Dear White People - In Response to Charlottesville

Dear White People,

I need our help.  I’ve been reading our responses to Charlottesville……and I don’t know how to talk to us.

When did we become so fragile? What was the actual point in our shared lives where I had to start expending copious amounts of energy picking just the right sequence of words so as to avoid hurting our feelings when I speak about basic human rights? When was the exact moment that logic shifted, and I suddenly had to start worrying about putting us on the defensive when asking why we’re no longer adhering to common human decency in everyday life?

I mean. I get it. At least once a day I still find myself tip-toeing along the eggshell edge of my privilege.

              “Enough already!”

              “Take a freaking moment to celebrate that baby step. Don’t burn bridges. You won!.....ish…..”

              “You can’t be talking about me. Don’t you see I’m one of the good ones? I’m fighting for YOU!”

Because it’s uncomfortable. Because sometimes it’s hard to hear their message over my screams of how hard I had to work, and how much I had to sacrifice just to lead this life I'm living. Because part of me is writing this now because I’m a flawed human being who still wants to get some credit for being a good white dude, even though I know its asinine to feel like credit is due. Because our books correctly filled our heads with the great accomplishments of white men in American history. Because it's heartbreaking to discover those books also left out the part where so many of our white heroes were also inhumane monsters who proactively created systems to keep people of color as less than human - that’s not a sexy, pride-inducing story.

    

I’m guilty of it far more frequently than I want to be. But when I hear these thoughts sneaking up into my consciousness, I stop talking. I start listening. Ahhhhhh yes…….I’m going to get educated today! Because part of accepting that privilege is real, and not a dirty word, also requires acknowledging that my privilege-awareness does not absolve me from perpetuating the social dynamics that brought us to this contentious state to begin with. 

But good LORD, we are wearing me out. I’m physically drained. People of color don’t get enough credit for their stamina. They must be exhausted.

Our response to Charlottesville needs to be better. Stronger. More emphatically in agreement that white supremacy is evil, and people who wave that flag proudly are piss poor Americans at best – horrible people, more likely. But instead our response is "there was violence on both sides"? My people! LET OUR EGO GO!

I’ve never been a fan of violence. I’ve been small my whole life – violence was never on my side. But generally speaking, white people love it. In particular, white Americans love it. We love violence more than any other subset of people in the world. We love it so much that we made violence the most profitable industry in the history of the world. I blame John Wayne and Rocky Marciano. They made it so damn cool.

I point out our love for violence to ask this question.  Dear white America – when, in our love of all things American Machismo, did it stop being okay to punch a Nazi? Our love for violence was practically built on Hollywood’s ability to tap into our collective joy at watching Americans punching Nazis. For the sake of consistency, what the hell just happened?

Have we become SO fragile in our egocentric state that we now have to defend Nazis, on American soil, after an act of domestic terrorism because Anti-FA got violent too?

Help me. Help me understand how to talk to us. Because we’re just not getting it, and I’m tired.

He Was a Prisoner of Hope

My dad always takes a moment during his annual Thanksgiving Blessing to welcome his guests, acknowledge all the year has provided for which he is thankful, and then offer a token of wisdom for the younger generations. The kind of wisdom that can only come through the experience of living a few quarter centuries of life.  This year his toast was especially poignant, calling to mind our beloved grandfather – who passed away 15 years ago this month – and his eternal optimism. 

“A prisoner of hope,” my dad called him.  Pop Pop was a champion of ‘what is possible’, and never beholden to simply ‘what is.’  Sure, life brought its setbacks and disappointments. But even in his darkest times, Pop Pop remained firm in his belief that goodness was always just around the corner, and reaching that corner required taking that next first step. There was no time to dwell on what was already behind him.

“A prisoner of hope.” I’ve been a prisoner of that term for 5 days. There’s just so much to unpack from that term that needs to be understood in this moment of our existence. The last few months have been painful for a lot of people. It seems every day we are forced to bear witness to some new shade of tragedy. The tragic death of a young friend(s). Watching someone we care about fall into the throes of addiction. The worldwide devastation and vitriol brought on by an unfathomable and murderous evil.

But every day we are given a choice. It is not an easy choice, but it is our choice. We can choose to focus on our fears and struggles – and there are days when it’s just so damn easy. Or we can choose to remain hopeful that tomorrow will be better, and start taking steps that might make it so.

Helen Keller brilliantly suggested that “no pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit.”

But hope. Our brightest future exists in hope, and it’s painted by our ability to dream. Hope is where we will awaken our creative genius. It’s where we will find the strength we need to stand tall when the world tries with all its might to knock us down.  

Sometimes it will be hard, but today I choose to be a champion of what could be. I want to be a prisoner of hope. I will strive to not let ‘what is’ get in the way of my brightest future. I choose hope.

And I will work my ass off.  Pop Pop would want you to know you have to work your ass off.

30 Life Lessons from a Soon-to-be 30-year-old

     

1.  Fulfillment can't be found in a career.  It won't be discovered in a relationship.  It's not the result of a good deed.  It is the sum of all parts.  Fulfillment is a lifestyle.

2.  All my favorite life memories involve mistakes.

3.  Work to improve your weaknesses, but build a life and career around your strengths.  Otherwise, you will never be the best possible version of yourself.

4.  Never cling to dignity at the expense of a worthwhile laugh.

5.  It is better to say "I love you" too early, rather than too late.

6.  Embrace the weird.  It's just more fun.

7.  It's true - things happen.  It's up to us to determine the reason why.

8.  Within each of us is the power to inspire, but that power is never so strong as during childhood.

9.  We can either choose to be noticed or choose to fit in.  No one ever made a difference by trying to fit in.

10. Any good plan for the future requires embracing every moment as it comes.

11.  If kids made the rules, we'd all pick our noses and fart in public without judgment.  And we'd all be really happy.

12.  No one person can change the world.  But one person can inspire 100 people to action.  And 100 inspired people working together towards a common goal can do anything.

13.  The things that get us picked on in junior high and high school often become the things that make us cool when we're adults.

14.  We give words far too much power.  Don't allow yourself to be easily offended.  It gets in the way of progress.

15.  Words are really powerful.  Use them wisely and sensitively.

16.  There is no such thing as altruism.  And that's ok.

17.  Holding back is normal.  Honesty is good.  Authenticity is better.

18.  Every hero has the ability to break our hearts.  We are best served to live as the hero we wish to look up to.

19.  Hard times suck, but they always come to an end.  When they do, I'll either be a better person or I'll be dead and won't care.

20.  The lack of a solution should never get in the way of doing things a better way.

21.  Doing things a better way should never be confused with being the solution.

22.  The 2nd most important people in the world are teachers.

23.  The most important people in the world are their students.

24.  Sometimes it's just as important to learn what we DON'T want in life.

25.  Take chances.  Try new things.  Put pineapple on your pizza.

26.  Love cliches are true.  And they're awesome.

27.  The most important things we learn in school rarely come from a book.

28.  Sometimes lost causes are the causes most worth fighting for.

29.  Among the many balances required for life, it is important to balance every moment as a learning opportunity with equal knowledge that every moment is an opportunity to teach.

30.  Sometimes it's okay to leap before you look.

And one to grow:  31.  Life is thoroughly entertaining.


Now it's your turn.  What advice do you have for my next 30 years?

Make a very special woman's 90th birthday as special as she is

A few years ago, while working at a children's charity in Boston, I answered a call requesting a home visit to pick up donations. That wasn't something we typically did, but it was only 3 miles down the road, and it was an 87 year old Italian woman who crocheted a few dozen baby hats and mittens for Christmas. I ended up talking to her for two hours. Over the next few years, every couple of months - especially at Christmas time - she'd call me up to donate some goodies she and her sister had put together, along with a homemade dinner. She always referred to herself as my surrogate great-grandmother. She treated me like family when I was 400 miles from home.

Mary Valentino never had children of her own.  She doesn't have any money.  But what little she has, she gives to others.  She's spent thousands of hours over her lifetime using her hands to make blankets for Father Bill's in Quincy, MA.  With the little money she has, she tries to help as many charities as she can.  $5 here.  $10 there.  With the help of her sister, Nelda, she shops the local consignment shops for the best deals on children's clothing which she donates to Cradles to Crayons.

A few months after I moved to Philadelphia I was going through some challenging times.  One day I came home from work and there was a note from her waiting for me on the table when I got home from work. She had handwritten her favorite prayer and told me she's been saying it for me for months.

I said a prayer for you today
and know God must have heard.
I felt the answer in my heart
although He spoke no word.
I didn't ask for wealth or fame.
I knew you wouldn't mind.
I asked Him to send treasures
of a far more lasting kind.

I asked that He be near you
at the start of every day.
To grant you health and blessing
and friends to share your way.
I asked for happiness for you
in all things great and small.
But it was for his loving care
I prayed the most of all.

On January 9th Mary turns 90 years old.  My real grandmother passed away this last October.  The out-flowing of love I saw for her was a gift everyone should be so lucky to experience.  I want Mary to be so lucky.  She deserves it.  Please join me in celebrating 90 years of a beautiful person.  Let's show Mary that she has not only touched the lives of every person she's met, and every person who has ever benefited from her generosity, but that her generosity has inspired hundreds of people she's never met.

Options to send Mary a birthday card:
A. Drop off your card at Nespoli Jewelers or Fuel Fitness in Berwick PA by December 29th

B. Mail the card addressed to Mary Valentino to me at 513 Queen Street, Philadelphia PA 19147 by January 2nd.  I will hand deliver them to Mary that weekend.  I will FedEx all of the cards I receive after that to Mary's sister who will hand deliver them to Mary on her birthday.

C.  Make a donation in her name to Cradles to Crayons at www.cradlestocrayons.org  

D.  Share this with anyone you know.  Or share the Facebook event page.

Thank you for your kindness

The Real Nespo's Guide to Not Being An Asshole

1. If you’re about to do something that you’d call someone else an asshole for doing to you, whatever you’re about to do will make you an asshole.  Stop.  Do something else.  Buy them a cookie.
2. If you make generalizations about someone in association with stereotypes regarding race, gender, sexual preference, ethnicity or age, the following happens:
1. Your statement immediately becomes inaccurate.
2. You, as a person, look and sound ignorant.
3. Everyone within ear shot who has any sense of reasoning or humanity will think you’re an asshole.
4. They will be right.
3. When you don't agree with something someone says, if you call that person an idiot and attack them personally instead of providing a substantial counter-point to the argument, chances are good that you're an asshole.  Or in over your head, in which case you should abstain from speaking.  Personal attacks are not conducive to conversation or solutions - just more asshole behavior in retaliation to your personal attacks.
4. Act only in good faith, with good intentions.  But understand we’re all ignorant to some degree.  Acting with good intentions alone does not guarantee we do the right thing.  Further, we can’t guarantee our actions are perceived the way we intend them.  Which brings me to guideline 5.
5. If you find yourself being an asshole by accident, you are still being an asshole.  Own up to it, apologize, and – when possible – make up for it.
6. Doing something in the name of faith, country, or some other “altruistic” reason, does not make an asshole action acceptable.  It makes you a hypocritical douche.  Don’t be a hypocritical douche, asshole.
7. Revenge is not a synonym for justice, but integrity is. 
8. Don’t act or speak in anger.  Everyone is an asshole when they’re mad. 
9. Learn tact.  "I'm just being honest" is not a free pass to say hateful, hurtful things.
10. "Get a job" is not an acceptable response when someone living on the street asks you for change.  Instead, look that person in the eye and say "sorry ma'am (or sir), not today."  
11. If you begin a statement with the phrase "Does it make me an asshole if...," the answer is yes.  Add whatever follows that phrase to the list of things you shouldn't say or do.
12. If anything on this list makes you feel defensive, that should be a sign.  It means you're probably, on some level, an asshole.  Review guidelines 1-11 and try to be a better human being.

Am I missing an important guideline?  Email me: JoshNespoli at Gmail.com

The Real Nespo: Sports Fan

I attended my first Celtics game on Friday, April 23, 1993. I was 9 years old. Want to talk about a dream? Original Boston Garden. 2nd row. Courtside. Yeah…I know….

I was so close I actually reached out and touched Chief. I didn’t wash my hand for a month. Yeah….I know….

It was Kevin McHale’s last regular season home game before he retired. He was unbelievable, finishing the game with 17 pts and 11 rebounds in a 107-99 winning effort against the 54 win Cleveland Cavaliers and their wiley guard Mark Price. Good enough to earn him him Player of the Game honors (sponsored by Budweiser?).

I’m from a little hick town in of 10,000 people in Pennsylvania. It was during that game that I decided I was going to move 400 miles to live in Boston and root for the greatest sports team ever – the Boston Celtics.

15 years, 10 losing seasons, one Reggie Lewis death, one “he who shall not be named” (hint: rhymes with Dick Shitino) and a heavily Celtics-influenced decision to attend Babson College (Wellesley, MA) later, I finally made it to Boston – just in time for the first banner season in 22 years.

And it was worth it.

Haiti needs our help. So does the United States.

I've got a lot of mixed emotions on our nation's unbelievably inspiring response to the crisis taking place in Haiti.

On one hand, I am extremely proud of the individuals responsible for our response to the devastation that took place in Haiti. I recognize that the United States has the ability to help....we as individuals often have the ability to help....and I feel that gives us, as human beings, the obligation to do what we're capable of.

On the other hand, I'm deeply saddened that it takes a tragedy of this level to bring people together and inspire those with means to contribute. The truth is, this outflow of generosity and giving needs to happen EVERY day. ... See More

There are over 80,000 kids under the age of 12 in MASSACHUSETTTS who are homeless. To me, with the resources we have in this country going unused, is unacceptable. What our country has done for Haiti is phenomenal. It's necessary. Anyone who denounces it should be ashamed of themselves. But why does it have to begin and end with tragedy? Why can't these same people who are stepping up now recognize the problems we have here at home and do something about it?

Fate is nothing but the opportunities life places before us. Destiny, on the other hand, is determined by what we choose to do with those opportunities. Our character determines our destiny. It's our choice. Choose wisely....second chances are not guaranteed. Rarely even promised. Almost never deserved.......

How Long Should We Mourn the Death of a Dream?

Have you ever been wrong? I don't mean wrong like stating that Wilt Chamerbalin was the greatest player of his era, when it is very clearly (and rather undebateable) Bill Russell. I'm not even referring to someone asking you a question that you think you know the answer to but you're just flat out incorrect.

I'm talking about never being so sure of something in your entire life - so sure, in fact, that it was an important factor in many of your life decisions - only to find out that everything you thought you knew...was wrong. Everything you thought existed was an illusion - a lie. Have you ever been THAT wrong?

Wow... What then? What comes next?

How long do we allow ourselves to mourn for the death of a dream? To lament the loss of our last thread of innocence before complete sinicism assumes control?

How long do we get to feel sorry for ourselves for being a fool before it's time to pick ourselves up and find a new dream?

Is one day enough? A year too much?

It's interesting what the freedom of being wrong can bring with it. When we are THAT wrong we can suddenly find ourselves with absolutely nothing to hold us back from pursuing some of the life paths we have put on hold. No ties. No obligations. No longer paralyzed by a false sense of hope.

In a way, dreams can be blinding. Don't get me wrong, without dreams we have nothing. But dreams based on a fallacy or miscalculation (a dream of the worst kind - doomed to fail from the very beginning because of our own mistake) can blind us to any semblance of truth. These kind of dreams can allow us to create our own reality where anything can be taken as a sign that only pulls us in deeper. Where the truth, that we're on the wrong track, can smack us in the face over and over again - but in our warped state of mind, driven by blind ambition and certainty that we know something no one else does, we accept these truths at nothing more than another challenge to our goal. Just one more little obstacle to overcome. And how glorious will it be when we can show everyone just how wrong they were.....

I was wrong once. So wrong, in fact, that on far more than one occassion I let what I thought I knew get in the way of my ultimate life goals. A few years later I finally learned what I knew was wrong. It took me all of a few hours after that to realize how stupid I had been, and just how much time I had lost, before I started putting myself back on track for where I want my life to lead. Within hours I was planning the next phase of my life, and I was surprised to see how little it had to do with where I was actually at. Suddenly I was free - and motivated again - to retake the reigns of my life and start living up to the potential I was told I had.

But I haven't yet forgiven myself for my foolishness - for all of the time wasted. In many ways it saddens me. Which is why I ask the question: How long can we mourn the death of a dream? Is one day enough? A year too much?

Foolish is the man who puts himself in a position to be made a fool.

Embrace the mysteries of life

Life is full of mysteries. Some are strange. Some are ordinary. Many people try to make sense out of the insensible. Sometimes I find myself wondering whether or not we really want to know all the answers. Do we really want to understand everything? I don't think I do.

These mysteries add excitement to our lives. Sometimes they garner a sense of awe. Why do we harp over understanding the unknown? The truth limits the imagination. Not knowing allows us to dream - to make-believe and to fantasize.

When I was a kid I used to lay awake at night for hours just looking at the stars through my bedroom window - completely captivated by their beauty, and enthralled by their possibilities. When my first close relative died, I comforted myself by imagining those very stars that watched over me at night were loved ones in heaven, shining flashlights on us to light our night sky. Learning that they're really just balls of burning gas didn't add one tenth of the value of what my imagination allowed me to believe was possible.

Everyone's got an opinion, to which their entitled. Here's mine: Too often people agonize over every little detail of life. I say why not just sit back and enjoy some of these gifts of mystery that have been given to us? Embrace the possibilities.

Downpour

12 a.m.
and the rain is a freezing pool of confusion.
within wanders a single soul
drenched in perplexity, tormented by desire.
Weighed down by futility.
A single trait,
once a virtue, now his shame.
But the color grey imprinted on his mind.
Hope don't let go.
Dance this night again,
where two are as one.
A connection. Broken by virtue.
To be saved by the truth.
And the truth...
Fear not the chill of difference, but rather
relish in the warmth of connection.

Reading Into What Others Say (or don't say)

It seems like some people are more inclined than others to read into what people say. You might think I'm talking about women (with good reason), but guys do it too. Including me. But why? Well, what if we didn't read into things? Imagine what wouldn't be understood or how much we would miss.

-What people don't say is often more valuable and more telling than what they do say-

Here are some of my observations as to why it is often necessary for us to read into what others say.

The Truth is in the Perspective

Basketball was the first love of my life. I started playing when I was four, and dedicated a large portion of my life to the game. It was through basketball that a stranger (we’ll call him Dylan) became my brother. We helped each other through the hardest times of our early lives, many of which were owed to the game we loved. Before our senior year in high school he went through some difficult family problems. He transferred to a rival high school to play for our former coach – a friend of my family, and a father figure in Dylan’s life. December 23^rd, 2002, marked the first time we would ever compete as opponents. In August, three months before the season began, we made a vow. In a simple gesture to honor our friendship, we decided we would wear the other’s number underneath our own jersies. I have never been so excited for a game, nor wanted to beat someone so bad.

I was team captain and had been starting since my sophomore year. The day of the game, for reasons beyond my knowledge, I was removd from the starting lineup. I saw my first action with just three minutes left, down by 20 points. After the game, almost as if they had just recognized what happened to me, every member of the opposing team embraced me. My own team didn’t even acknowledge it. The opposing coach pulled me aside and told me to “stay up.” He said the team would fall apart without me. I watched the next two games from the bench, playing garbage time at the end of each game. My coach told me wearing Dylan’s number was a betrayal to the team, and he no longer trusted me. The next day, New Year’s Eve, I handed in my jersey and walked away from the game that I had dedicated my life to.

When I share this story with people it’s because I’m looking for a certain reaction (sometimes for as shallow a reason as a little sympathy affection from a pretty girl), and I almost always get it. I tell the story as I perceive it. I tell it from the memory of my emotional pain. It is my testimonial to what I believe was an injustice. The reaction I look for is reassurance that I did the right thing. More often than not my community validates my actions, giving credence to any pain I suffered.

Important to consider here is that while I told the truth, it was my truth. Not once has anyone asked me for my coach’s side of the story. When I tell my story, no one ever seems to consider my coach’s perspective. Imagine you’re a coach in your first year with a team full of disciplinary issues. Your captain, Nespo, is the only senior on a young team. Nespo has a very strong personality, and a name to match. His parents are both tenured teachers. His dad is the last coach to lead our basketball program to a championship, and is now the head coach of the golf team. Nespo’s recently deceased grandfather is a former school board president, served as Chairman for the town’s Chamber of Commerce, and served on the state’s Board of Governors for many years. His family is well respected by the town and school board, and remains influential in school related matters. Nespo and his father retain a close relationship with the former vasiry coach who now coaches at a rival school. During the last off-season Nespo took part in work outs with the rival school. He is best friends with their best player – a kid who turned his back on your town by leaving to play for a rival. There are rumors that Nespo regularly attends the rival’s games with his dad when you do not have practice or games. Early in the season Nespo called an impromptu meeting with you and the team’s starters (including your son), and proceeded to challenge you. He challenged your disciplinary actions – challenged you to take control of the team. In other words, he questioned your ability to do your job. Now, on the night of a league game with major playoff implications, he displays his loyalty to the opponent within his own locker-room. What would you do?

Perceptions. We all have our own, and often history is shaped by the one that is shared most often and most emphatically. But what happens when we recognize the other side of the story? Witnessing events from dual perspectives is important in finding commonality and potential resolutions. It is difficult, but even when our own perceptions appear to be legitimate it is important to at least consider the other perspective. We can apply this valuable lesson to worldly matters like the continued Israeli and Palestinian conflict. True peace cannot be reached unless all injustices are addressed.

Why do people write testimonials, and do we have any responsibility?

I am a witness...

With the words on every page, seen through my own eyes, survivors tell their stories. They share with me their trauma, asking only in return that I validate their pain - that I accept their story as truth. I will not deny them their pain. I will not forget them. I am a witness.

It is a great paradox really: this idea that we, as readers of their testimony - witnesses to their pain - accept their story as truth. It is a paradox because pain exceeds the description of language, deeming its sufferers incapable of conveying its truth - all this, contrary to the very reason why they write. After all, according to scholars like Elaine Scarry, "'hearing about pain' may exist as the primary model of what it is 'to have doubt'" (Body in Pain). So if their pain cannot be literarily expressed, and to hear of their pain creates doubt in their audience's mind, then why do they feel compelled to give testimony? What obligations do we, as readers, have towards the writer?

I don't know why they write. Perhaps it is the weight of their grief, bearing down on them from within the depths of their soulds. Perhaps they write in hopes that we will relieve them of some of their burden. I once heard a metaphor made about the weight of personal anguish and stress. Though the name of the speaker has long escaped my memory, his words are fresh in my mind. He held up a glass of water to his audience, asking how much they thought it weighted. He said the absolute weight of the glass did not matter as much as the length of time in which a person holds it. If held for a short time it is no problem, but hold it for a long period of time and the arms will begin to ache. It is the same weight, but the longer it is held the heavier it gets. The same goes for the weight of emotional pain. We must set it down once in awhile. Otherwise the burden grows too heavy for us to carry. By sharing their stories with us, maybe the authors are trying to relieve some of their burden.

Maybe that's not the reason at all. Maybe they write for legitimacy. Going back to Elaine Scarry, she has a theory that the real power of torture is the denial of the victim's pain. The torturer objectifies the victim's pain, allowing the torturer to deny its existence. By writing a testimonial, the survivor gives life to his story, and he merely asks us to accept the reality of his pain.

I am a witness...

With their words they tell me their story. With my eyes I have verified their pain. From here it becomes my responsibility to share what I witness with others. It is not enough to feel sorry for what has happened in the past. It is the duty of the reader to recognize new instances of these same violations and put a stop to them. Americans are lucky enough to have a voice that our government must recognize. Those who bear witness would be remiss to let the world repeat what has happened in the past. Today there is Darfur. Who knows what we will see tomorrow. Individually it is difficult to affect change, but it can be done. Together, as a whole people, it must be done.



Scarry, Elaine. The Body in Pain. 1985. Oxford University Press: New York.

Chew on THIS this Thanksgiving

A little girl is crying.
What brings these tears?
A booboo on her knee?
A scary monster? A bad dream?
None of these. No, you see
this little girl is dying
from one common disease.
And sadly, but true,
this girl of just two
will fall to famine - alone.
It took her mommy, and daddy too.
Her brother Sam and sister Sue.
Her only chance now falls on us.
But...do we do our best?

A little girl is dying.
Dying, in the dark.
Yet all we do is shed a tear
then turn and look away.
Now she is falling by the wayside.
But in a land not far away.
Not Bosnia, not Croatia. Not even Paraguay.
She's starving just across the street,
right here in U.S.A.

But wait...
hold on...
She's not alone?
Thousands die with her too?
The man from the alley,
his brother in the park,
they all share the pain
of starving in the dark.
But do I?
Do you?
Do we share their doom?
If not, do we care?
Enough to share
what little we have?
Can we do without the cashmere sweater
if it means making better
the effects of this awful disease?

But alas, whats this?
You do nothing for these?
They're not worth it! you say
Let them dig through the trash
It's easier that way...

Actors and Movies, Then and Now

Movies today, with their multi-million dollar budgets, socially conscious story lines, and special effects, have no doubt evolved from the black and white days of Casablanca, and It's a Wonderful Life. Perhaps this evolution is for the better, but over time some movies come to be considered classics, and very few modern films can claim that status. Many of the classics relied heavily on their actors, without the aid of modern technoloy. Acting has evolved along with the advances in film, but are the actors of today as good as those in the classics? Can direct comparisons even be made between films of such different periods?

Some argue that no films - including the "classics" - before 1970 can compare to modern films. Actors then, like cult hero John Wayne, lacked the ability to give depth to their roles. Their lack of range limited them to playing the same type of role over and over again. However, would it be fair to say actors like Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart had a more difficult time making their stories believable? How would modern actors fare in the older film industry with the censoring of a more conservative era, or without the aid of modern technology? For example, Bruce Willis might have a hard time convincing his audience he was going to blow up an asteroid if technology did not make it look like a real asteroid was on a collision course with earth in Armageddon.

Maybe movies are similar to athletes of different eras. Direct comparisons cannot always be made. Technology changes. People change. In sports, athletes become bigger, stronger and faster. Rules change and equipment improves. We can only compare certain skill sets. For example, we can compare the fielding skills of baseball legend Willie Mays to those of Barry Bonds, but the introduction of "juiced" balls, harder bats and steroids makes a fair comparison of batting skills difficult.

When movies like Casablanca were winning Academy Awards, film was relatively new. It was a transition period for actors, and most acting techniques were developed for theatre. In theatre, projection and over-the-top expression were used to reach the person sitting in the back row. The result was intentional overacting. On film the slightest expression was picked up, so expressions no longer needed to be big to be seen. New acting techniques were developed, and today the great actors can tell the whole story with their eyes, without having to change expression.

The differences in skill sets make it hard to find actors from either era that can gracefully adapt to the other's stle and do it justice. Each generation offers us something unique and entertaining, and comparing them is unfair. There is something to be said for the originality, innocence, and subtle messages of the classics. There is also a deserving respect for the innovation, provocation and cinematic appeal of modern film. The test of time is the only fair test. The "classics" have already withstood the test of time. Will modern movies do the same?

Are Comments Against Israeli state practices really anti-Semitic?

It was the systematical extermination of more than six million Jews. It was the annihilation of over 10 million human beings. Whether we recognize it as the ‘Nazi holocaust’, or the more emphatic ‘Holocaust’, does not change what ook place in the concentration camps of the Third Reich during World War II. To call it man’s single worst crime against humanity simply does not capture its horrific reality. It is only logical, with a human rights violation of this magnitude, that any claim of its memorialization or industrialization for the personal gain of mostly Jewish lineage, or for the sake of U.S. global positioning, would be received with ridicule and charges of anti-Semitism. First we are appalled that such accusations could even be imagined, quickly followed by anger and personal attacks on the integrity of the individual responsible for such hateful and hurtful allegations. For a guy like Norman Finkelstein (wrote the hotly controversial The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering), we dismiss him as a ‘self-loathing Jew’: an anti-Semite of the worst kind. We are quick to discard his claims solely on the anti-Semitic basis; but we never dismantle his theses with legitimate counterpoints. If you’ve never read the essay, in it Finkelstein makes the shocking claim that the Nazi holocaust has been used to justify U.S. support for criminal policies of the Israeli state. Offensive to many, but he supports his claims with powerful evidence that should not be dispelled without a reasonable investigation into their legitimacy. Unfortunately such an investigation cannot take place without first addressing the controversy surrounding the alleged anti-Semitism in his claims.

Here’s a brief summary of his claims:
The Holocaust Industry was created in 1967 after a dominant display of military prowess in the Six Days War proved the Israeli state could be a powerful Middle East ally to the U.S. Shortly thereafter, a dramatic increase in scholarly attention in the U.S. to the Nazi holocaust resulted in the popularization of Israel as a victim state for a victimized people; the effect of which created anti-Semitic implications in any criticism against the state and its military action. “The Holocaust” became a means to reach the end (the end being a formidable ally in the Middle East, particularly for the U.S.): “an ideological misrepresentation of the Nazi holocaust” (Finkelstein, 3).

Are these claims anti-Semitic? If they are anti-anything, they scream anti-American foreign policy. The lack of a U.S. presence in post WWII Holocaust issues prior to an extensive interest in Israel’s power within the Middle East is a recurring theme in Finkelstein’s supportive evidence. The implications of this expose a controversial and underlying factor in the discussion of the industrialization of the Nazi holocaust, but are of little consequence to the relevance of anti-Semitism in Finkelstein’s claims. Therefore, I will refrain from comment on the validity of his statements and concentrate on the motives behind them.

An unbiased reading of the text will reveal a simple theme. We are presented with a Jewish son of survivor lineage, whose perception of today’s exposure of the Holocaust has him concerned about the legacy of Holocaust victims – both the survivors and non-survivors. When he sees individuals (Jewish or not) actively pursue capital or social gain from the suffering of an entire people, he sees a loss of solemn reverence that should accompany the history of the victims. The way he sees it, “Holocaust profiteers” are diminishing the suffering of his ancestors through the objectification and misuse of the monumental devastation that was the Holocaust that justify the infliction of the same kinds of suffering on another people. In his own words, his concern is that “[t]oo many public and private resources have been invested in memorializing the Nazi genocide. Most of the output is worthless, a tribute not to Jewish suffering but to Jewish aggrandizement” (8). He is angered that “the moral stature of their (Holocaust victims) martyrdom” (8) is being cheapened by efforts for monetary retribution and social advancement. Finkelstein blatantly states that he cares “about the memory of [his] family’s persecution” (8). Here is the key point that Finkelstein wants to get across: He believes the “falsification and exploitation of the Nazi genocide…has been used to justify criminal policies of the Israeli state and U.S. support for these policies” (7-8).

Are these statements anti-Semitic? I do not believe so, but let me explain why. He expressed one man’s pride and respect for his people’s history. He expressed the concerns of a man who genuinely believes their memory – the solemnity of their suffering – is being tarnished by the use of that suffering as an excuse to use any means necessary to protect against anti-Semitism or to defend the Israeli state and military policy, including the oppression of others. When broken down in its simplest form, Finkelstein’s text introduced me to an individual deeply offended by the world-wide manipulation of his people and their history for reasons of personal and national gain. His claims include the actions and manipulations by individuals of Jewish ethnicity, including the heralded Elie Wiesel (and amidst much controversy). Finkelstein generalizes with the term ‘Jewish Elites’ multiple times in his criticisms, but sometimes for articulation purposes such generalizations are necessary. He explains his definition of the Jewish Elite strictly as “individuals prominent in the organizational and cultural life of the mainstream Jewish community” (13). They are the ones with the access: the power. Was every US Jewish Elite guilty of conveniently ‘forgetting’ about the Holocaust during the Cold War (when the U.S. relied on West Germany as an ally)? Of course not, but as the most personally invested social group with the power to influence action, they have to be referred to as one unit. I equate this to saying SUV drivers are responsible for the hole in the ozone. Accuracy of the statement is secondary to the implications my statement makes. Does it mean I am anti-SUV drivers? Absolutely not – my mom is one of them – and it certainly doesn’t imply that I am anti-automobile drivers as a whole. It is conceivable that I can be against my mom driving an SUV without being against her personally. Similarly, it is conceivable that Finkelstein’s frustration over the presence of U.S. Jewish Elites in Holocaust issues now that there is something to gain does not make him anti-Semitic.

Here is the point: If accusations like Finkelstein’s are viewed as anti-Semitic, then there is a severe flaw in our sociological makeup. We should be able to express displeasure with Israeli policies – particularly military policies – when we disagree with them. Exactly when did a criticism of an individual’s (or a state’s) actions become the criticism of his ethnicity? When did the expectation of accountability become an offensive suggestion? Finkelstein might suggest it was right around 1967 with the international casting of Israel as a victim state. Then again, we are still waiting on a legitimate exploration of his evidence…

Finkelstein, Norman G. The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of the Jewish Suffering. 2^nd Ed. Verso; 2000; 2001; 2003.

Snowflakes: A Metaphor for the Human Relationship

Each snowflake is something special all its own.
It is whole. It is unique. It is beautiful.
When it falls from the sky it is graceful.
It doesn't know where it will land, but each flake has its own destination.


But when it lands it meets another flake - like itself, yet unique in its own right.
These two perfectly whole and perfectly beautiful flakes combine and become one.
Together they join and make something even more beautiful;
A picture perfect scene.


Their union turns them into something new. They are changed forever.
Even if you separate them again they are changed forever from their original state.


This one snowflake was whole before it met another.
Then it met its other half, and together they made something magical;
a scene one solitary flake could not possibly make on its own...
forever changing them both.

November 11: A Family Day

November 11, for most of the country, is a time to honor the veterans who have defended our country - many by giving their own lives so that we may continue to enjoy the freedoms we take for granted. For my family it is much more than that. On this day, 18 years ago, my mom's mother passed away. It was the first death I ever experienced, though I was young enough that I remember very little of it.

Today also marks the ninth year since my dad's father passed away. I remember this day vividly. It was two days before the start of my sophomore basketball season. My grandfather was my biggest fan, sitting in the front row at mid-court for every home game. That season was the most difficult season of my life. I visited his grave before every game. I wore a rubberband with his name and the date of his death to every practice. It was very hard to look over at the stands and not see him sitting there.

Pop Pop was one of the most influential people in my life. He was awarded the Purple Heart during World War II. He was a successful entrepreneurr who opened a jewelry store over 50 years ago, after hitchhiking over 200 miles to and from Philadelphia to learn the craft of watch making. He was a man of honor, and a distinguished philanthropist in our community. It was the way he lived his life that influenced me to pursue a career in non-profit work.

As hard as his death was to take, the events that took place in the time leading up to it, and the reaction I saw from the town after it, had an enormous impact on my life.

Pop Pop was sick for weeks, and we were graced with the opportunity to come to grips with his inherrent death. We were not taken by surprise, and we were given the time to really take advantage of what little time we knew we had left with him. The few days before he passed we knew it was coming. My whole family came in to be with him. They flew in from all over the country. All of my aunts and uncles, their kids, and my siblings were able to come together for the first time in years. The night that he passed we all sat around his bed - all 21 of us - and recited prayers. As we took our turns with saying private goodbyes, the rest of us sat in the kitchen and reminisced. It was a sad occasion, but it was beautiful. It was sad because we realized we were losing someone so important to us, but it was also a joyful time because we were all together and ablt to - as a family - recognize what a wonderful person Pop Pop was, and just what he meant to our lives.