Some 15 years ago, while there were still high hopes for the Oslo peace process, I interviewed John Wallach, founder of Seeds for Peace.
His program bringing Arab and Jewish kids together for leadership training retreats and conflict resolution studies, a worthy and laudable undertaking, was a few years old at the time and Wallach was thrilled that a group of his alumni got to sit on the dais as Yitzchak Rabin and Yasir Arafat signed papers and shook hands, raising what would shortly turn out to be false hopes around the world.
In a previous post I wrote about the hundreds of photos in my basement and pondered what will one day become of them.
Now, the same question applies to some 30 years worth of photo prints, most of them black and white, that have accumulated in The Jewish Week’s office. The office manager wants to be rid of them to make more room. To me, it’s akin to forgetting history.
It always makes me feel old to start a post with “When I was a kid …”
But when I was a kid it was embarrassing to be seen in public with ripped clothes. Outside of the playground, after an afternoon of rough-housing, wearing torn pants in a social setting or at school would send the message that your family is too poor to even mend the damaged garment, let alone replace it.
“Congratulations to the Yankees on a well-purchased victory,” writes Dan Gerstein, a political consultant, on his Facebook status.
Within 24 hours this week, the highest spending politician in the world and the top-spending sports franchise both celebrated victories. Yet neither can claim a blow-out. Mike Bloomberg walked away with a 5 percent margin over an opponent who sent a tenth as much, losing some 200,000 of his 2005 supporters.
As of this writing, the race for Nassau County executive is too close to call.
But seriously, who really cares? All the action is in New York City, where I spent an even four decades of my life, and where, for the first time since 1985, I was not able to cast a vote for mayor yesterday.
If mankind is truly made in the image of God, I like to think that the Creator enjoys some of the same pleasures we do.
Maybe that’s why He arranged for a World Series this year uninterrupted by Shabbat or Yom Tovim, which is not always a given.
I’ll leave it up to wiser minds than mine to explore the history of Jews and baseball or delve into the more spiritual meanings of the Yankees’ return to the Fall Classic after a long drought and their being on the verge of championship number 27.