Goldstone is Foolish, Bolton is Right and Obama’s an Enigma

When Ambassador John Bolton wrote in the WSJ the other day about the sad state of affairs at the U.N. and the Obama Administration’s choices now, several thoughts hit me.  A leftist Jewish judge was duped by his own naiveté and President Obama’s Middle East strategy and relationship to Israel makes very little sense to even an expert onlooker.

While I agree with Bolton on what the President’s strategy should be, Obama won’t back away from the United Nation’s farce of a Human Rights Council because he doesn’t truly view its positions on Israel as a negative. His politics and policies indicate that there is sympathy for the general U.N. bias against Israel; if sympathy is the wrong word, try political expedience for the support base to which Obama campaigned and is indebted to. I believe a combination of the two is a better explanation.

The enigma here is that he surrounded himself with key staffers whom are undoubtedly in Israel’s corner.  His Chief of Staff stands out on the top of that list; Rahm Emanuel is a son of Sabras, and a father who served the Irgun While more left leaning that I consider myself on Israel, he is a supporter.  There are others, and they have Obama’s confidence, which makes one wonder what we are all missing, or if the President’s mass appeal that turns people to mush and sends thrill up reporters’ extremities, blinds the best of us.

As to Justice Richard Goldstone, the former judge of the Constitutional Court
of South Africa, he may be a well meaning judge, and I expect he is no fool.  Yet, he fooled himself. In preparing and endorsing the report which bears his name, he should have known from consistent historical occurrences that even when a leftist Jew trying hard to see it from the “other side,” feeling a need to placate and play devil’s advocate in the public eye – as he attempted to do with his report – the attempt often fails and gets used as further “proof” that Israel is wrong.

One need not look further that the 1967 war that was thrust on Israel.  Three Arab forces tried to eliminate Israel, but Israel beat them back; yet it has since been made to look like an aggressor that baselessly stole property and destroyed the lives of the Palestinians.  In 1973, a surprise war on Yom Kippur further forced Israel’s hand and further made Israel into the bad guys.  Two falsehoods that have prevailed through today.

I am more shocked that Justice Goldstone seemed shocked at the rhetoric of the U.N. H.R.C than I am at the the H.R.C itself.  In fact, I am not shocked at the United Nations members at all.  I knew it would happen, and I’m just a U.N. outside observer, like most of us out there.  if not this report, it would have been something else.

Now we have our President Obama weighing in.  He is very possibly in way over his head if he thinks the world is going to change just because he – the rockstar – is president now. All he is doing is offering the anti-democracy, despotic and terrorist regimes time to plan more while he contemplates just how he will actually earn his Nobel .

The Goldstone Report is a foolish endeavor, as it criticized “both sides” but does not really help anyone find the path to peace; for it ignores the basic underlying truth in the Middle East: This is not about land, not about economy, trade, agriculture or human rights at all, it is about ideology, pride and an unrelenting belief by too many under the Muslim faith, that Jews (Christians too), Israel, human rights and Democracy all fly in the face of a God they revere, worship and insist wants to see the world turned upside down in his honor.

There is no negotiating with God, no deals to be made and certainly few to no accommodations made that would preclude the ultimate goal of Shariah law and total buy-in to their beliefs and way of life. To anyone claiming that this is just s small radicalized minority within Islam, why not then ask the silent majority take some more responsibility for their errant brethren, and let them begin to vocally- and physically if needed – set this awful condition right and pave the road to peace once and for all without blood and lopsided compromises.

I read the news today, oh boy!

The newspaper headlines send shivers down the backs of everyday Americans hoping for a break from this wicked economy. Not bad enough that unemployment is still high, that home prices are rising, and that good people still cannot break out of their slumps and meet the challenges for themselves and their families living basic lives. The New York Times ran an article last week by William Neuman, “Food Prices Likely to Start Ticking Up“, where economists and United States Department of Agriculture statisticians in unison claim that inflation and conditions will certainly drive food back up again, that ranchers, having culled their herds to meet the previously declining demand will now raise fees to accommodate the need, and that groceries will now trend back upward with prices.

This comes without any real headway in the homes and wallets of Middle Americans, who had been plagued with job loss, unmanageable debt and even the loss of homes. The same day the paper ran the article on food, it ran another one on the Obama Administration’s dire recognition – or admission – that the national deficit will in-fact, be $2 trillion more than they were presuming while politicking, “Estimate for 10-Year Deficit Raised to $9 Trillion.” Whether one voted for Obama or McCain matters less right now than the sheer fact that Americans are facing more difficult times to come. At the heart of the woes will be food and need; when people are hungry, it is hard to concentrate on everything else. Faith, family and sometimes ethics can be cast aside by otherwise enlightened masses foraging for morsels to feed their children and themselves. When it comes down to it, one can only wonder where the help lies and what can be done.

In a perfect world, easy answers would come in the form of collective will, building toward a solution. Instead, food companies, grocery stores and distributors seem more interested in relying on basic human need to push the margins of their ledger books. It is not inherently bad, as the economy moves when money is spent, manufacturing is brisk and people are at work. Yet, it is easier to acquiesce to the trends when it is an automobile or an iPod that is being built; Items that fill a void or want, not a necessity of need. Food ought to be treated different than that, at least basic sustenance. In the book of the 8th-century BC Judean prophet Isaiah we are told that if we offer ourselves on “behalf of the hungry and answer the needs of the oppressed, then your light will shine in the darkness, and your night will become bright as day.” Is there no more noble calling then making certain those who need food are fed, and in doing so, playing a role in repairing the world?

The solution is clear and very real, as we have people and organizations committed to doing just that; feeding those searching for the hand up. On the porch steps of a simple house in Monroe, Georgia some 15 years ago, a simple pastor presumed large, and believed that if people in his small mill town where opportunity was scarce and hope was in even shorter supply, were fed, they could rise above the economic and social adversities and rebuild faithfully and proud. Pastor Joseph Wingo fed 34 families by buying food in bulk, coupon shopping and seeking the close-out deals, and tried to give it away; yet, he was bewildered when no one came that first day. He talks of pride by saying that there is good pride and bad, the good being the reason we shower and groom ourselves, and the bad being too proud to take a hand up when offered.

Wingo tallied up his cost on the food and placed a nominal charge on the packages he assembled to make it affordable. He sold the 34 boxes and the people returned for more. The coop that now operates in 44 states and in over 5000 communities, Angel Food Ministries, was born. Wingo even had money left over to donate back to the churches that helped bring people to his porch. Offering proteins and nutrition for a price people could afford and returning what has amounted to $25 million over 15 years so far, has proven to be the system that works in any economy, and one that is needed in a fragile economy.

This coop concept takes nothing from anyone, offers a useful benefit and returns benevolence into thousands of communities, and it generates income enough to employ about 300 people. It would seem that there is a partial solution for people to manage through these times. Food prices do not need to rise, nor does the rising deficit mean that people cannot access the basics. When we read the news tomorrow, maybe a model as this one could lead the headlines.

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Redeye Thoughts

The moon is full and bright; it’s so beautiful as it reflects off the clouds that we fly above. They seem as gray marble, with a gentle silhouette of orange light glowing in non descriptive patterns below. The moon keeps watch over us, like a guiding light showing us the way home. It’s almost surreal to watch the sky, blackened blue with nothing but the sun’s eastern reflection and the tiny star trying so hard way behind it.

I’ve been on dozens of planes and have flown through every climate, in every season, but tonight I see the moon looking back at me. Its stalking me like I’ve never seen it do before. The wondrous rock that shadows the earth each day is talking to me as we begin our descent toward home.

I don’t know what to make of it at first, and I gaze upon it with curiosity and amazement. Then it dawns on me as it seems to be looking through my small window in the sky, as the water below glistens in its mighty glow. It is telling me that there is light in the darkness; that possibilities abound. The sun always shines even when we can’t see it, and its light will always shine as long as I am willing to see.

The night is dark, but the darkness is calming as I realize that the sun is always close by.

DINERS, DRIVE-INS AND DIVES

By: Noah Engelmayer

Living in New York, I would never have expected to find something as fun anywhere else. Here, I get to see it all, the lights in Times Square, great Broadway shows, the best hamburgers at Le Marais steak house in Midtown, and everything else New York has to offer. I take the subway by myself, I walk to my cousins’ home, and I can buy fruit roll ups at the store and get a pizza delivered at midnight. What more can I want?

While many of my friends had taken trips around the world by the time they were five, my parents decided to do something different. We chased storms and disasters around the country for fun. Instead of putting us on a 12-hour plane ride, we started with short car trips and worked our way up.

So we saw a slice of America that so many New Yorkers never get to see. I like to call it the Diners Drive-ins and Dives tour—kind of like the show my dad and I watch on the Food Network. The one difference:  almost every place we went was destroyed right after. There is something weird about that.

We spent a week in Biloxi. Mississippi—Hurricane Katrina made sure that we couldn’t do that again. What I remember fondly, however, are the white beaches and the glistening waters off the Gulf. I know it well because when nothing else was on, my parents always had the TV on HBO, and Tom Hanks is yelling at his best friend—a volleyball.

Now, back to Mississippi.

We were on a hot beach in Biloxi, I was four years old and swimming in the ocean. All I can remember is my parents laughing as I kept yelling “Wilson” to my imaginary Wilson Sports volleyball friend from that movie. I also remember my oldest sister kissing a sea lion and holding a parrot —she had just gotten over her fear of animals. We got a dog that fall.

That same summer we visited New Orleans; what a shame, Katrina got that too.

I remember playing “New York, New York” on the rims of wet glasses as a street vendor taught me how to play. There were so many odd people, and a man—I think it was a man—in copper paint holding a torch and looking like the Statue of Liberty. He kept following me and would stop every time I’d turn around. I guess the fact that he was always behind me was the clue that I needed. I distinctly remember saying that it was “always Purim” there; you know, that Jewish festival often compared to Halloween? The main difference is that on Purim we remember a time when the Jews were to be destroyed, but were miraculously saved—let’s eat and be merry. Oh, that’s the theme of every Jewish holiday…

So, the next summer we found ourselves in Nashville, Tennessee. We city folk found fun at the Grand Ole Opry and learned to like country music. Nashville is still standing, so that’s a good thing. We went walking in Memphis (that’s a song) and spent a day at Graceland, where Elvis lived and died. What a house, what a life. It was great. What struck me there was that he was big into Christian gospel, yet some of his biggest checks to charity displayed on his walls were large sums written to the local Jewish organizations. I found that nice. I also like the peanut butter-and-banana sandwiches he made so famous.

It didn’t end there, though. We saw an Elvis impersonator perform a whole concert. We liked it so much, we saw it again the next night. We couldn’t help falling in love with his music.

The next year we found ourselves on a cruise. It was supposed to be a cruise to somewhere, but ended up being a cruise to get away from everywhere. You see, we were supposed to disembark from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but the wind was so heavy that we were shuttled from the airport to Tampa. After that four-hour ride, we met the boat and were to head to the Florida Keys, the Everglades and Cancun, Mexico. The mean Hurricane Katrina thought otherwise. She destroyed much of the Glades back then and our boat ended cruising 12 miles off the coast of Cuba to stay away from the swells.

I remember docking at port in Cancun, and it was a beautiful day. As soon as we were far enough from the boat, the skies opened up and it poured like I had never seen rain before. Yet the beer was one dollar a bottle and they served kids my age. That was a fun day.

So our boat rocked and rolled and bounced us all the way home. Royal Caribbean ended up giving us half the money back. So that worked out well.

In Phoenix, Arizona, one year later. Yup, we went to the Sedona Red Rock canyons and had to run away when the wildfires burned out of control. We were dead center again in disaster—and trust me, Arizona is hot enough without a big fire. Still, it was fun. My cousins joined us for that trip. We went to a Wild West city and got locked in a jail.

Let’s not forget Dallas, Texas, and the Fort Worth Stockyards. I rode a Longhorn—then I ate one. We saw our first real rodeo in Mesquite, and a real stretch pickup truck with the longhorns on the grill. That’s country.

Yet, little compares to my time in Monroe, Georgia. We have these friends with such a large property, they let me drive cars and golf carts all over. It was all fun. We have done so much. I bet not many of the people I know from New York have seen our country as I have.

They should!

All I Know I Learned in High School

It was back in Washington Heights, Manhattan in 1986, I was sixteen years old and in 11^th grade at the Marsha Stern Talmudic Academy/Yeshiva University High School for Boy – lovingly referred to MTA to this day, and we were quite a group of misfits. That school taught me everything I would need to survive; not much in the area of academics, though. Imagine Lord of the Flies set in Anatevka. Not to reinvent the wheel here, as I believe that my comrade Shalom Auslander who trailed me by a year, accurately captured my experiences in his brilliantly illustrated autobiography, A Foreskin’s Lament.

It was there in MTA, where often timid little naive Jewish kids, many from suburban neighborhoods, descended daily on the Dominican Republic’s satellite city in the very upper corner of Manhattan, that I learned valuable lessons on life. Some of us found drugs, some found religion, others found new friends and even new found inner strength. All of us, however, learned the value of money – that if you had it, you were treated one way, and if not, you were just cast out.

Two juniors took a freshman for a magic carpet ride on his first marijuana high. The kid broke down and told his parents who then told the principal. The junior whose father was a school benefactor was given probation and the junior from a family with somewhat less money and who was likely on scholarship, was expelled. That didn’t come as a shock, but it was one of the most blatant hypocritical contrasts to what we were taught about God and religion and the reality of everyday life. Yet, I cannot complain because I benefited too, no doubt.

My advantage wasn’t money, for I didn’t grow up with much. It was the next valuable lesson, influence. My father – who by the way, just successfully survived major surgery – was the executive editor at the New York Jewish Week back then; the Jewish publication with the largest circulation at the time and was also an important propaganda engine for the Yeshiva University network of schools. I had a bad habit of getting myself thrown out of school for doing little more than expressing my concerns for the quality of my education.

There was the time I was sitting in Talmud (Gemara) class, referred to as a Shiur, and the head of school came in to test us young men on what we knew – or didn’t. It was a random thing. Rabbi Yitzchok Cohen, a tall, thin, beady eyed man with a long white beard, soft spoken, with a deliberately and distinctively enunciated diction that sounded like a throaty Bostonian accent with an Eastern European twinge will always be remembered by me and hundreds of my fellow inmates for his performance in the Wilf Auditorium of the high school decrying the message of the one-hit-wonder pop song by Samantha Fox, “Touch Me!”

That day, he stood up in front of an entire school of young impressionable lads and started flailing his arms wildly, touching himself and yelling “touch me’, “touch me” as he went into a rant over inappropriate messages of modern music. Any one of us that day who did not know the song before hand, went out and bought it, or borrowed the cassette to copy. Good thinking rabbi.

That same approach was successfully employed by Mel Gibson’s folks earlier this decade when they had the Anti-Defamation League publicly oppose his movie The Passion of The Christ. ADL successfully raised funds for its organization, and Mel got better advertising than he could have otherwise afforded to fund for this project. Yet, I digress…

So, we were in Bobo’s class (not his real name, but we kind of referred to our rabbi by it; it was passed down for years before we ever got to his class), well known for being a den of miscreants. One of our esteemed class clowns was comedian Elon Gold, who had a sitcom on network television, many cable comedy programs and does stand-up. I like to believe that he tested many of his early jokes in this class. Now, Rabbi Cohen walked into our class one day and picked up the book of the Talmud that we were presumably learning from and he randomly called on students to answer questions.

We were learning from Tractate Bava Kama, but that didn’t really matter to most of us. He would pick out a word or a phrase and then call on a student to explain it. After a few students had their turn to varying degrees of success, he points his finger into the Talmud and quietly read the words “Esnan Zonah,” simply defined as money paid to prostitute for her services. Now the issue here was about whether an item given in exchange for this money may be offered as a sacrifice, but more to the point.

Rabbi Cohen stated the term and looked up from the book and called out, “Yehuuuudddaa En-Gel-May-errr.” I looked up at him and asked him, “Yes Rabbi?” He continued, “What does ‘Esnan Zonah’ mean?”

Being in an uncomfortable situation here, having to talk to a rabbi about such issues, I simply stated, “money given to a prostitute for her services.” He came back at me with, “What does it mean… what are you paying for, why does it matter?” I stared at him, and just restated “it is money paid to a prostitute for her services.” The rabbi looked at me, clearly bemused by what he saw as my vacant answer and said, “Services? Did she go down to Heshy’s (local coffee shop) and buy you a danish?” I gulped. All that I could mutter from my mouth, caught somewhere between fighting my instinct to be a wise ass and not wanting to have a conversation with this rabbi about what turning tricks is all about, was “Rabbi, if you’re not clear, I don’t think that I should be the one to tell you.” Bobo spit his soda out of his mouth laughing.  Sure it was funny, but I got kicked out of class and “expelled” for it.

So, I did what became habit for me, and I called my father and told him my version of the truth. He moaned, yet still did his part and called his friends at the Yeshiva University Board of Directors who wanted to maintain a positive relationship with the newspaper.  I was told to report back to school the next day. When I approached the school steps the next morning, the principal was standing there and said to me, “I don’t appreciate getting calls from the Board of Directors about you,” and I just said smugly, “Then don’t kick me out anymore.”

Lesson learned here: it’s not what you know, but who you know.

I graduated, life goes on. I learned so much about life at MTA; valuable lessons in street smarts, politics and diplomacy, and surviving. It was the kind of school where the smart kids did just fine and those who struggled continued to do so, just keeping their heads low so to stay off the administrator’s radar.

Fortunately, my children will never be in a place like that. Our hope is that the schools they are in will help them grow academically and spiritually, and will also gain some of the moxie we found in the dark corridors of that old musty building in Washington Heights.

Musings as I Clear up the Writer’s Block

Getting over writer’s block seems to harder than I anticipated. The things that usually inspire me have been languishing in my head, and the events around us all do not generate the excitement I would hope for. Whether it is Swine Flu, Chrysler’s imminent failure, GM’s collapse, Somali pirates or my Labrador Jessie living a comfortable and lazy life as she yawns and stretches and closes her eyes again, I seem to feel that committing thoughts to words right now is just a burden I don’t want.

Today is my son’s 11^th birthday, and that is something I will take joy and excitement in. Watching him grow, watching all three grow, in fact, has been the best part of my adult life. When you see your own contributions to their evolution take shape, it should inspire the best in all of us. Tonight, we will take Noah out to dinner with a small group of family and friends. He doesn’t want a party for everyone, but a small group of those he cares about.

Come to think of it, all of our kids are like that. My oldest turns 16 in June, but doesn’t want a blown-up sweet sixteen celebration. Considering what it could cost and could entail, I ought to be grateful, and trust me, I am.

He will get a nice watch that he saw me wear and decided he wanted it. It’s a thin winding watch with a black strap, white face and pretty display. Lately, Noah has been taking more pride in his appearance, donning a pinstriped suit to synagogue. This week, he put on a crisp blue shirt and yellow tie and asked that I dry clean his shirts now. He said the home wash doesn’t leave him looking as he wishes. That’s my boy. When I saw his ensemble, I too wore a pinstriped suit, blue shirt and yellow tie to shul. I never thought of dressing my kids alike, or dressing like my kids. I usually find that whole situation plain goofy. I caved, it was cute. He was all smiles too.

Our middle child is heading to Israel on Mother’s Day with her class for their senior trip. This was such a memorable event for our eldest, she learned a love for Israel though exploration, study, prayer, camaraderie and just breathing the Mediterranean air. When we learned that the economy and Madoff’s thievery caused parents to withhold funding, hence canceling the trip – replaced by a visit to Pennsylvania and a theme park – we decided to try and raise the funds ourselves. This is a once in a lifetime experience, and quite selfishly, we didn’t want Talia to be the only of the three to lose out, assuming that in coming years it will be restored with ease and our 11 year old would go as is the normal routine.

Well, the school needed $25 thousand, we raised less than ten. It isn’t easy to do this at this time. We are funding the rest. It’s part of our tithe for the year. I guess our other charities are on hold, but I am so happy she will have this chance. As far as Israel, this will not be her first rodeo; yet the experience school offers: priceless.  She leaves on Mother’s Day and returns on the day I turn 40. I think I hear “Sunrise, Sunset” playing in my head now.

I guess that’s all for now. I have to work, Jessie moved from the floor to the couch and the Swine Flu and the imminent death of the Trans Am seem to be the news of the day. It reminds me of a good time and disappointment too.

My uncle taught me to drive on a yellow 1975 Firebird S/E with the hood scoops and a fire stripe across the car. It had the 455 V8, a white interior, honeycomb rims, it was fast, sweet and the coolest car I had ever driven (by the time I was seven. I have since driven cooler cars…). It was supposed to be my car when I got my license ten years later, but the car didn’t make it to my 17^th. It was gone a year earlier. My first car was a yellow 1972 Ford LTD. Not quite the same.  My uncle later “upgraded” me to a white 1980 Buick Skylark, but it made me long for the Ford.

So that’s it for now. Hi Ho, Hi Ho.

Ain’t That America: Angel Food Ministries’ Little Pink Houses

Getting up at two in the morning to head to work is never fun, of that I am certain. Yet, this morning in Bakersfield, California, could not have been more fun, more interesting or even more meaningful.

We flew in late from Georgia, and landed at about six thirty Pacific time, having first worked all morning on the East Coast. First to dinner, than to an early bed in order to rise and be at the host site parking lot by three to meet the two tractor trailers from National Carriers, Angel Food Ministries‘ official carrier for this month’s 560 thousand boxes of food relief we just distributed. What made this trip so important to us – Pastor Joe Wingo and the Ministry Development team – was that this host site in Bakersfield has risen from an obscure new entry in a state with yet a relatively low saturation for Angel Food, to the single largest host site distribution point in America. Bakersfield Compassion Christian Center and its Pastor, Martha Johnson, began with AFM in November 2008 with an impressive opener of 304 boxes to the even more impressive 2858 boxes we handed out today.

With almost seamless precision, the cold and dark parking lot of the Center transformed before us. From a cosmic empty space with just two giant rigs lit with small running lights illuminating the area like a far off runway in the blackened distance of a clear sky, idling gently in the chilly California wind, into a professionally run open-aired warehouse where every item has its place, ready for the vast undertaking about to commence.

A small group of volunteers began maneuvering a donated forklift, easily taking every palette off the rigs and placing them around the edges of the lot, marked by tables with tags identifying the food items designated for the space. Within 90 minutes, both trucks were empty; the dry goods first, followed by the refrigerated items on the second semi. Now we just had to wait. The night sky was still deep, the stars shone bright and my two daughters, accompanying me for this distribution visit, stared out in wonder at the terrific sky, convinced that this is something they don’t usually experience looking up above our New York City skyline. We waited a while, and then, much like at the end of Field of Dreams, as the headlights appeared to spiral down the path to the plowed cornfield, people started to come.

As the sun rose, and the California night ebbed, bowing to the hot sun Southern California is known and loved for, the parking lot started looking like a day at a bustling street festival. A staging area was set with speakers and a sound system playing light fare gospel, tent areas were set with seats to protect those who sought it from the sun. A line was formed in the most orderly fashion that eventually wrapped around the block, while the most patient people waited to start collecting their Angel Food. The Christian Center set this up in a way worthy of duplication. The registration table in the center met the recipients, signed them in and a band of high school football players, the team coach and other students wearing orange vests acted as runners, and used grocery shopping carts to help collect the morning catch for every one of the seemingly unwearied.

There was prayer, music, coffee, cake, muffins and later, barbecue. There was media, and there was cheer and camaraderie. There were church goers, non-believers, whites, blacks, Asians, Latinos, families, singles, seniors, young, straight and gay alike, and there was the spirit of America on that block, in the parking lot. It was a beautiful thing to see, as Angel Food Ministries stood over this blessed event as an organization that did not merely provide food relief, but as one that provided a reason to come out and spend a day volunteering and helping, talking among friends, playing and singing and eating. It hit me with great smile, as I read a biased news story out of York, Pennsylvania, these so called journalists don’t want to get it, but these people before me do. Angel Food Ministries is about community, family and building bridges. It about feeding people, but it is also about people helping people, and people wanting to help others and feel good about it.  It is about America at its best.

Looking at the simplest form of the business model, Sam Walton, of Wal-Mart fame became a multi billionaire and was revered, and still remembered, as a shrewd businessman. People may fault him for presumed contributions to the erosion of domestic trade, wage and benefit abuse of low income and even migrant workers, but no one attacked the wealth he amassed doing it. Arguably, Wal-Marts are exactly what destroyed communities as they moved in and wiped out the small business, chased families into poverty, and drove others away from small town America seeking elusive city jobs.

Pastor Joe Wingo, on the other hand, built a model that performs the very opposite of that. It makes people want to work for people, it builds neighborhoods and solidifies neighbors as friends, it brings people to houses of worship to pick up their food with the hope that some dynamic pastors, preachers or rabbis can convince them to come in for a service. It grows communities, plants churches and develops enduring relationships in towns and cities across America. Yet, for that insight and hard work, he has been vilified in jealous circles for making a salary. Mind you, it pales in comparison to wages earned by big corporation CEOs, and even the salaries of some of the large national non profit organizations that do little more than beg for money, simply to redistribute a portion back to people and initiatives for which each is set to do. Still, Joe Wingo’s salary and CEO of a $140 million organization that feeds hundreds of thousands without seeking donations, develops community minded programs, returns millions into local communities, and gives people hope in an era where hope seems to fade, is a source for contention.

As Pastor Joe walked around and greeted the eager people, he was received as a celebrity. A woman broke down and cried to him, saying that she was seeking a way to give back, and Angel Food was the answer to her prayers. Children shook his hand, silver foxes hugged our charming CEO, and the California Senate Majority Leader prepared a special award and proclamation for Joe and Linda Wingo. Apparently they are doing something right, and as long as the people who rely on this food for their well being are pleased, perhaps the naysayers should not matter. Pastor Wingo spoke to ABC television about his vision and the need for food, and we were handed food for the plane ride home.

Little Pink Houses lined the streets around the church where we were this morning, and all I could think of was John Mellencamp’s song.  Joe Wingo and Angel Food Ministries is the best of America, and helps ensure that the best in Americans come out with every order taken and every distribution made. Ain’t that America? We saw the America that I believe in, that we need to see more of and that my kids know they haven’t seen up close quite like this today.

The Road to Forgiveness may be the Path the Ruin

“Zachor Et Asher Asa Lecha Amalek BaDerech Betzetchem MiMitzrayim”, or “Remember what Amalek did to you on your way out of Egypt!” (Deuteronomy 25:17).

On Saturday, March 3, 2009, during the Sabbath prayers, Jewish worshippers listened to the portion known as Parshat Zachor (The Chapter of Remembrance). God commanded Jews to never forget the deeds of Esau’s grandson, Amalek. Oddly enough, the Amalekites survived, seemingly through the ages, to hunt down the Jews and continue their persecution because of simple compassion of the very people Amalek was born to destroy.

In Samuel 1, 15:2-3, God says, ‘I have noted what Amalek did to Israel in opposing them on the way when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.”

Yet, when King Saul has the opportunity to do just that, he waged war against Amalek and wins, but at the request of his subjects, the cattle are spared, and worse perhaps, Saul’s misplaced mercy allows Agag, the king of the Amalekites, to live. As the poet Robert Frost said it so eloquently many thousands of years later, after two roads diverged in a yellow wood, Saul chose a path “that has made all the difference”.

Such is life when misguided kindness leads to ruin. It is a harsh lesson, and many kind souls are unable to learn, so they get themselves hurt in the end. It is good to be good, and charitable to be lenient and forgiving. The Lord’s Prayer advises dutiful Christians to “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” and Jews derive from Genesis, 20:17, that “Abraham prayed to God and God healed Abimelech“.

Yet, we learn from Amalek that we need to be cautious in how we dole out that forgiveness. Many times wolves appear in sheep’s clothing, and we fail to see them before it is too late. Yet, other times the wolves appear as they are, and we just see a cute, cuddly animal. That’s humanity, but it can bite back hard.

A true test of faith and human spirit is in the ability to measure the need to forgive and overlook transgressions, with the need to douse out the flames of the wicked.

This is but a prelude to a bigger story. Stay tuned…

Things I learned from the Fire

Reputations take a lifetime to build, yet only a mere second to tear down; and media is relentless in the pursuit of destruction. The way of the world is such, as excitement sells subscriptions and ad space. In public relations, happy stories are considered fluff, or “feel good” items, hawking tales of babies and puppies or photos of seniors taking dance classes and basket weaving rather than merely fitting the legs of the walkers with pierced tennis balls for traction.

On the other hand, crisis communications yields grand fees as a specialty. Protecting a reputation is as important as saving a life. It is a belief that gossip takes three lives – that of the speaker, the one being spoken about and the one listening. Yet, and most unfortunately, gossip and sensationalism is what inspires news today. In a world of useful news and important issues, we know more about celebrity affairs, undergarments and substance abuse than the plight of the dying on far away continents, the hungry in our own backyard or the real facts behind the pain in the Middle East.

Most media simply answer the call of a natural constituency yearning for superficiality; after all, it sells ad space and time, and commerce is essentially what makes TV networks and printing houses tick anyway. The daily grind of life may be too much for some, and for others, just mundane, so they seek out excitement and live vicariously through the characters in gossip rags and TV magazine shows. The more dangerous media, and the ones who truly epitomize the evils of gossip, are the ones who believe they are serving a greater good by exposing someone, true or not; seeking the bad, finding the scandalous and neglecting objectivity.

In a true account, a reporter was seeking drama for a story she was running, so she phoned a business contact of an individual who was the focus of her story and tried to find some lurid news to enhance her article. The business contact relayed only positive feedback and asked the young journalist if she planned on using that. Wryly she replied, “That’s not the angle of my story.” Sadly, had it run, it may have actual had some journalistic integrity; pros, cons – all sides. Alas, this is what we face today. If it isn’t mean, it isn’t usable; if it doesn’t hurt, it won’t get printed.

Today, we see journalists who fancy themselves idealists rather than objective writers, and their ideals often yield a belief that an exposé on an individual with whom they disagree is the appropriate means to vent. Now I am not talking about murderers, rapists or deadbeat dads, for they perhaps deserve the scrutiny; I am referring to people in the public eye who render strong opinions and ideas, practice and preach one religion over another – indeed, sometimes any religion at all – possess wealth or perhaps even advocate for pragmatism; people who use their Constitutional rights to talk, earn and pray. These are the people who find themselves not merely at the tip of writer’s pen opposite a different set of viewpoints, for that on its own would be fair and just. Instead, and often, they are at the ruthless edge of horror stories about lurid tales, speculative allegations, and cruel depictions of inhumanity or depravity of one kind or another.

I once heard a teacher comment on another teacher in an adjacent room who had a habit of raising his voice. After an outburst that stopped the class for the moment, the teacher sardonically commented, “When the facts are on your side, argue the facts. When logic is in your favor, employ logic. When you’ve got nothing, yell as loud as you can.”

I suppose some of these “journalists” must have learned the very same, and resort to the yelling to get attention. There is never anything wrong with expressing an opposing view or questioning someone’s faith or reasoning with equal amounts of rhetoric and reason. Yet, I find it disingenuous to resort to defamation and character assassination. It is simply way too easy to destroy someone for the sake of challenging a view you loath, as the public at first falls easy prey to the maxim, “tell a story enough and it begins to take on an air of truth.”

Do I have an answer to this epidemic? No. Sadly I do not. Today, even more than ever, we have media that has become more relentless and even more irreverent. From the emergence of blogs to their proliferation today, bloggers need to become edgier and all they need is an opinion. Facts and reason are pushed down the requirement ladder, as anger, judgment and sheer frustration in the “system” (whichever system one disagrees with) take precedence in a writer’s rant. Worse now, true media, trying to stay “on top of the news and ahead of the times”, often reference these blog’s rants where it is believed they can drive eyes to their venue. So, we have chaos in an anything goes atmosphere, and the average reader or web/channel surfer, serves as the hungry bee to the gossip pollen. The bad news just spreads, excites and maims.

As money talks and viewers drive the quality of the headlines, the only real solution is for people to wise up. We need to help our children sift through the garbage for the jewels worth keeping.

In an encounter with one of my child’s eighth grade teachers, I believe I found wisdom. My daughter comes home every Tuesday asking for an actual newpaper section. When I missed bringing it home once or twice, in frustration I asked why she just could not get it online. My daughter conveyed that her teacher required it. Rolling my eyes at the frivolous embrace of ancient times, knowing of course that the future is the Internet, I just walked away perplexed.

When my wife met the teacher at the school a few days later, she conveyed my frustration to her. She said that when her high schooler was in eighth, she too asked the same question; yet when she began teaching the class and realized that the Internet is so prone to wayward “journalism” she wanted to teach the kids to first understand what a newspaper actually is.

Not to say that the papers are pure, but some still profess their aim to be so. The solution to the wayward new media is for us to learn to focus on what is real, meaningful and important. News that advance us as a people, news that make us think and learn, news that makes us laugh, cry and hope, is the news that we should want to seek out. Bloggers can do this too, they just have to try harder, but they have to want to do so. As unrealistic as it may sound, we need to learn and then teach how to tune out the mediocre. In doing so, anyone who wants to generate views will strive for truth and excellence.

You Only Live Twice

Here I am up at 4AM watching the off variety of entertainment offerings scattered about 5000 channels on Dish Network. With a lot on my mind, I stirred until I just woke up. Unable to go back to sleep, I decided to attempt to write my thoughts down in the hopes of making sense of some of them. Well, that’s not working too well; it seems that writer’s block is an effective constraint.

Ian Flemming’s “You Only Live Twice” is on some channel called EACTN, and I have no idea what that channel even is, so I Googled it. It’s Encore Action – I suppose it is livelier that Encore’s other channel, Encore Sedentary; seems more appropriate for 4:26 AM.

I digress. I was struck by the title of that Sean Connery Bond flick, as lately I have come to believe that perhaps people do get second chances in life. Admittedly, the poor graphics and ridiculous dialogue make me wonder how this title meshes with the truth, but from my own experience, I see it to be so.

There is a lot in life that could use a second chance. Some wish for new love, others, perhaps, for a different career. There used to be a clever commercial on television with the slogan “There are No Do Overs in Life”, and Hillary Clinton used the line too when discussing her vote on the Iraq invasion. While it is just about impossible to turn the clock back, it seems quite possible for second chances. By learning from errors, recovering from setbacks and not accepting when the breaks are beating the boys, and you take the chance, you can come back.

You only live twice is a lesson for the strong.