Today We Hear From A Reader.

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I’m pretty smart. Smart enough to know that I’m not all that smart sometimes. But part of being smart, aside from an egomaniacal streak coming up now and again, is that you recognize wisdom. Wisdom and pain often go together.

Today I present a comment left in the wake of my Monday posting. It is from reader Jerry. I cannot vouch for the citations he’s made, that’s a bit more complex than I can claim my understanding of Judiasm to be. But Jerry clearly speaks from the heart. I agree with his words. I fear that anti-Jewish hatred is spreading in our world. Mobs again chase Jews in Paris. I wrote about it a few months ago and it hasn’t improved. I stand with Jews. I stand with Israel. I stand with God. Jesus was a Jew. I guess that makes me a Jew of sorts as well.

Without further delay I present Jerry’s comments:

I’ve been thinking a lot about covering my ears and eyes lately – and I know I’m not alone. It seems like every time I see, hear or read about Israel, I hold my breath. The tragic death of hundreds of Palestinian women and children, the destruction of countless homes and infrastructure, the misery in the streets of Gaza is horrific. At the same time, the anti-Semitic vitriol being spewed in the media and on the streets of cities around the world and close to home is paralyzing. I read of Hamas’ use of civilians as human shields. I see pictures of the tunnels leading from Gaza to the dining Halls of Israeli Kibbutzim. I hear reports from friends and colleagues in Israel about terrorized children fleeing to bomb shelters and safe rooms as rockets land in their neighborhoods. I gaze at the photographs of anguished parents who have to bury children who sacrificed their lives wearing the uniform of the Israel Defense Forces and I want to turn it all off.

But I can’t.

This war has spilled beyond the physical boundaries of the Middle East. There is no escaping the conflict – it is all consuming. The Medieval Hebrew poet, Yehudah Ha-Levi wrote: “My heart is in the East, and I am in the uttermost corner of the West.” His words reflect the ancient pain and longing of Jews to return to the land of Zion. Today, although the physical distances separating the Diaspora community have not changed from the time of Ha-Levi, the reality of instant communication has brought destruction and devastation into our living rooms and computer screens. Our lives are not in danger like our brothers and sisters in Israel, but we feel the conflict, nonetheless. We cannot escape it.

Let’s face it – defending Israel’s actions is not always easy. In the face of the exponential death toll unfolding in Gaza, any attempts to place the blame where it belongs – on Hamas’ goal of racking up casualties to engender sympathy around the world – can sound hollow and callous to those who do not understand the true picture. Israel has no choice but to eliminate the sources of rocket fire and the terrorists bent on violence. As horrific as the term “collateral damage” sounds (and is), it is a reality of modern warfare. Hamas knows this very well and they understand that every civilian death is more powerful than any missile they launch or tunnel they dig.

Our tradition teaches that the pursuit of peace is one of the most important mitzvot that we can perform. And yet, there are times when war is a necessary evil. The rabbinic concepts of Milchemet Mitzvah (a war which one fights after being attacked) and Rodeyf (the obligation to prevent an enemy from killing you by attacking him/her first) provide a clear justification for Israel’s engagement with her enemies.

For those who do not understand the history behind this war, Israel is easily portrayed as the aggressor. In our sound-bite world of instant information, few people who are not invested in the topic want to take the time to unpack the decades of conflict that have led up to this point in time. They see death and destruction and the disproportionate casualty reports and they buy into the Palestinian propaganda that portrays Israel as a demonic, colonial occupier.

At the same time, there are those among us who cannot or will not acknowledge that every casualty diminishes the image of God – regardless of who is the victim. They refuse or choose not to acknowledge the pain and suffering of the Palestinian people. This is wrong. As Jews, we are taught that every human life is precious for we are all created in the Image of the Divine. In the Midrash, we read of how God rebukes the angels who rejoice in the drowning of the Egyptians in the Sea of Reeds. “Be quiet! My children are drowning and you rejoice?” (Talmud Sanhedrin, 39b). Recent reports of racist mobs attacking Arabs on the streets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv are very sobering. While it is clear that these actions are condemned by the vast majority of Israeli citizens, they nonetheless should give us pause and force us to look at the damage that 66 years of conflict is causing to the psyche of the Jewish state.

Our task, then, is to defend Israel’s right to defend herself without losing our own humanity. If we ignore or (even worse) become immune to the tragedy unfolding in Gaza, we are like our enemies – whose leaders glorify death and suffering as a legitimate weapon of warfare. The Jewish people know all too well the ultimate consequences of dehumanization.

Hamas must be stopped. Their reign of terror – on Israel and on their own people – must be ended. But as soon as the dust has settled and this war is over, we must begin a new campaign – a campaign for a lasting and true peace. It will not be easy to find – and it may take a new generation before it comes to fruition, but we must never stop looking for new pathways for peace.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Pray For Israel.

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Friday we prayed for a lot of people around here on the blog. I’d like you to mount up and continue praying for them as the day goes on – most of them need it badly and I’m honored to have you at my side in these prayers.

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There’s another prayer that needs to go up: Please pray for Israel.

Unlike some of my friends, colleagues, and associates, I’ll make no apologies for that prayer. I believe that Israel is worthy to stand on her own merits and be ranked at the top of the nations. I am not basing this belief on an ancient Biblical text that says Israel is the chosen and favored of God. Nor am I saying this because Israel has some other hold on me.

I say this because they are worthy of our support. They are a democracy. They have freedom of religion. They take in thousands of immigrants (legally) each year and those people become a vibrant part of the society. I say this because the Jewish people have been hunted to the ends of the earth and this is their refuge. I say this because if they lose the battle they will be exterminated. The rivers will run red with the blood of children if the Jihadists get their way. (spell check tried to change jihadist to sadist – clever spell check!)

If you want to know who the enemies of Israel are just mention the topic. I am constantly dumbfounded by the vile filth that pours from people’s mouths on the topic. I am not amazed at the non-nonsensical moral equivalence that people create between Hamas and Israel. These are the same moonbats that thought we were no different in the United States than the Soviet Union was in our course of affairs. Sadly, one of those moonbats is now Secretary of State.

Hamas sends children with mental problems out as suicide bombers. Israel… well, they don’t. Israel, just by the bye, isn’t blockading Gaza. They won’t let weapons in when they can catch them, but food, medicine, concrete, books, clothing, all the staples of life get in regularly. Hamas uses them to build tunnels and weapons depots to hide their rockets under schools and hospitals. And mosques. Hamas demands the removal of all Jews from the area. Israel, um, er, just wants peace. Hamas seeks a caliphate. Israel has religious freedom (mentioned twice here, it’s kind of important in my opinion.) Israel is not the moral equivalent.

Here’s my analogy: Israel is the guy down the block that keeps upgrading his house and planting trees. He only asks to be left alone. He’s got a serious collection of weapons in his basement but doesn’t use them. Hamas is the group of thugs next door who stand in the back yard with their children playing on the swings. Every now and then they throw a grenade over the fence into Israel’s yard. Thousands of times. Finally Israel has enough, warns them to leave the yard because they are going to demolish the swings. Hamas herds all the family out to the swingset and then goes back into the house to take pictures when the bloodshed begins. That’s what we’re dealing with here.

So, how many rockets is it okay to fire into Fort Meyers, Florida – or Billings, Montana – before you go down the road and kick some butt? Yeah, that’s what this comes down to in the end. All the Israelis want is to be left alone. Once Hamas lays down the weapons and turns to a peaceful way of life, they have nothing to fear from the Israelis. But that wont’ happen: the Hamas charter explicitly states that the destruction of Israel is non-negotiable.

I’m too old to go and do anything useful in Israel. But I can pray. And speak up for our only true friend in the Middle East. Israel isn’t perfect, just ask the Liberty survivors. But they sure beat all the other contestants in that region.

Pray for Israel. Pray for peace.

I’d Like You All To Join Me In Prayer Today.

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Fridays are often a light day around the blog. Silly videos, silly stories, nothing too heavy. Today we’ll be taking a more serious note because there is a need for all of the prayer warriors out there to grab a knee and cover some folks with their love.

I can unabashedly ask this of the readers because so many of you have written privately to me about your lives and the joys and sorrows you face. I also know that you are a praying bunch. Today I’m calling upon you to let it fly for a bit and lift some folks up a bit higher.

Let’s start with David. David is a man I’ve never met, but we share a common ancestry in the military. He’s very sick right now, lung cancer, and he’s in need of your prayers. He had surgery this week and his recovery isn’t going well at all. Let’s lift him up first.

Second on our list is my friend “J” (God knows her name, trust me.) She needs you to pray for her in this transitional stage of her life. She needs some equitable treatment, some forgiveness, and some love. We can do that for her, can’t we? Let’s cover her with prayer.

“F” is next. She’s in a lot of pain, physical and emotional. She’s someone I’ve known for the majority of my life. When you have a second for the next few days, ask God for some healing for this good woman.

“S” is in need of your prayers today. I haven’t talked to “S” in a while, and these periods of silence are usually turbulent times for him. Right now, let’s hold him up for God to cherish a little bit more, to lavish blessings on him.

Several of my friends are struggling with addictions. I wrote a silly piece the other day about canning being my addiction. It’s not funny when it’s truly “a day at a time.” Spend a few moments in quiet contemplation for those who work so hard to stay sober every day. I’m proud to claim them in my life, and if it wouldn’t violate their privacy I’d name them all as my brothers and sisters in this life. I love them that much for their courage.

Please pray for the parents of my generation who are in failing health and their children. The pain and fear that goes with a parent being sick are burdening some who are close to me. I’m blessed, my mom is as healthy as a Kodiak bear (His name is Larry – the bear) and doing well. Others are not and need your prayers as do their children.

Finally, pray for the clergy. I have a lot of friends who are pastors and they never talk about it but many of them need prayer and support in their personal struggles. Keep them lifted up as they help us gain entry to Heaven.

Since you’ve all worked so hard in your prayers, it’s time for a nice video. It’s not really about this kind of prayer, more about loneliness. They need prayer as well. Besides, any excuse to watch Dionne Warwick sing “I Say A Little Prayer.”

Hems, Not Collars!

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There is exactly one person to blame for Stormy’s latest foray against humanity: me.

Nibbles the Sheltie.

Nibbles the Sheltie.

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I have described many of her strange habits over the past 18 months. The most unusual is standing barking at the back wall of the house. Not at the door, but a segment of the house that … I guess it makes her mad. She will race over there and bark on occasion when nothing else is available. Go figure.

One of her most consistent targets for nutty behavior is her nibbling. She has a nervous thing where she presses her teeth up against fabric and clicks them together. No real damage done, makes her happy, no big deal. Then a few months ago I found my very best blue shirt with a ragged hole in the hem. It was exactly the size that a giant group of moths, or a single Sheltie, might make if they spent the whole night chewing. Here and there I found broken buttons that were not the product of moth damage – one culprit in mind. Then the blue shirt showed up in the laundry basket with another chunk out of the hem. Make that three.

I jokingly said to my wife that as long as Stormy stuck to the parts on the hem and left the collars alone we were going to be okay. Last night that changed. My favorite “church shirt” had a new collar design. Kind of ragged. No collar button left, either. So, we’ve moved on to a new era.

I’m to blame for this. It’s payback for her getting a new collar yesterday. Her old one was just too snug. In the past 18 months there has been a lot of food bribery in our house. Snacks make sheepdogs with issues come closer. She likes her treats, we like giving them. She’s not obese, but she’s not the skinny dog that moved in with us. Well, maybe she’s obese. But she’s happy and relaxed more of the time and I figured something out a while back – she’s got maybe five years left on the clock. A few pounds isn’t the end of the world.

I guess she figured if she got a new collar I could use one as well. I wish she’d decided that the ratty jeans next to the shirt were a better target. Jeans are $15.00 at Fleet Farm, shirts are $40 at the fat guy store.

I’m not mad, just amused. Nothing is safe from her since she has run of the house. But she only picks on my clothes. I suspect I should be honored. I am. I am truly blessed to have her in my life.

Thanks, God. I’ll buy a new shirt. It was time anyway.

Does Anyone Know Of A Good Treatment Program (For Canning?)

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My wife has made discreet inquiries about getting me some help with my problem. I’m pretty sure there’s no 12 step meeting for people who make jam. I really can’t imagine “Hi, I’m Joe, and I have a problem with canning fruit jam” being greeted with anything but “Will you share your recipes?” Nope, no applause, no discretion, just an invitation to share your skills on Pinterest. I checked the Hazelden website, not even footnoted.

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It's always just a bit under $100 when you start.

It’s always just a bit under $100 when you start.

I’m joking about it being a serious addiction. People with addictions who are in recovery hold my highest esteem. There are, however, some serious parallels with my canning jam.

Let’s start with the obvious: it costs a bundle. That little gem in the picture above is an item I coveted since I first saw it – about 5 seconds before it went into my cart at Mill’s Fleet Farm. It’s a cherry pitting machine. You pull the stems off, load the feed tray and whack the black knob. It pushes a sharpened rod through the cherry and expels the pit into a small container below the feed tray. Saves a lot of manual labor, cussing, and cuts with a knife as you manually pit cherries. You grab a bag of pickling salt here (just in case I want to do something with beets) and an extra six cases of jars. Why more jars? You never know when something good will be on sale that needs to go into the pot and get canned.

How does it all start? In my case rhubarb was the gateway fruit. I’ve always admired the stuff, liked the jam, never happy with what I could buy (when you could even find it in the store.) My friend Carol was freebasing the stuff on a weekly basis. She called it baking. Yeah, sure. Put a bit of granola and brown sugar in and it’s rhubarb crisp. Nothing more than baked product. But it led me to ask if she could can some into jam.

Two weeks later we were hiding out in her mother’s retirement home, slaving like a couple of meth cooks over a hot stove. Nobody would suspect we were cooking a batch in there unless we set off the smoke detector. We let the nursing staff know we’d be using the stove. We didn’t tell them why. They found out in the end: we bought them off with a couple of jars. Stirring the pot, adding pectin, and hoping for just the right froth to appear. Once we had froth, we had product.

Like everyone else who turns out a good batch, we shared with friends. Pretty soon coworkers were asking for it by name. That’s when it turned ugly. We’d missed the deadline for the Minnesota State Fair. We vowed to make it in time next year. And the planning began in earnest.

So far this year I’ve canned three times. The first one was like unto a cornucopia of delights. Rhubarb mango, rhubarb orange, rhubarb raspberry, and rhubarb strawberry. We just kept pumping out jam until the table was full and no more fruit was within reach.

The mango was special. It made people a little crazy. We’d even doped a batch with spice to see what heat would do to the mix. The answer was trouble: we made a plan to do another big batch in two weeks (once the heat had gone down.)

That batch was spicy all right. But not spicy enough for me. No, I wanted more heat, more flavor. So I made a batch that is code named “Norwegian.” If you live here you get the joke – it’s hot – very hot. It’s got an “N” on the label and it doesn’t stand for Nasrani.

Carol and I agreed that I’d stash the goods in my basement. I’m up to using a second rack now, the first couldn’t take the weight. God help me if the feds find out what’s down on those shelves.

Rack #1 - full...

Rack #1 – full…

That’s when I asked Carol if I could go solo. I knew I could do it if I was careful. She agreed. I was an experienced cook in my own right. So I got 24 pounds of cherries, pitted them and let them have it with a very sharp knife. They soaked all night in citric acid (preferred by mugs like me) and then I started them on the road to product by putting them in the fridge.

Raw ingredients. 24 pound worth.

Raw ingredients. 24 pound worth.

The next morning, while the batch warmed on the counter, I had breakfast with friends. I let it slip what I was doing that day. My friend (let’s call her Patsy Keech for her own protection) wanted in on the deal. She’d always wanted to make jam, and she knew it would be safe with me: I don’t talk. (Except in silly blog stories.) So we agreed to meet a few hours later: she’d drive her own car and park down the block.

I cleaned jars, set water boiling, and heated the batch for the final run of the season. No sugar this time. Just honey. It was another experiment I’d soon regret.

Hours later we had used up all the pectin, filled the first load of jars, and refilled the boiling water pots. That’s when it got crazy: we went nuclear. I wanted a cherry jam that would leave a mark on your palate and make you crave even more. We started with cayenne. Then cinnamon. Then more cayenne. We let it bubble until it looked just right. It tasted good – burned a bit, even. So we canned it and rushed it to the basement. You could hear the “tink, tink, tink” of the jars sealing as we pulled them from the hot water.

Before bed I checked the load. They’d set up perfectly. Now they were ready for labels and distribution.

Kept in the basement, out of sight.

Kept in the basement, out of sight.

Today I delivered the first batch in a white plastic bag that said it had greeting cards in it. Two hot, two tart, no pictures of Santa anywhere.

But I’m done for the year. The wife said I’d get caught. I still have a few cases of jars. I know my customers will return the “empties” and hope for more next year. We’ll see what the future brings. I don’t know if I can kick this thing or not. But I’m not sure I’m going to try very hard.

That’s how I roll.