Our Crimes Are Not Who We Are

So yesterday Wifey and I drove over to the Key Biscayne Ritz, to meet Edna and Marc, and Paul and Patricia. Edna was drinking prosecco, and Wifey joined her , and they asked what I wanted. I told them I was waiting...

When Paul showed, Edna saw why the wait -- we had smuggled in some vodka, which we drink with the hotel's ice. Back in January, when we took over the bar and gave out hundreds of dollars of free cocktails to our friends, after the hotel incompetently had no staff, we got a taste for this form of scofflawery. 

We sat and talked, and the subject came to people's words versus their actions. Wifey noted that many people she knows give "good phone," but can't be bothered to either write a check or physically help when needed.

And I shared the wonderful line from a recent NY Times article about women in prison serving long sentences, for things like murder: "Our crimes are not who we are."  No?  Those affected by those crimes might beg to differ. A murderer is INDEED a murderer...

Our actions surely define who we are -- far more than our words. If I'm stuck in a burning building, I'll only be saved by a brave fireman -- people on the ground sharing how badly they feel for me lead to a charred corpse.

This am I had the privilege of meeting Norman and his wonderful Dad Max for breakfast -- over at the Bagel Emporium.  Max is a prime example of a man in full -- and it's because of what he had DONE over his long and wonderful life -- been there for his family, even, until recently, flying to far flung locations for baby namings or bris ceremonies for great grandkids.

We had a great time talking about WW II -- Max joined the Navy near the end of the War. And the life he built for himself and his family thereafter is a big page of Miami history.

Yesterday I was able to do some good. A dear friend's son was jailed in California, and the friend was unable to visit, or get much information. The boy is Jewish, and I knew about the Aleph Institute, which helps Jews in "the dark system," as the Rebbe called it.  My man Yossi referred me to the Aleph guy, in Miami, who answered my text from a plane, and put me in touch with Rabbi Yankee of LA. I wanted to ask if he was related to Daddy Yankee, but didn't think he'd get the reference.

Anyway, the young Rabbi visited the inmate and reported back to my friend. A long road awaits, but at least the comfort of information was provided.

I guess people can go it alone in this world, but I've never seen how...

But today -- a nap has my name on it, and I intend to claim it. It's already too hot to do about anything else.

So for me, on this Saturday, a nap is quite who I am...