Weeping and Laughing in Public Places
It is Saturday morning, November 7. My new habit has become to download the last most recent podcast of Krista Tibbett’s On Being on Saturday and listen to it for the first time while I am working out at the gym at 6:00 a.m. (No, sadly I was not up all night partying. Oh well!). This week she is having a conversation with Adam Gopnik. “Adam Gopnik has been a staff writer, essayist, and commentator at The New Yorker since 1986. In addition to Paris to the Moon, he’s authored a number of books for children and adults, including the wonderful volume Angels and Ages: A Short Book About Darwin, Lincoln, and Modern Life.”
Mr. Gopnik shared: “On my mother’s side of the family, I came from a long line of rabbis. That background, the rabbinical background, was very strong in my life. At the same time, my parents, by the standard turns and twists of generations, rejected the religious content of their own upbringing.”
During the course of the conversation he shared a lot more about himself including the fact that he is married, is the devoted father of two children, is a cook and loves food, and although not a “believer,” he attends Christmas service with his wife who practices the Lutheran Christian faith, sits in the back and weeps during the service. He also has a powerful sense of the contradictions and ironies of life in general and of all religious traditions including the God of the old testament, the Jesus of the New Testament, and the Buddha of the Buddhist philosophy/practice/belief.
As is true for all of us, my brain is filled with its own contractions, prejudices, and biases. As much and as often as I admonish all of us to think outside the box, one of the many boxes in my wee brain is the Jewish one. In my Jewish box, the spiritual Jew laughs often, has a twinkle in his/her eye, and weeps prodigiously. They also, as is true for my friend Fred, love to eat. (When I lived in the Squirrel Hill section of Pittsburgh there were many Jewish bakeries. When Fred visited he would visit and sample something from every one.) In fact, the Jewish people who live in my Box (including my Rabbi friend Beth and the Rabbi she followed) are passionate about all of life. If they think that a violent response to the Palestinians is necessary, they think that with a level passion which, if captured, could power a rocket to Mars. If they think that a pacifist response is necessary, the same passion is present. There is none of what Mr. Gopnik would call “wishy washy, limp” about the wonderful Jewish folks who inhabit that box in my brain.
Of course, being the biased man that I am, I am attracted to many of those who visit Mrs. Tibbett on the show “On Being.” In fact at least two or three times a month I fall heads over heels in love with the guest. It may or may not be a guest with whom I have had some knowledge of and or even passion for prior to his or her appearance on the show. Mr. Gopnik is no exception. For heaves sake, what is not to love. He is passionate about learning, life, his wife, words, his children, food, music, and his emotions. He weeps and, I am sure, laughs in public at terribly inappropriate times. He revels in the ironies and contractions of we humans and the Gods or other sacred beings that we posit. He is quietly dedicated to his “liberalism” while embracing the sanity of tradition.
Of course, the fact that I am, once again, falling in love with a person who touches all those passionate places within me, while I am working out at the gym with all those tough men and women, leaves me open to the “looks” and “head shaking” of those men and women. Here I am alternately weeping and laughing, shaking my head in agreement, and smiling as if I am ready to embrace and possibly share a Jewish kiss with the most macho of the men present.
What was I thinking? I know to expect this sort of visceral reaction to one of Mrs. Tibbett’s guests. I know soon I will be lost in the arms of the guests and will quickly morph from my manly (LOL) gym self into my most unashamedly emotive self. If I do not want to share this self, I should be listening to a podcast of one of the very conservative thinkers. Perhaps there is an old Dick Cheney speech or a Donald Rumsfeld address to Congress that I could borrow. Better yet, I might read the most recent biography of the elder President George H.W. Bush in which he is sharply critical of Mr. Cheney and Mr. Rumsfeld. Well, that would not work either because it would trigger many emotions about such events as the civil rights struggle or our history of war making.
Obviously, it is not easy to maintain the illusion that I am a “mans man.” Of course, at 5’5”, it is neigh impossible anyway. What the hell? I will continue to weep in public places, appear as if I am having an orgasmic response when eating in a public place, and give in to the urge to break into song when out riding my bike or running on the beach. I will even continue to effusively hug those who hate being hugged – not to offend but because my emotions take over. Neither will I resist the urge to write a thousand words about my new love affair with that peculiar life form, the human. Come to think of it, the love affair seems equally powerful with music, food, favorite rocks, fish, and sensual flowers. Oh well! As ‘they say,’ “It is what it is.”
Written November 7, 2015
It is Saturday morning, November 7. My new habit has become to download the last most recent podcast of Krista Tibbett’s On Being on Saturday and listen to it for the first time while I am working out at the gym at 6:00 a.m. (No, sadly I was not up all night partying. Oh well!). This week she is having a conversation with Adam Gopnik. “Adam Gopnik has been a staff writer, essayist, and commentator at The New Yorker since 1986. In addition to Paris to the Moon, he’s authored a number of books for children and adults, including the wonderful volume Angels and Ages: A Short Book About Darwin, Lincoln, and Modern Life.”
Mr. Gopnik shared: “On my mother’s side of the family, I came from a long line of rabbis. That background, the rabbinical background, was very strong in my life. At the same time, my parents, by the standard turns and twists of generations, rejected the religious content of their own upbringing.”
During the course of the conversation he shared a lot more about himself including the fact that he is married, is the devoted father of two children, is a cook and loves food, and although not a “believer,” he attends Christmas service with his wife who practices the Lutheran Christian faith, sits in the back and weeps during the service. He also has a powerful sense of the contradictions and ironies of life in general and of all religious traditions including the God of the old testament, the Jesus of the New Testament, and the Buddha of the Buddhist philosophy/practice/belief.
As is true for all of us, my brain is filled with its own contractions, prejudices, and biases. As much and as often as I admonish all of us to think outside the box, one of the many boxes in my wee brain is the Jewish one. In my Jewish box, the spiritual Jew laughs often, has a twinkle in his/her eye, and weeps prodigiously. They also, as is true for my friend Fred, love to eat. (When I lived in the Squirrel Hill section of Pittsburgh there were many Jewish bakeries. When Fred visited he would visit and sample something from every one.) In fact, the Jewish people who live in my Box (including my Rabbi friend Beth and the Rabbi she followed) are passionate about all of life. If they think that a violent response to the Palestinians is necessary, they think that with a level passion which, if captured, could power a rocket to Mars. If they think that a pacifist response is necessary, the same passion is present. There is none of what Mr. Gopnik would call “wishy washy, limp” about the wonderful Jewish folks who inhabit that box in my brain.
Of course, being the biased man that I am, I am attracted to many of those who visit Mrs. Tibbett on the show “On Being.” In fact at least two or three times a month I fall heads over heels in love with the guest. It may or may not be a guest with whom I have had some knowledge of and or even passion for prior to his or her appearance on the show. Mr. Gopnik is no exception. For heaves sake, what is not to love. He is passionate about learning, life, his wife, words, his children, food, music, and his emotions. He weeps and, I am sure, laughs in public at terribly inappropriate times. He revels in the ironies and contractions of we humans and the Gods or other sacred beings that we posit. He is quietly dedicated to his “liberalism” while embracing the sanity of tradition.
Of course, the fact that I am, once again, falling in love with a person who touches all those passionate places within me, while I am working out at the gym with all those tough men and women, leaves me open to the “looks” and “head shaking” of those men and women. Here I am alternately weeping and laughing, shaking my head in agreement, and smiling as if I am ready to embrace and possibly share a Jewish kiss with the most macho of the men present.
What was I thinking? I know to expect this sort of visceral reaction to one of Mrs. Tibbett’s guests. I know soon I will be lost in the arms of the guests and will quickly morph from my manly (LOL) gym self into my most unashamedly emotive self. If I do not want to share this self, I should be listening to a podcast of one of the very conservative thinkers. Perhaps there is an old Dick Cheney speech or a Donald Rumsfeld address to Congress that I could borrow. Better yet, I might read the most recent biography of the elder President George H.W. Bush in which he is sharply critical of Mr. Cheney and Mr. Rumsfeld. Well, that would not work either because it would trigger many emotions about such events as the civil rights struggle or our history of war making.
Obviously, it is not easy to maintain the illusion that I am a “mans man.” Of course, at 5’5”, it is neigh impossible anyway. What the hell? I will continue to weep in public places, appear as if I am having an orgasmic response when eating in a public place, and give in to the urge to break into song when out riding my bike or running on the beach. I will even continue to effusively hug those who hate being hugged – not to offend but because my emotions take over. Neither will I resist the urge to write a thousand words about my new love affair with that peculiar life form, the human. Come to think of it, the love affair seems equally powerful with music, food, favorite rocks, fish, and sensual flowers. Oh well! As ‘they say,’ “It is what it is.”
Written November 7, 2015
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