~ GUEST POST ~ Read This First If You Haven't Yet. The drama is on. His eyes are wide open; a
Heimishe yingerman’s olfactory receptor cells have picked up tantalizing scents of fresh intellectual pasture. He’s crushing for the world’s encompassing embrace.It’s not only sights and scents he’s after – after all, our protagonist has already touched another woman; a female with an open face to the world. On the other side, the cast includes his three sweet children. They are innocent girls. Their mother and community will not allow them to have a secular father. They are at stake of losing the pillar responsible for their creation. The plot: Should he abscond on his commitment to his wife, abandon his children and cripple his parents, or remain in an intellectual prison, contemplating suicide, paying hefty fees to a psychiatrist on retainer. The audience weighs in:
Katla commiserates with our
Yingerman. He warns that freedom is achieved only through the pain of the slave’s loss of a tooth and an eye, and that is only coupled with the consequence of discovering that
Chaveirim won’t help you make pork
cholent. Forward thinking
Chazanteh, wary of suicidal tendencies, prods her newfound immigrant to join a refugee acclimation center. And
Meyer Shimanowitz? He’s watching the game, keeping to himself, a slight smile on his face. Meanwhile…
IT’S THE SUPER BOWL. Emblazed with the image of their idol, revved up fans shout as their adrenal medulla rushes to fill demand – bulging heroes plow on to define their careers; coaches are tense, shrewd marketing investors are watching stock results. Cheerleaders wave bright red pompoms in the air. It’s the most viewed event in the world; the passion, hopes, and commercial interests are huge. Now zoom in with us onto one little corner: Among the myriads of spectators, Mom, Dad, Steve, and Sheila - your all-American family - are seated at the Super Bowl. Steve’s a true fan. He eats, sleeps and thinks football. His temples are throbbing as he pumps his fists in the air while wearing the new cap and authentic NFL jersey that his mother just bought him. Dad, though, has become a skeptic. He grew up a Super Bowl fanatic and even named Steve after the great quarterback Steve Young, back when he was the league MVP in 1992. But as his hair started thinning and knowledge robbed him of his innocence, he awoke one day to discover that his Santa Claus was a sham. He sees through the Super-Bowl scam: He researched the data and logically concluded that he had been duped. “No more bullfighting for me,” he thinks as he adjusts his sound blocking headphones and buries his nose into The Confessions by Augustine. Then there is Sheila, forever the analyzer – she just observes. She sits quietly and analyzes the entire spectacle. She marvels at the agility of the athletes; she laughs at the antics of the fans, the shrewd ridiculousness of the advertising, the psychological structure of American culture, the brilliance of technology. Sheila really enjoyed the game. Last, but not least, there is Mom. She has only one thing in mind: her loving family. She adjusts her husband’s headphones. She admires her daughter’s analysis of the best advertising. Her motherly hand embraces Steve’s defeated shoulders as they trudge through the littered parking lot, while she waves to her Super-Bowl mom companions: “Cheers. What a game!”
111 million viewed the Super Bowl 2011. The Fan, The Skeptic and The Observer all watched the same event, but their game is hardly the same. The fan experiences his identity and his ego winning or losing. Our skeptic feels entrapped, forced to watch this farce. The Observer sees philosophical metaphors, business strategies, psychological insights, architectural design, etc. They might all be sitting near each other cheering in the same arena, but their ball is in different parks. Now, if you thought the point of this metaphor was to highlight the achievement of being The Observer, you are wrong. The real winner of the
shpiel is our NFL mom. Being the Observer is cool – it’s definitely better than being an angry skeptic – but no one comes out better than our mommy. She is might not be the astute Observer, but she knows the ultimate truth: that bonding with her family is the true intent of the game Both the fool and the wise man play the same game, the difference is the fool may win his game while the wise man definitely wins his. And the skeptic… he remains lonely. IT’S YOUR WEEKLY
TISH. There are those at the
tish, there are those threatened by the
tish, and there are those who analyze it – enjoying the entire spectrum of experiences, all the while shuckling along or eating arbes in the background. And then there are the Sports Moms.
Oifgeklerte Yingel, Do you appreciate the naked simplicity of the Dani tribe of New Guinea? Does your mind romp over the rolling Mennonite farmlands? Do you ponder the complexity of Free Will in a deterministic universe? Won’t you then appreciate the beautiful simplicity of the Fervent
Hasid? Won’t you wander through the narrow alleys of our upper-class ghettoes? Won’t you apply your knowledge of the complexity of free-will to the
Rosh Hakhuel and the
Rebbe? And won’t you then bond - like the sports mom – to that higher power we call ‘God’ that evolved it all into being? It’s all in your mind. Will you be a foolish fan, an angry skeptic, an enlightened observer or a connected mother? It’s yours, and your decision alone to choose whose role you play. Gandhi lived and said “You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.”
Farveinter! You grapple with your commitment to the institution of marriage – but have you ever confronted your commitment to your spouse as a person? That same lack of commitment will follow you wherever your scent will lead you. You question how you can harm your parents who have done you no evil – implying that if they had done evil you would be justified to repay evil with evil – yet you claim to have found compassion for all creeds and cultures. As the wisened coarse Russians would oft say:
Vu men loift geyin di beitzim mit. Katla claims we are in a culture that no slave has ever escaped from. You can take the Jew out of exile but you cannot take exile out of the Jew.But herein lies our solution. The more you remove the exile within you, the more you discover you were never in exile in the first place. By definition every culture is made up of habits and rules – most of them are foolish – and no culture has escaped the scathing wrath of its skeptics. Wise people, however, focus not on escaping cultures, rather on learning the rules to succeed through them. Your plot pivots around a theme of love. The observers know that once you learn the rules for successful marriage there is a distinct edge that our
Heimishe lifestyle affords. The romance that secular writers can only fantasize about is at your fingertips.
Heimishe women are focused on only one lover, if you cultivate the love between yourselves carefully, the tender glow of its warmth will comfort you deeply.
Farveinter: All your knowledge of the outside world is from tourist-like visits. Sure, it would be great to live in a travel agency brochure and the fantasy that it all projects. And indeed, maybe you can live it up to a point, but as you will reach the point where you attempt to adopt it as a lifestyle, you’ll discover that it was all a mirage – and worse, that you’ve reached the point of no return. You might choose to be vengeful and determined to prove that you’ve succeeded. You might even be able to strut around promoting your success for the rest of your life. But your genetic upbringing will allow you no closure. Closure will only come with the shut of a lid, and the sounds of thumping dirt on a coffin …buried deep in the Wild West. Ultimately the gold is under your very own oven. You are not alone. If you do your networking you’ll find us; we hide under the bridges, near the pots of gold we envisioned in our dreams. No matter what your struggles are, remember; the searchers and seekers of the great vast universe are awaiting to embrace you.
Meyer Shimanowitz
~ GUEST POST ~ Read This First If You Haven't Yet. The drama is on. His eyes are wide open; a Heimishe yingerman’s olfactory receptor cells have picked up tantalizing scents of fresh intellectual pasture. He’s crushing for the world’s encompassing embrace.It’s not only sights and scents he’s after – after all, our protagonist has already touched another woman; a female with an open face to the world. On the other side, the cast includes his three sweet children. They are innocent girls. Their mother and community will not allow them to have a secular father. They are at stake of losing the pillar responsible for their creation. The plot: Should he abscond on his commitment to his wife, abandon his children and cripple his parents, or remain in an intellectual prison, contemplating suicide, paying hefty fees to a psychiatrist on retainer. The audience weighs in: Katla commiserates with our Yingerman. He warns that freedom is achieved only through the pain of the slave’s loss of a tooth and an eye, and that is only coupled with the consequence of discovering that Chaveirim won’t help you make pork cholent. Forward thinking Chazanteh, wary of suicidal tendencies, prods her newfound immigrant to join a refugee acclimation center. And Meyer Shimanowitz? He’s watching the game, keeping to himself, a slight smile on his face. Meanwhile… IT’S THE SUPER BOWL. Emblazed with the image of their idol, revved up fans shout as their adrenal medulla rushes to fill demand – bulging heroes plow on to define their careers; coaches are tense, shrewd marketing investors are watching stock results. Cheerleaders wave bright red pompoms in the air. It’s the most viewed event in the world; the passion, hopes, and commercial interests are huge. Now zoom in with us onto one little corner: Among the myriads of spectators, Mom, Dad, Steve, and Sheila - your all-American family - are seated at the Super Bowl. Steve’s a true fan. He eats, sleeps and thinks football. His temples are throbbing as he pumps his fists in the air while wearing the new cap and authentic NFL jersey that his mother just bought him. Dad, though, has become a skeptic. He grew up a Super Bowl fanatic and even named Steve after the great quarterback Steve Young, back when he was the league MVP in 1992. But as his hair started thinning and knowledge robbed him of his innocence, he awoke one day to discover that his Santa Claus was a sham. He sees through the Super-Bowl scam: He researched the data and logically concluded that he had been duped. “No more bullfighting for me,” he thinks as he adjusts his sound blocking headphones and buries his nose into The Confessions by Augustine. Then there is Sheila, forever the analyzer – she just observes. She sits quietly and analyzes the entire spectacle. She marvels at the agility of the athletes; she laughs at the antics of the fans, the shrewd ridiculousness of the advertising, the psychological structure of American culture, the brilliance of technology. Sheila really enjoyed the game. Last, but not least, there is Mom. She has only one thing in mind: her loving family. She adjusts her husband’s headphones. She admires her daughter’s analysis of the best advertising. Her motherly hand embraces Steve’s defeated shoulders as they trudge through the littered parking lot, while she waves to her Super-Bowl mom companions: “Cheers. What a game!” 
111 million viewed the Super Bowl 2011. The Fan, The Skeptic and The Observer all watched the same event, but their game is hardly the same. The fan experiences his identity and his ego winning or losing. Our skeptic feels entrapped, forced to watch this farce. The Observer sees philosophical metaphors, business strategies, psychological insights, architectural design, etc. They might all be sitting near each other cheering in the same arena, but their ball is in different parks. Now, if you thought the point of this metaphor was to highlight the achievement of being The Observer, you are wrong. The real winner of the shpiel is our NFL mom. Being the Observer is cool – it’s definitely better than being an angry skeptic – but no one comes out better than our mommy. She is might not be the astute Observer, but she knows the ultimate truth: that bonding with her family is the true intent of the game Both the fool and the wise man play the same game, the difference is the fool may win his game while the wise man definitely wins his. And the skeptic… he remains lonely. IT’S YOUR WEEKLY TISH. There are those at the tish, there are those threatened by the tish, and there are those who analyze it – enjoying the entire spectrum of experiences, all the while shuckling along or eating arbes in the background. And then there are the Sports Moms. Oifgeklerte Yingel, Do you appreciate the naked simplicity of the Dani tribe of New Guinea? Does your mind romp over the rolling Mennonite farmlands? Do you ponder the complexity of Free Will in a deterministic universe? Won’t you then appreciate the beautiful simplicity of the Fervent Hasid? Won’t you wander through the narrow alleys of our upper-class ghettoes? Won’t you apply your knowledge of the complexity of free-will to the Rosh Hakhuel and the Rebbe? And won’t you then bond - like the sports mom – to that higher power we call ‘God’ that evolved it all into being? It’s all in your mind. Will you be a foolish fan, an angry skeptic, an enlightened observer or a connected mother? It’s yours, and your decision alone to choose whose role you play. Gandhi lived and said “You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.” 
Farveinter! You grapple with your commitment to the institution of marriage – but have you ever confronted your commitment to your spouse as a person? That same lack of commitment will follow you wherever your scent will lead you. You question how you can harm your parents who have done you no evil – implying that if they had done evil you would be justified to repay evil with evil – yet you claim to have found compassion for all creeds and cultures. As the wisened coarse Russians would oft say: Vu men loift geyin di beitzim mit. Katla claims we are in a culture that no slave has ever escaped from. You can take the Jew out of exile but you cannot take exile out of the Jew.But herein lies our solution. The more you remove the exile within you, the more you discover you were never in exile in the first place. By definition every culture is made up of habits and rules – most of them are foolish – and no culture has escaped the scathing wrath of its skeptics. Wise people, however, focus not on escaping cultures, rather on learning the rules to succeed through them. Your plot pivots around a theme of love. The observers know that once you learn the rules for successful marriage there is a distinct edge that our Heimishe lifestyle affords. The romance that secular writers can only fantasize about is at your fingertips. Heimishe women are focused on only one lover, if you cultivate the love between yourselves carefully, the tender glow of its warmth will comfort you deeply. Farveinter: All your knowledge of the outside world is from tourist-like visits. Sure, it would be great to live in a travel agency brochure and the fantasy that it all projects. And indeed, maybe you can live it up to a point, but as you will reach the point where you attempt to adopt it as a lifestyle, you’ll discover that it was all a mirage – and worse, that you’ve reached the point of no return. You might choose to be vengeful and determined to prove that you’ve succeeded. You might even be able to strut around promoting your success for the rest of your life. But your genetic upbringing will allow you no closure. Closure will only come with the shut of a lid, and the sounds of thumping dirt on a coffin …buried deep in the Wild West. Ultimately the gold is under your very own oven. You are not alone. If you do your networking you’ll find us; we hide under the bridges, near the pots of gold we envisioned in our dreams. No matter what your struggles are, remember; the searchers and seekers of the great vast universe are awaiting to embrace you. Meyer Shimanowitz
