Monday, September 3, 2018
Joseph Berger's obituary for Rabbi Rachel Cowan got me thinking about some of "the big questions." https://www.nytimes.com/2018/
Joe,
by the way, is probably the third best Jewish writer after Moses and
Philip Roth. It's not Rabbi Cowan's ideas that engaged me, as
insightful and encouraging as they may be. It was the facts of her life
that gave me pause. Her ancestry traced back to the Mayflower.
She met Paul Cowan, a thoroughly secular Jew, through their involvement
in social justice causes. Ten years after they married in 1965, the
death of his parents in a horrible accident motivated him to explore his
Jewish roots and Judaism, eventually writing several books on the
subject. Rachel found her own reasons to be attracted to Judaism and
converted in 1980. She went on to graduate from rabbinical school in
1988 almost at the same time as he died of leukemia at age 48. And
that's what I'll always remember, the random cruelty of existence for
Paul and Rachel Cowan.
I
have no understanding or insight into astrophysics, the origin of the
universe and that heavy stuff. However, I have a view of our role as
humans in the vast void. In contrast to people of faith, I see us as
little balls in an enormous pinball machine with disabled flippers. We
bounce, we ricochet, we carom, and eventually we fall through the bottom
guided only by the laws of physics.
Joe's
obituary said that in Rachel's last two years, aware of her cancer and
its inevitable toll, she was supported by friends singing, praying and
reading with her. That, if anything, might give meaning to a life.
Supplying the time and energy in behalf of another. Does there have to
be a reason?
. . .
. . .
A wedding
announcement this weekend reported that "a friend of the groom who is a
minister in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, officiated."
This, naturally, led me to investigate the Pastafarians, as they are
known. If you are also curious, information is available at: https://www.venganza.org/
. . .
. . .
The
University of Chicago is one of our leading intellectual institutions.
It abolished intercollegiate football in 1939 and humor shortly
thereafter. On December 2, 1942, the first human-made self-sustaining nuclear
chain reaction occurred underneath its abandoned football field. It will always be remembered, however, for the work of Albert
Madansky, a professor at the
Graduate School of Business. In 1975, in conjunction with Martin
Shubik, an economist from Yale
University, he conducted a study of corned beef and pastrami at four of
New York's leading delicatessens. A contemporaneous report appeared in a
University of Chicago newsletter; be warned that it may be found buried under several feet of academic prose. http://campub.lib.uchicago.
A more readable account is given at: https://www.atlasobscura.com/
There
are a couple of things worth noting. All four joints have closed, the
Carnegie the last in 2016. They were Jewish-style delicatessens, but
none were Kosher. Does that explain their fate?
Today,
such an exercise would be almost futile. While delicatessen appears in
the name of many establishments, I can only think of six Kosher
delicatessens in all of Manhattan (two of which only to be visited in an
emergency and one after you receive the insurance settlement check) and
I personally would not entrust my pastrami to Gentiles.
Tuesday, August 4, 2018
"Eugene,
Ore., to St. George, Utah, to Joliet, Ill., to Adelanto, Calif.,
to Norwich, Conn., to Fresno, Calif., to Reading, Pa., to Scranton,
Pa., to Magallanes, Venezuela, to Ottawa to Daegu, South Korea, to
Allentown, Pa., to Ciudad Obregon, Mexico, to Albuquerque to Mexicali,
Mexico." That sounds like a ride on the Crazy Train, but it is the path
of Brian Mazone, a minor league baseball player who never appeared in a
major league baseball game in a 13-year career. https://www.washingtonpost.
In
fact, the one day that he was listed on a starting lineup card for the
Philadelphia Phillies, it rained. While once upon a time it might have
been Mazone's dream as a young boy to play major league baseball, it
seems to have approached a nightmare.
. . .
. . .
With
the temperature at 91˚ and the humidity close behind, I quit my plan to
go downtown for Chinese food and stuck to the neighborhood. I went
looking for a presumptively good sandwich, albeit not a Kosher pastrami
sandwich. I went into Lenwich, 302 Columbus Avenue, a spot that I have
passed countless times without entering. It's wide and deep, seating
about fifty people. Most of the left and back walls are taken by food
ordering, preparation and payment.
The
menu is simple, but detailed. There are salads and sandwiches, the
salads assembled before your very eyes from a laundry list of
ingredients. You might elect to design your own sandwich as well, if
somehow the 50 versions listed don't appeal to you ($6-12). I chose
"The Big Daddy" ($10.49), containing grilled steak, avocado, melted
fresh mozzarella, crispy onion, roasted red peppers and sriracha on
ciabatta, and I was happy I did. It was delightful, it was delicious,
it was delectable. With efficient air conditioning, it was a top notch
lunch.
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Yesterday,
212-695-3160 called a couple of times with a recorded message in
Chinese. Curious, I called back and spoke to a woman with a faintly
East Asian accent, who convincingly denied knowledge of the earlier
calls. Today, as soon as I blocked telephone calls from 212-695-3158,
212-695-3178 called. This time, the recorded burst of Chinese was
followed by a message in English informing me that the Chinese Consulate
is holding a delivery for me. I held on to learn more; maybe a panda
was on the way to me. But, the call ended on their end, relieving me of
the need to clear space in the spare bedroom.
Thursday, August 6, 2018
With
members of the current administration slinging mud at their own president, it
is reassuring to hear from South Korean diplomats that Kim Jong Un of North Korea has proclaimed "unwavering faith in President Trump." What a relief.
. . .
Bidding
adieu to 5778, the Boyz Club gathered at Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, for
expiation of our sins and lunch. We successfully shared egg rolls,
spare ribs, beef chow fun, honey crispy chicken, pork fried rice and
beef with scallions, costing us $15 each. Everyone at the table denied
being the author of the anonymous op-ed garnering worldwide attention,
although Melania was absent.. . .
Friday, September 7, 2018
Pronounced ko-hayn in Hebrew, Cohen is more than a name. It means priest and identifies privileged descendants of Moses's brother Aaron. That is male descendants, because, in one of those pious hypocrisies that religion and Republicans thrive on, priesthood is patrilineal while Jewish identity is matrilineal. Scratch a Cohn, Cohan, Cowan, Cahn, Kohn, Kahn, Conn, Caan, Kahan, or Kahane and you'll find a Cohen underneath.
I was surprised to read that, according to a recent census, "Of the 87,266 Americans named Cohen, 4,806 are black." That's over 5%. The article that informed me meanders somewhat, but has an interesting conclusion.
Which
only goes to prove the wisdom of Lenny Bruce: "If you live in New
York or any other big city, you are Jewish. It doesn’t matter even if
you’re Catholic; if you live in New York, you’re Jewish. If you live in
Butte, Montana, you’re going to be goyish even if you’re Jewish.”
No ko-hayn here....
ReplyDeleteAnother good one. Esp Lenny Bruce
ReplyDeletePH
As an owner of a Pastafarian tee shirt, let me note that if you scratch George M. Cohan, you get a recording of "You're a Grand Old Flag."
ReplyDeleteI was thinking that I had finally found my one true faith as a Pastafarian until the film said the Spaghetti Monster likes “midgets.” I require that my religion be politically correct as well as accepting of science. Damn.
ReplyDelete