaving Egypt means going beyond ourselves, our habits, addictions, personalities. It begs us, and allows us, to break out of any shackles, be they physical, mental, psychological, emotional, physiological, or spiritual.

There's a saying, something to the like of "You can take a nation out of Egypt, but you can't take Egypt out of a nation". Being a slave is not just a physical bondage, it's a mentality, and when G-d took us out he allowed us to break free from the slave mentality, and he allowed us to be free, to be truly free.

Yet paradoxically, freedom is hard, and takes tremendous self-courage and self-sacrifice. It's easier to remain as one is, with all his habits, vices, and reliances. Yes, I have to work from 14 hours a day making pyramids (I have no clue if the Hebrews made them or not), tombs, and storage cities. I only get some moldy bread and a bit of beer, and I have to sacrifice half my kids. But look on the bright side, I know where my food and drink are coming from, and I get to keep half my family… Is it really so bad? How do you know what will happen if you break free? Who will take care of you? What will you do with all your spare time? Won't you miss your addictions and obsessions? Aren't you scared?

The truth is I'm terrified. I'm scared of what I know I can accomplish if I just leave Egypt. But I'm also excited. Excited to go out there and change things. To dare not just to dream, but to act on those dreams. Even at the expense of lesser dreams.

I've been reading an amazing book titled The Power of Starting Something Stupid written by the inspiring Richie and Natalie Norton. It speaks about chasing your "stupid" dreams and achieving meaningful success. One of the first and most important steps mentioned is humility. Pride in who we are, what we've become, what others think of us, holds us back from changing and going after the life we want.

Humility can come from without and from within, though it's much more sustainable if it's from within. When the Jews left Egypt there was such a huge revelation of G-d ("not through an angle, nor through a Seraf, or a messenger, rather I myself") that any pride was left behind. For who can hold himself great in the presence of absolute truth?

We eat Matzah to commemorate the Jews leaving in such a haste that their bread didn't have a chance to rise. In the (paraphrased) words of the Haggadah (the text we read at the Seder the first two nights of Passover) "This here Matzah we eat for when the Jews Jews left Egypt the bread did not have time to rise until the king of kings of kings revealed himself and redeemed them".

The rising of bread symbolizes pride, which is sometimes good and sometimes bad. But when making such a huge leap from bondage (all types) we need absolute humility to leave all our baggage behind. The Matzah has no pride, no taste. Back then, we were so sunk in the ways of Egypt and slavery that we couldn't muster up the humility all by ourselves, so G-d helped us out. But nowadays, once the Egypt was taken out of us, we must chase away our pride on our own. And the physical embodiment of that is making and eating Matzah.

So I'll raise a toast (currently Lagunitas Little Sumpin' Ale, I just keep going back to it) to the courage to be humble and the courage to be free.

***

There's a Rabbi here in Long Beach by the name of Sender Engel who goes around Long Beach and Orange County before each major Holiday with his Model Mitzvah Series. Before Passover he travels to different Hebrew Schools, Synagogues, Libraries with his Model Matzah Factory. He tells the story of Passover (with great props and all), and goes through the whole process of making Matzah. From the planting and growing of the wheat, to the threshing, winnowing, sorting, and grinding. Then the kids get to (quickly) mix the flour and water well, roll and flatten out individual Matzos, make holes, and pop them in the oven all within 18 minutes.

There was a last minute Model Matzah Bakery set up at the school, there was an email that was supposed to go out from a popular organization here, but that never happened. So it was just me, Zevi, Chanalah, and one of the Engel boys. I though he would just call it of, but he went throug the entire shpiel, (awesomely corny) jokes, history and all. I wish I had photos of the kids mixing the dough, and actually baking and eating the Matzah, but I'm a dad first, photographer second.

To be honest the Matzah wasn't too great tasting :), but that's not the point. And a Pizza oven isn't really the best (or the most Kosher) place to bake Matzas.

For a great (hilarious) video on the Matza baking process, check out this video. It's worth it.

Bat Polaroid Mitzvah

Mendel: Are my hands dirty? Me: No, you just washed them. Mendel: NO!! They’re filthy! I need to wash them.

And so went the evening. Between the washing of the hands and the drinking from the fountain, his shirt was completely soaked by the end of the night. Which was fine. Because we’re cool like that.

Zusha spent the evening wooing the ladies and begging for food (which he always got), Zevi was running around like a hooligan, playing some sort of six year old game I’ll never understand (he tried explaining it to me, and then tried getting me to play. I tried, I really did, but after 2 minutes and 43 seconds (I’m surprised I lasted that long, the kid has patience) I was fired and promptly replaced by another - more seasoned and competent - six year old). Chanaleh just wanted cucumbers. A lot of cucumbers. Which was fine. Because we’re cool like that.

Estee, I felt bad for Estee. She had (still has, though it’s finally going away) a double ear infection. So she spent the hours alternating between trying to hear what people were saying, and trying to block out the sound of people talking. It’s a tough fence to straddle.

I walked around with my RZ67 and a polaroid back. It’s like a non-pooping version of a dog. A great conversation starter, and unlike dogs it can make photos. Instantly. Well, almost. It’s the peel apart kind, where there is a positive print that you peel away from the negative after allowing it to develop for some time. Officially it’s 15 seconds in 75 degrees, but if you don’t want solarized negatives (where the blackest part is white), then it’s best to wait a bit longer. I tried, but I was letting the kids do it and their version of time seems to be a bit different from mine. But that’s okay. Because I’m cool like that.

These are all polaroid (Polaroid as a company went bankrupt some time back, these are actually “Fuji FP3000b Instant Peel-Apart Film”. “Polaroids” sounds better.) prints or negatives (giving away the actual print is half the fun) from my nieces Bat Mitzvah. At the Bat Mitzvah, not really of the Bat Mitzvah. There was a hired pro for that.

Make life better!