The Last Class

 I have really been enjoying the Jewish Learning Institute (JLI)'s class on Kabbahah, or Jewish mysticism. First, Rabbi Moshe is a gifted teacher -- far more a scholar than his learned Dad Yossi, my good friend. And the material truly has my mind bending -- like last night's lesson, which was whether G-d essentially micromanages the universe, or just created it and let it be.

Turn out, at least the the Chasidic scholarship, to be the former. Most of us, those who think about a Higher Power, see it opposite, if we believe in a Higher Power creating stuff at all. We look at it as if G-d, or The Oversoul, or the Big Woman (Wifey's feminist answer to me when I use the term "Big Man," even though somehow that conjures up images of a circus performer) created the world, and then let it be.

Rabbi Moshe gave the analogy to a carpenter -- he creates a cabinet, and then (unless he's really creepy), leaves the cabinet to its uses -- the carpenter doesn't stand with the cabinet overseeing its every event.

The scholars point out the difference, though. The carpenter didn't really create anything -- he just put together wood, screws, paint, etc...--using skills to put together existing materials. On the other hand, The Big Man created all out of nothingness, and according to their intellectual history, believe that if G-d stops ruling over all for even the tiniest moment -- all of existence as we know it will cease.

The leaf that falls off the tree and turns 5 times before hitting the ground? It doesn't just happen -- it is G-d's plan.

Of course, very often we can't understand the logic or meaning behind what the Big Man does. The Rabbi said let's keep the discussion to the quotidian -- leaving out questions of tragedy. So my brother Norman promptly asked about kids getting cancer, and the Holocaust. I reprimanded him: "He said no using the C word, or H word!" So we had some levity along with the deep thoughts as well.

The other examples were wonderful, too, like ones where one's presence totally changes an outcome in someone's life, even though the "actor" has zero clue what he had done -- he was just there and then.

I thought back to the times of my suegros and my mother nearing death. Sunny in particular -- once she had fallen mostly into unconsciousness, I said to her (coincidentally Chasidic) doctor, Levin, how anyone could say there was any meaning in her life -- she was mostly gone, and starting to struggle for breath.

He answered that EVERY person has a purpose. Maybe a dying relative brings a family together, for example. Well, that surely didn't happen, but my Mom's final days DID trigger in me a deep assessment of the nature of my life and those in it with me.

When my father in law and mother in law were near the end, it brought out a beautiful form of love in Wifey, who would be the first to tell you she's not the nurturing kind. When each finally passed, she grieved organically -- deep, mournful sobs of grief. I saw a depth to her that I hadn't seen since the birth and childhoods of our Ds.

Anyway, I'm actually disappointed that last night was the last class for me. There's one more -- Barry and Norman will attend, but I'll be taking Wifey and some friends to see Stevie Nicks -- a concert rescheduled from September.

The next class begins in January -- and I am now hooked. I think the subject matter is how different scholars answered various issues, and the bases of their conclusions. I don't think it's as profound as the class going on now -- but it gives me an at least weekly workout of the mind -- discussions with the teacher and class members on a level I haven't had since I last taught Religion and Law with Steve Sapp -- and that was well over a decade past.

They say the mark of a good movie or TV show or live performance is that the viewer keeps thinking about it long past the actual viewing. I have been thinking about the JLI class a lot over the past 5 weeks -- I guess that tells me everything about its worth to me.

Turns out learning and discovery really can be a life-long pursuit? It needn't be just political bullshit -- hating Trump, defending Trump. That crap gets to use up less of my mental real estate. I have REAL matters to ponder.

The Retro-Spectascope

 During my first year as a lawyer, I was the briefcase schlepper for my boss Dan during a major products liability case, in which the Plaintiff's lawyer, Carl Rentz, sued a motorbike company (we repped the local store) for a bad design, in which Carl's speeding client was thrown off the bike and killed. This was in 1987, and I still recall it so well since it was the first big case I worked on -- the other lawyer, for the company, was Ben Reid. Rentz is long dead, after an awful set of years in a nursing home following a terrible crash where he, drunk, stumbled down the road near the Tiki Bar in Key Largo and was hit by a car. No idea about Reid. And Dan, my comically anti-semitic boss, is long dead, too.

But when Dad did closing, he coined what to me was a neologism: the retro-spectascope. That was a magical tool by which we could look back in time. Of course, Dan argued that looking through such a tool, no one would ever do something that would cause harm later, but since there was no such thing as this scope...well....how could you blame Dan's client for selling a dangerous motorcycle.

The jury didn't buy the argument. Rentz got, as I recall, a multi million dollar verdict, and this was back when these were big deals. Rentz was a hell of a trial lawyer and made tons of money before he took that fateful, drunken walk from the bar that night.

But I think about the retro-spectascope all the time. I wonder what I would have changed as a husband, parent, friend, and, well, man, had I known how my actions of decades ago would have played out.

When my kids are feeling at all mean, they tell me how they are "amazed" that Wifey and I (fill in the blank) when they were younger. Why did we (fill in the blank) when certainly we SHOULD have (fill in the blank).

Hey, I answer -- what are ya gonna do? We did our best, with our own limitations as people. All I know is, I remain confident that we did a pretty, pretty, pretty good job -- our family remains VERY close. Just last night, I told Dr. Barry about some info one of the Ds shared about her sister, and he remarked: "Wow -- your family is amazingly close -- that's a blessing and a curse."

And he's correct, of course.

I KNOW I messed up a lot with Wifey. I let a raging river's worth of water slide off my back with her, and now that I'm older, and call her out on many of her behaviors, she's understandably befuddled. "Wow. That NEVER bothered you before..." is a refrain I here a LOT from her. Whereas the truth is, things in fact DID bother me, but I chose to, as the line from "Frozen" goes, "Let it Go." Maybe I should have let far less go...

But to use any number of tired old cliches...the past is a canceled check, the past is water under the bridge, and without that retro=spectascope -- ain't nothing to do about our old mistakes.

On the positive side, this all leads to a rarefied place. Judge Murray Meyerson, one of my favorite people, and a true dispenser of life knowledge, used to love to share that mistakes lead to experience, and experience leads to...WISDOM. Ah yes, Mt. Wisdom -- a place where an older person may perch, like a majestic eagle, and know much more than he did decades ago.

I got a lovely call Friday night, on the way home from dropping the grandsons home -- from a dear friend of Jonathan's, thanking me for referring him to a young lawyer for the handling of his case -- the young lawyer, who I'll call Michael, since that's his name, settled what we used to call a "whippie," for whiplash -- a case where the client got no surgery or extensive treatment. By any reasonable analysis, the result should have been in the mid 5 figures. Michael got this young man WELL over 6 figures. And the young man was thrilled.

I got off the phone, and recalled how I used to think referring folks to other lawyers, or doctors, or really anyone, like plumbers or electricians, was no big deal. But I have come to learn it IS a big deal -- when you're rich, as Tevye sang, they think you really know, and my referrals have some weight. So these days, if I am not confident about a referral, I simply beg off. I guess this is some of that wisdom.

So I plan to keep on doing nothing but my best. I shall be judicious with my advice -- not just spout it off like I used to. I will say when I really do know something, and when I am merely speculation.

And I guess, in the years ahead, that damned retro-spectascope will show where I screwed up. It works that way for all of us.

Blowing In The Wind

 So I think I have resolution about a matter of much hot air: my landscaper's illegal use of gas powered leaf blowers (GPB). A few years ago, the Village of Pinecrest outlawed them, and said we must use Electric Blowers (EB) since they're quieter and less polluting.

Last month, I got a warning, that said next time I was caught it would cost $250 and $500 thereafter. Those are some expensive blow jobs, even by South Beach standards...

I wasted time reaching out to our Mayor, who foisted me (love that "Curb" episode) on the Village Manager Yocie, who recommended 2 companies that use EBs, but it turned out they did not. So before TDay, I wrote a snarky, but kind of nice, email to Yocie, letting her know she sent us on a wild blower chase, and could I just be left alone?

She wrote today: I could not. If I got fined and appealed, I would go to a Magistrate, and "probably lose." Well this rich white guy doesn't like to hear that! She said many folks were buying their own EBs, and keeping them for use by the lawn guys at their houses only, and the one the VOP gardeners use costs only $1500.

But wait! I recalled we're pretty good friends with our commissioner Shannon, who happens to be a stunning lawyer, married to a model handsome lawyer. We met them through Joelle and Kenny -- they repped them on a Chinese drywall case -- and have been to dinner several times. I emailed Shannon.

She called me today, and we had a delightful talk. She said the law grew from Covid times, where people working home were distracted by the noisy blowers. Also, GPBs exceeded Pinecrest's noise level allowance, so they could either raise that, or ditch the GPBs. Since no one wants loud parties allowed in our leafy Village -- they decided to ditch the GPBs.

Shannon and Skip bought one at Home Depot, they keep it charged for their lawn guy, and all works fine. And she said the one they bought cost FAR less than $1500 and works fine. So I wrote to the VOP manager, thanked her for her time, and suggested maybe they email residents to tell them the grace period is over, lest they feel discriminated against like I did -- though I couldn't figure out any protected class I belong to.

And then Shannon told me she was running for mayor. Great. Now this WILL cost us, since Wifey and I will support her candidacy -- truth is, she's VERY smart, charming, attractive, and experienced. And...a Democrat -- but not one of the Squad type idiot ones -- one who actually supports Israel and stuff.

We agreed to grab Joelle and Kenny for a 3 couple dinner after our friends return from Asia, and Wifey and I return from our cruise. They're fine company, and we can discuss her race to alcalde (she's also completely bi-lingual -- has Hispanic background, I recall).

So this latest brouhaha (Wifey loves that word) seems to be over. We'll ask Pedro (his real name) to pick an EB out and have it for his use. We comply with the law, Pedro saves on gas...all win.

Speaking of house issues -- the roof company is due to start on our new roof in the coming weeks. They tell me it will take 3-4 weeks. We're changing the look of Villa Wifey from Nouveau Mediterranean to Key West Cottage -- a yellow house with a gray metal roof. I care most about no more maintainence -- hopefully that's the result. And with a new roof, I can get a fire insurance policy again. Yay -- more premium payments.

Ah -- First World problems...

The Right List

 So Paul and I get Florida Bar stuff delivered to my house, on account of the fact that Paul doesn't think a legitimate attorney ought to have his house address the same as his office one, whereas I am accepting of things. Anyway, this am I glanced through the Florida Bar news, which I ought to get online, but am too lazy to make the change.

I always glance through the articles, like I used to do with "Playboy" magazine, just to make sure there's nothing glaring I should know, and then I turn to the two important lists: "Disciplinary Actions" and "In Memoriam."

It occurs to me that fewer and fewer of my colleagues make the first list. Prime career time for screwing up seems to be early or middle -- not the twilight, as Norman calls us. As to the second, sadly, that list has members of ALL ages -- though of course it skews to those admitted to practice in the 80s and earlier.

This month my friend Dave Coulson was on the sad list. And truly, the whole key is staying OFF that "In Memoriam" group for as long as possible. Discipline? Hell -- at this point, I'd just quit, or do what's called a "Disciplinary Revocation" which is essentially disbarring yourself.

Intimations of mortality, to malaprop Wordsworth.

Anyway, we had a BANNER T Day, where we feasted and laughed and enjoyed our shared gratitude. I spent a lot of time with Jonathan's grandmother Judy, the essence of a true matriarch. She's 90 and sharp as a tack, and loving as ever -- surrounded by her kids, grandkids, and 2 great grandkids. We talked about planning and the absurdity of that -- her parents never planned on Nazis and having to stash their daughter in a convent to survive the Holocaust as a little Catholic girl, emerging to find nearly everyone killed off.

But she always makes me smile -- remembering with greater clarity than I have when she met D2 and Wifey and me in Gainesville and knew in her heart that very day we would become family. Anyone who acts against this powerful woman's wishes does so at their own stupidity and peril -- we sure didn't!

We took Little Man home with us after the feast, and spent a lovely day with him -- D1 and Baby Man stopped by to fetch him for one of 2 Friendsgivings, and then she left with Baby Man -- Joelle and Kenny had stopped by for lunch and my notary skills -- they're leaving today for SE Asia and needed some stuff notarized before they left.

I had some leftover champagne from D1's pilates party, and Joelle and I toasted to their safe and fun journey.

In the evening, we took Little man to Fairchild Garden's "Night Garden," where they light all the trees and place fairies all over -- it was truly mystical. There's a huge banyan tree with a West Indian accented man talking as if he was the tree, Archimedes, but you can call him Archie. Little Man got to ask a question, and it was "Are you pretend?" Archie said no, he was a real talking tree, and Little Man came back to me, leaned in, and said "Grandpa Dave -- there's a speaker behind him-- he's not really a talking tree."

Ok, so we got one of THOSE on our hands -- good thing we're not Christian -- he'd know Santa Claus was total bull. 

And as we drove home, he asked how long we had been at the Garden. I told him nearly 2 hours. He said "It seemed to me it was much shorter. When you're doing something fun -- an hour goes by SO fast. But sometimes in school, when I want to go outside, an hour seems SOOOO long."

So we have a not yet 6 year old already thinking with Einsteinian abstraction. D1 told us she met with the school folks last week -- he was placed into the Gifted Program starting in First Grade. Beat me with a stick!

We drove him home, and since he was already bathed, and his little brother already in bed, he got a few books read to him and then off to bed, too. Wifey and I drove home kvelling about our grandsons, and daring to hope for maybe more grandkids, too.

So long as we stay off that bad list...

Space and Time

 So Barry, Norman and I are taking a class taught by Rabbi Moshe Harlig, intellectual son of Rabbi Yossi, on the Kabbalah. Not the pop-style Kabbalah favored by idiots like Madonna, but the real McCoystein, so to speak.

Last night's class really blew my mind -- I told Barry I felt like Larry Kroger in the scene in "Animal House" where he tries weed for the first time and Donald Sutherland's professor character has him contemplating entire universes on the tip of his finger.

The lesson was that places, people,and time are all The Big Man's creation, and therefore not subject to the understanding we mortals have. For example, in the Torah it is mentioned that Abraham was basically celebrating Passover -- giving matzoh to angelic visitors -- more than 2 thousand years before the exodus occurred. Why? Because the exodus was already created by G-d -- it just took Moses -- being in the right spot and time -- to bring it to reality for humans.

We also talked about how each day has its special energy -- particularly holidays, and one's birthday. A secular holiday is a construct -- if a family decides, for example, to celebrate Thanksgiving the day before the Thursday, it's no less a T Day for that family. But Jewish holidays don't work that way -- you can't decide to celebrate Passover other than the prescribed time -- the energy is different.

Same is so of Shabbos. There was a tale shared of a Roman emperor who came into a Jewish house on a sabbath and asked why the food tasted different. Was there a unique spice? No, per the sages -- food DOES taste different on shabbos -- due to its powerful, crucial energy.

Earlier in the week, I spoke to my old friend Stu, who holds himself out as a funny, silly guy, but was Phi Beta Kappa in college as a Philosophy major before Emory Law. We talked about people, and how you can't get them to change their ways. Stu remarked: "People are like the weather. They just ARE. You may want it warmer, or sunnier, or cooler, but you can't affect that -- the weather just IS."

This actually jibes well with last nights lessons -- things, under the Hand of The Big Man -- just ARE. We need only to study and figure them out, and parse meaning for our lives. Simple. Ha. As if!

Another lesson was how critical it is to celebrate our birthdays. Again -- we were born to a certain mission, at a certain time, as a gift from Above. I used to subscribe to comedian Denis Leary's theory: "There comes a time in a man's life, where he knows, or needs to know, that his birthday is no big deal to anyone other than his selfish self -- and that age is about 8."

Au contraire, funny Irish Boston Catholic guy! Failing to celebrate is akin to getting a precious gift from someone, tossing it aside, and not showing gratitude. And in my family, we SHOW gratitude. The Ds well remember that any gifts they received were not released to them before a thank you note was written.

All of this dovetails into today -- the biggest secular day of gratitude, and, for us, D1's birthday. We will celebrate the latter TWICE -- first a pilates get together on our front porch, and later with 23 of us at D2 and Jonathan's house -- catered by Les.

When you accept each day, each moment in your life is truly sacred, and truly holy -- unique among infinity of time and space -- well -- you'd damn well better savor that. So that's on today's scrumptious menu for sure.

Mahjong Ladies

 It is so funny to me how my life has come full circle. A VERY strong childhood memory is my mother Sunny hosting mahjong games -- every few weeks. She played with a group of women, one Greek, the rest Jewish, and I LOVED that there were cookies and Sarah Lee cake, which I was allowed to sample, but HATED the intense cloud of cigarette smoke which made it all the way to my bedroom -- 2 flights up our split level from the playroom where the games were hosted.

I recall Kay (the Greek lady) and Arlene, and Bea, and Berneice, and a few others. They would sit around Sunny's table, 4 players and one waiting, in their Marge Simpson-style hairdos, and talk happily about their husbands and we kids. 

When Sunny moved to Delray, she found 2 other regular games, but by then none of the 60 somethings wanted to host -- they met at either the "main" clubhouse, or the smaller one nearer to my Mom's Kings Point section, the "Isle of Capri," which was so named because there were canals around it. Years later, when Wifey and I visited the actual Isle of Capri in Southern Italy, I learned it was just a tad more picturesque than the 70s cell block style architecture of Kings Point.

But anyway, turns out that younger generations of women are now HEAVILY into the game, too, and over the past year Wifey has begun weekly hosting the game. I joke that depending on my level of Oedipal thought, I'm either slightly aroused, or slightly revolted. Nah -- not revolted at all -- none of this generation smoke, and occasionally I can get one or more of them to accept a cocktail, which means I can pour myself one or two, and thereby get by my self prohibition of not drinking alone.

One of the regulars, our friend Lili, is out of action for awhile, on account of she and Jeff are up in New Haven, where they bought a townhouse to be closer to their eldest daughter, and one granddaughter and another on the way in a few weeks. New Haven tends to be bleak -- and in the late Fall and Winter more so, but the grandkids are the draw -- Lili is gone until next year, so she can help with the baby.

So last night our neighbor Laura joined the party -- her husband Will is a crazy Cane like I am -- his family owns the bookstore across from campus, where I spent a LOT of money from '79-'86, a fact I always remind Will of as we pass on our walks -- and he always says "Thanks -- it helped to buy our house here!"

Another newer addition is Roberta, who used to drive Will to Gables High in the early 80s. She's divorced long ago, with 2 kids living in Brooklyn who have become orthodox. After the game, she and Wifey talked for a long time outside, and I joined them, and it was lovely -- Roberta is delightful.

They mentioned how Laura, like Wifey, wants badly to move out of her huge house, and Will, like me, LOVES it here -- he may be the only neighbor who walks more than I do. I asked where Laura wants to go, since they'll stay in Miami, and the response was "She doesn't know, but somewhere smaller and easier to take care of!"

A ha! Just as I suspected -- another case of the divergence of older men and women. It seems to me, once in the 60s, men want no life changes, and women crave SOMETHING -- they can't even identify it, but it's there.

This happened to my parents in 1978 -- my Dad was happy as a clam on LI, I was going off soon to college, but my Mom was restless. And so they decamped to the Delray condo, and my Dad loathed it. He loved South Florida, but always saw himself living in what is now Aventura -- he had a business friend who lived at a place called Admiral's Port, which is right next to what is now Williams Island, where Paul and Patricia live.

No dice. My Mom and her sisters decided it was time to go back to the future -- when they all lived close by in post WW II Bronx. So my Uncle Marty and Muriel, Lorraine and Abe, and Dorothy and Arthur all moved to Kings Point. The youngest, Florence, was the po relation, and couldn't afford to leave Rockland County.

Within a few years, all but my parents moved to nicer places than Kings Point, which, to this day, is the ugliest condo development I have ever seen -- essentially huge parking lots with the buildings in the middle, with small strips of lawn separating them. 

But to my Mom, it was heaven -- she stayed there a total of  33 years -- 30 after my Dad died.

Likewise, Wifey wants a change -- not sure what -- but SOME change. Not happening -- at least for me. 40 minutes is close enough to our beloved Ds, and I too love it here. Long suffering Wifey will reluctantly endure.

And so the games will continue. And as I welcome the mahjong ladies, each time I'm taken back half a century in my mind.

Strange Days Indeed

 I follow politics far less than I used to, largely since I can't stand MOST politicians these days -- both on the Right and Left.

Wifey and many others give people like Trump FAR too much free real estate in their brains -- I get nearly daily emails and FaceBook (TM) posts about how evil he is -- same with DeSantis. I didn't vote for either of them -- never would -- but like Dave Chappelle, I chose to stick around and see how their favor the rich policies work for me. The latest is Florida GOP coming up with a bill to essentially eliminate most property taxes for those 65 and over. Hey -- if they want to save me $20K per year or so, who am I to complain? I'd probably just have to spend the money helping the grandsons attend private schools, since the GOP seems hell bent on weakening public schools, anyway.

Joey contacted me about a former high school classmate of his who now lives near us, and is running for Congress as a Democrat -- to maybe unseat Maria Salazar, our current joke of a representative. Salazar beat Donna Shalala, who lost due to her hubris -- she didn't bother to campaign -- thinking, like Ruth Bader Ginsberg, that she was an so important, she would serve forever. Not so fast, Donna -- the far dumber and less qualified Salazar won.

Anyway, I told Joey I'm done with giving any campaign contributions -- with the exception of a few judicial campaigns for old friends. I'd like to see more Dems win, but the party of my grandparents, parents, and until recently myself, is batshit, too.

When we were in Maine, Joelle and Kenny were crowing about some guy named Platner, supposably (always use the Miami spelling) who was the future of the Dems -- could unseat the old lady incumbent -- was an oyster farmer and retired Marine -- a "muscular" new candidate who could shake things up. I read up on him -- he's a bit anti-semitic-ish. Said nasty stuff on Reddit, and has had, for years, a Nazi tattoo he claimed he got not knowing its meaning -- but he kept if for 7 years! A chief of staff even quit his campaign over it -- and Bill Maher, who I like more and more, calls him the Nazi Oyster Farmer. Yeah, no, to coin another Miami neologism.

I guess the Dems bother me more lately -- seems much more Jew hatred comes from the extreme left. This guy recently elected in NYC is amazing to me -- apparently 20% of Jews voted for him since he's promising free crap to the young ones there -- and cheaper rent. Anyone with any sense knows that turning NYC into Havana or Caracas on the Hudson isn't a great idea. And the other day, during a meet at a venerable NYC synagogue, the idiot Hamas lovers hassled the Jews attending a pro-Israel meeting -- saying their catchphrase "Globalize the Intifada!" Mamdani said it shouldn't have happened, but criticized the synagogue for the content of the meeting!

How did NYC go from 9/11 and all it meant to a time, 24 years later, when they elect a mayor largely sympathetic to the goals of the terrorists who flew into the World Trade Center?

Hopefully the pendulum swings more towards the Center in the years ahead. All I know is, my money goes to my family and charity -- the scoundrels in politics can go tap other sources.

Strange days, indeed, as the late Lennon (not Lenin) sang.