This feels almost like a "confession of a baseball fan" of sorts, but I have to admit that I am, and always have been a Yankees fan. However – in my own defense, unlike most non-New Yorkers that follow the Bronx Bombers (that I know, at least), my love of them has nothing to do with how many times they have won the World Series, or how dominant they have been (on and off) for the last 30 years.
The year was 1972. It was one year before the George Steinbrenner era began, 10 years since the Yankees had last won a World Series (which was 2 years before I was born) and 5 years before they were to win their next one. So considering how mediocre they were when I started following them, it cannot be thought that I was jumping on the winner's bandwagon.
What actually made me a Yankees fan was my baseball card collection. One of the cards that I had was for the Yankees left fielder at the time, Bobby Murcer. I was 7 years old, and without knowing anything (yet) about this player, I thought he had a really cool sounding name, and in his baseball card picture he looked like a really nice guy. So, because of Bobby Murcer I became a Yankees fan.
I have stayed a Yankees fan because once I decide I love a team, it's for life – taking the good with the bad, and all that stuff.
However, I don't like the policy (started by George Steinbrenner when he became the Yankees owner, and continued to this day by the Yankees and many other teams) of pouring gazillions of dollars every year into buying the biggest names on the market, paying the highest total team salary in order to have the best team.
For one thing, it makes the sport much less interesting if one team is the equivalent of the All-Star team and by comparison every opponent is a high school intra-mural squad.
For another thing, the Yankees themselves have proven beyond any doubt over the last 10 years that buying the best players isn't what makes the team the best team. If it did they would have won a lot more World Series in the last 10 years than only in 2000 and 2009.
If you want additional proof - this year the World Series was won by the San Francisco Giants - with a payroll that ranked only 10th in Major League baseball (less than half of the Yankee's payroll) and virtually no "huge" stars (pitching ace Tim Lincecum notwithstanding). To woin the World Series, they beat the Rangers, who ranked 27th in the Majors for payroll, barely over a quarter of what the Yankees shelled out in salaries this year (and the Rangers beat the Yankees in the playoffs 4 games to 2 - so much for the biggest salaries of the biggest names making you the best team...)
Give me a team with "home grown" talent that has been with the organization since minor leagues, or at least early in the professional career, and I'm happy to see that team prove that as a team, they are the best in the league.
But back to my beloved, albeit troubled Yankees. Not to anyone's surprise, the Yanks have opened their off-season by making moves to acquire pitcher Cliff Lee.
For those of you visiting from Saturn, or who otherwise don't follow baseball, Cliff Lee is one of the best pitchers in baseball over the past several years, and he seems to be still at the peak of his career – he hasn't showed any signs of slowing down yet.
So all of the teams want him, and the Yankees are known for being willing to pay out top dollar and out-bid other teams in bringing the best players to Yankee Stadium.
And as much as I love my Yanks and want to see them win, I'm tired of how their budgetary lack of constraints really take away form the beauty of the sport. Professional sports have all become big business, and it is absolutely beyond me – even from the perspective of the players how it has sunk to the level which it is.
I mean – seriously! Take the case of Cliff Lee. He earned $9 million this year.
To play a game.
For 6 months of the year.
Now – let's say the Yankees decide to give Cliff Lee the same incentive as their other 2 biggest name aces right now – CC Sabathia, who earned over $24 million this year (and granted, had a pretty good year) and AJ Burnette, who earned $16.5 million this year (and basically sucked).
If the Yankees decide to go that route and offer Cliff Lee, say $15 million this year, and the Rangers will "only" go as high as 10. It's a reasonable assumption that he would leave Texas (where he has said that he is very happy pitching) to go to New York and make that much more money.
But tell me something - Is there really so much that anybody can or would want to do with $15 million (per year!) that they can't do with $10 million?
I seriously don't think so.
But that's become the nature of the proverbial beast, not only in professional baseball, but in basketball and football as well.
The depth to which the whole thing has sunk was really driven home for me this evening with an article I saw online about a high school football game.
The football team of Bald Knob, Arkansas (and I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to know that there is a place with a name like this. I mean it!) was racking up a huge win – apparently a regular occurrence for this particular team.
By mid-way into the 3rd quarter, the score was 70-34 and the sophomore quarterback had thrown for 534 yards and 8 touchdowns. Had he stayed in the game, it is good bet that he would have tied or broken the Arkansas state single-game record of 10 touchdowns.
He was taken out though. Apparently the state of Arkansas has a "Mercy Rule", common in many states up through the high school level of play, which prevents teams already winning by a huge margin from piling on the points and humiliating the other team.
So, the Bald Knob (hee hee hee) coach pulled the quarterback and the rest of the starters from the game for the remainder of the third quarter and the entire fourth quarter. Afterwards the coach said that while he thought about the record, he wouldn't do that to another team just to get a record.
Unfortunately, this Mercy Rule isn't found on either the college or professional level, which makes me very sad.
There is a lesson that players can learn from rules like this one – that it is a game that they are playing, and yes, the point is win, but there is no honor in humiliating an opponent. You can play, play your best, be the better team – even by far, while still keeping sight of what the game really is all about.
If athletes are taught from a young age that whatever game they compete is a part of life, but not life's be-all and end-all definition of self, and if that lesson is continued into young adulthood, and then not-so-young adulthood, then perhaps when they reach the professional level, they'll remember that they can enjoy the sport, keep that parity between teams and not need an additional $10 million about the $10 million that they already get to play a game.
Then the game can return to being just that – a game.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Drawing the lines
What do you do when you find that your most dearly held principles in conflict with one another? This seems to be happening to me a lot recently, in particular regarding free speech.
For example – where do you draw the line between free speech and incitement? Sometimes, it’s very obvious, other times, I’m not so sure.
Right after Israeli Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin was assassinated (15 years ago this month) I remember here in Israel “incitement” was almost on par with what “communist sympathizer” was in America during the McCarthy era in the 1950’s. Anybody who dared utter a negative word about the recently-martyred leader, or his heir-apparent Shimon Peres, was seen as being on the same level as Yigal Amir, the murderer that pulled the trigger.
Side note for true story: at a bank in Jerusalem a couple of weeks after the assassination, a teller who had just finished with one customer called out “Who’s next” (very common in banks, post offices, etc. before everyone had a “Pick-a-number”). One guy yelled out “Shimon Peres” – and he was arrested.
Now, don’t get me wrong – I think that this guy’s joke was in extremely poor taste, and wasn’t in the least bit funny. But last I checked, there’s nothing illegal about that. People like that can and should be ostracized for thinking that political assassination is acceptable, or even in some way funny – but that doesn’t diminish their right to their views – no matter how disgusting those views may be.
At the time that Rabin was murdered, his popularity was extremely low, and the majority of Israelis (including many from his own Labor party) disapproved of how he was handling the peace process and the direction that the country seemed to be going. But for several months after the assassination, nobody would even dream of saying anything bad about Rabin. Most of the Israeli right-wing, and in particular the Settlers (those who live in what we call disputed areas) were terrified to express what they felt politically. They were all under society’s microscope and being told that they needed to a serious soul-searching because of what “one of theirs” did.
This lack of freedom of speech and expression at the time, created an atmosphere and mood in the country that was even darker than the assassination itself created. It was terrible.
But there is such a thing as incitement that does go beyond the realm of “Free Speech”. When people are encouraging, and even assisting others to violate the rights of others, to break laws, to undermine societal norms, then the line is a grey one, but there are times when hiding behind the skirt of Free Speech, just doesn’t cut it.
For example, one of the theories surrounding the Rabin assassination was that certain rabbis and other spiritual leaders whom Yigal Amir greatly respected, had told him that it was right to kill the Prime Minister, and that by doing so he would be performing a mitzvah (good deed/positive commandment). This does not take away in the least Amir’s responsibility for being the one to pull the trigger, and it should not lessen his sentence and punishment at all. BUT – if a rabbi, teacher, or whatever was inciting him to do what he did, then that’s not “free speech” and that person also bears a certain amount of responsibility.
Again – where do you draw the line?
This morning, I saw an article online about a book which had been for sale on Amazon.com which has since been removed after a couple of thousand people complained and threatened to boycott Amazon if the e-book wasn’t pulled.
Considering that book in question is called "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure: A Child-Lover's Code of Conduct", my support of getting the book off of the shelves – virtual and real-life – pretty much goes without saying, as does my willingness to boycott anyone who would market such a book.
But you know what? Yes, I agree with Amazon’s decision to pull it, and yes, I support turning anyone who sells this into a pariah, it’s really not so clear cut. It’s a much a greyer area than at first I would have believed.
I am a huge believer in free speech and freedom to publish, as well as the freedom to disagree with anything that is said or written and the freedom to not buy a book that you find offensive or disagreeable.
So, if somebody wants to write a book about why they love doing that which is morally repugnant to what I hope would be all right-minded decent people, why should it bother me? I’m free to not buy his garbage and I’m equally free to talk, write and in any other way share with anyone that will listen why I think that he’s a sick monster.
But with this one, I can’t do that.
This one crosses certain lines that should never ever be crossed.
The issue isn’t simply that the book is promoting something that’s illegal. That in and of itself doesn’t really bother most people. Right? I mean, seriously – how much would anybody give a damn or threaten boycott if the book was about how to grow marijuana without getting caught, or use certain drugs without abusing them and endangering yourself and others?
But not with pedophilia.
The author, Phillip R. Greaves II, even tries to explain himself. He said in a phone interview with CNN that his book presents the proverbial do’s and don’ts of pedophilia. He provides what he sees as acceptable boundaries, and which lines one should never cross (for example, he says "Penetration is out. You can't do that with a child, but kissing and fondling I don't think is that big of a problem.")
In the Amazon.com product description, he explained that by appealing to pedosexuals’ better nature (no shit! He seriously wrote this!!), that if they follow his guidelines then there will be less public hatred of what they do and less harsh prison sentences.
Back to the whole free-speech thing – I will say that I completely support his right to truly believe this, and to say so. No question about it.
But to try to make acceptable and to encourage through publication of a book, perpetrating an act against victims that are helpless – No way. Forget it. That’s not freedom of speech.
If the book were about how to talk women (legal adults) into bed, I would still say that he’s a sick whackjob, but that would be less disgusting. The underlying assumption and understanding of why pedophilia is so completely unacceptable on every level is that even if children “agree” to such contact, it is not reasonable to assume that a child under a certain age or level of intellectual and personal development really understands what it is that he or she is “agreeing” to do (or to have done to them), or what the ramifications of it are.
Never mind the fact that in the heat and excitement of the moment, even a person trying to follow the so-called “guidelines” of kissing and fondling will almost never be able to put on the brakes and avoid crossing the line. Even when sexual activity with a child is theoretically “consensual” it is clearly taking advantage of a young person who really doesn’t know what the hell they are getting themselves into.
I’m no lawyer, so I have no idea if this would actually apply, but it seems to my layman’s mind that a book like this is actually guilty of conspiracy to committing a crime. Or aiding and abetting. I don’t know.
I do know that it is not practicing “free speech”. Period.
Practice free speech, and I promise to support your God-given right to be as wrong, as crazy and as down-right stupid as you want to be. But this isn’t it. Not by a long-shot.
For example – where do you draw the line between free speech and incitement? Sometimes, it’s very obvious, other times, I’m not so sure.
Right after Israeli Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin was assassinated (15 years ago this month) I remember here in Israel “incitement” was almost on par with what “communist sympathizer” was in America during the McCarthy era in the 1950’s. Anybody who dared utter a negative word about the recently-martyred leader, or his heir-apparent Shimon Peres, was seen as being on the same level as Yigal Amir, the murderer that pulled the trigger.
Side note for true story: at a bank in Jerusalem a couple of weeks after the assassination, a teller who had just finished with one customer called out “Who’s next” (very common in banks, post offices, etc. before everyone had a “Pick-a-number”). One guy yelled out “Shimon Peres” – and he was arrested.
Now, don’t get me wrong – I think that this guy’s joke was in extremely poor taste, and wasn’t in the least bit funny. But last I checked, there’s nothing illegal about that. People like that can and should be ostracized for thinking that political assassination is acceptable, or even in some way funny – but that doesn’t diminish their right to their views – no matter how disgusting those views may be.
At the time that Rabin was murdered, his popularity was extremely low, and the majority of Israelis (including many from his own Labor party) disapproved of how he was handling the peace process and the direction that the country seemed to be going. But for several months after the assassination, nobody would even dream of saying anything bad about Rabin. Most of the Israeli right-wing, and in particular the Settlers (those who live in what we call disputed areas) were terrified to express what they felt politically. They were all under society’s microscope and being told that they needed to a serious soul-searching because of what “one of theirs” did.
This lack of freedom of speech and expression at the time, created an atmosphere and mood in the country that was even darker than the assassination itself created. It was terrible.
But there is such a thing as incitement that does go beyond the realm of “Free Speech”. When people are encouraging, and even assisting others to violate the rights of others, to break laws, to undermine societal norms, then the line is a grey one, but there are times when hiding behind the skirt of Free Speech, just doesn’t cut it.
For example, one of the theories surrounding the Rabin assassination was that certain rabbis and other spiritual leaders whom Yigal Amir greatly respected, had told him that it was right to kill the Prime Minister, and that by doing so he would be performing a mitzvah (good deed/positive commandment). This does not take away in the least Amir’s responsibility for being the one to pull the trigger, and it should not lessen his sentence and punishment at all. BUT – if a rabbi, teacher, or whatever was inciting him to do what he did, then that’s not “free speech” and that person also bears a certain amount of responsibility.
Again – where do you draw the line?
This morning, I saw an article online about a book which had been for sale on Amazon.com which has since been removed after a couple of thousand people complained and threatened to boycott Amazon if the e-book wasn’t pulled.
Considering that book in question is called "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure: A Child-Lover's Code of Conduct", my support of getting the book off of the shelves – virtual and real-life – pretty much goes without saying, as does my willingness to boycott anyone who would market such a book.
But you know what? Yes, I agree with Amazon’s decision to pull it, and yes, I support turning anyone who sells this into a pariah, it’s really not so clear cut. It’s a much a greyer area than at first I would have believed.
I am a huge believer in free speech and freedom to publish, as well as the freedom to disagree with anything that is said or written and the freedom to not buy a book that you find offensive or disagreeable.
So, if somebody wants to write a book about why they love doing that which is morally repugnant to what I hope would be all right-minded decent people, why should it bother me? I’m free to not buy his garbage and I’m equally free to talk, write and in any other way share with anyone that will listen why I think that he’s a sick monster.
But with this one, I can’t do that.
This one crosses certain lines that should never ever be crossed.
The issue isn’t simply that the book is promoting something that’s illegal. That in and of itself doesn’t really bother most people. Right? I mean, seriously – how much would anybody give a damn or threaten boycott if the book was about how to grow marijuana without getting caught, or use certain drugs without abusing them and endangering yourself and others?
But not with pedophilia.
The author, Phillip R. Greaves II, even tries to explain himself. He said in a phone interview with CNN that his book presents the proverbial do’s and don’ts of pedophilia. He provides what he sees as acceptable boundaries, and which lines one should never cross (for example, he says "Penetration is out. You can't do that with a child, but kissing and fondling I don't think is that big of a problem.")
In the Amazon.com product description, he explained that by appealing to pedosexuals’ better nature (no shit! He seriously wrote this!!), that if they follow his guidelines then there will be less public hatred of what they do and less harsh prison sentences.
Back to the whole free-speech thing – I will say that I completely support his right to truly believe this, and to say so. No question about it.
But to try to make acceptable and to encourage through publication of a book, perpetrating an act against victims that are helpless – No way. Forget it. That’s not freedom of speech.
If the book were about how to talk women (legal adults) into bed, I would still say that he’s a sick whackjob, but that would be less disgusting. The underlying assumption and understanding of why pedophilia is so completely unacceptable on every level is that even if children “agree” to such contact, it is not reasonable to assume that a child under a certain age or level of intellectual and personal development really understands what it is that he or she is “agreeing” to do (or to have done to them), or what the ramifications of it are.
Never mind the fact that in the heat and excitement of the moment, even a person trying to follow the so-called “guidelines” of kissing and fondling will almost never be able to put on the brakes and avoid crossing the line. Even when sexual activity with a child is theoretically “consensual” it is clearly taking advantage of a young person who really doesn’t know what the hell they are getting themselves into.
I’m no lawyer, so I have no idea if this would actually apply, but it seems to my layman’s mind that a book like this is actually guilty of conspiracy to committing a crime. Or aiding and abetting. I don’t know.
I do know that it is not practicing “free speech”. Period.
Practice free speech, and I promise to support your God-given right to be as wrong, as crazy and as down-right stupid as you want to be. But this isn’t it. Not by a long-shot.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
We've got spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, baked beans, spam, spam, spam and spam
I am SO excited right now! I just received an email in which the Subject line informed me that $1.5 MILLION are waiting for me and all I have to ----
Oops. Never mind. Turns out that’s a spam.
Oooh wait! Listen to this! It seems that this poor woman, the daughter of a former government high-up muckety-muck in Nigeria needs my confidential assistance in holding some of her late father’s $14.7645 Billion in savings, and if I send her my bank information for her to make the deposit, she will gladly pay me for my troub ----
Damn. Another spam. I really had hopes for that one. I mean, she even blessed me in the name of the Lord (Halleluyah!). How can you doubt the integrity of woman like that?? Oh well.
Ahhh – here we go. I can increase the size of my ….
Oy!!!! We’re definitely not going there! I wouldn’t touch that one with a 10-inch pole…
As gullible as I may be with some of these, at least I’m smart enough to know that the offers to increase my breast size aren’t real, and I definitely don’t believe that some 20 year-old sexpot happened to look at my profile somewhere and thought that I was fascinating and sexy and can we get together soon.
Even I won’t fall for that one.
But I can’t help wondering about this abundance of scams which I am constantly receiving. Obviously the fact that there are so many of them, being sent, some more clever and creative than others, others more transparent, tells me that there must be people – a LOT of people – who fall for them.
I’m sorry, but I just don’t get that! Who the hell will receive an email from Sister Marjorie Kenyatta asking for bank account details, and truly believe that by giving those details, the random person with a sob story will deposit $15 quazillion into their account for a couple of months and pay them $2 million for their assistance?
I guess there are those that do believe it – or we wouldn’t still be getting those same damn emails (albeit under different, equally exotic names) week after week, year after year. Over the past 6 years I could have become a billionaire several times over by now, if I had only allowed the love in my heart to help out my fellow man in dire straits Nairobi-style…
While some of these scams are so pathetically simplistic that we can’t help but to laugh at them, what I find scary is that many others are becoming more and more sophisticated and clever.
For example – lately I have seen a few times where a friend’s email account was hacked, and an email was sent to everybody in the person’s address book – ostensibly from the person, saying “I’m in _____ (fill in the blank – most often I’ve seen London) and I was mugged – now I have no money to get home and I’m scheduled to fly out tonight! If any of you can you please send me _______ (fill in the blank – usually not too ridiculous an amount) to help me get home, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can get to my bank.”
This is a pretty intelligent one – until you’ve seen the same damn thing 2 or 3 or 17 times. But the first time? I can imagine even an intelligent person falling for this one.
What blew it for me was the first time I saw it, the hacker had sent it – not only to all of the hackee’s friends, but a city-wide mailing list as well.
Maybe it’s my own naiveté, but I can’t help thinking that if these hackers and spammers and scammers would take all of the energy and creativity and whatever else they have that they put into these attempts at taking what little money I have, and put even some of that energy and creativity into actually working – they probably wouldn’t need the scams to live a very comfortable life.
Then again, who knows?
All I know is that here I am stuck in the Nigerian Airport being mugged at gunpoint by the daughters of 348 deceased bankers, diplomats and honourable politicians all trying to put money into my bank account, and I just want to get home. So if any of you can send me some money to get out of here, I promise to either pay you back tomorrow or to give you the secret to increase your bust size.
And may the Lord bless you forever and ever. Amen!
Oops. Never mind. Turns out that’s a spam.
Oooh wait! Listen to this! It seems that this poor woman, the daughter of a former government high-up muckety-muck in Nigeria needs my confidential assistance in holding some of her late father’s $14.7645 Billion in savings, and if I send her my bank information for her to make the deposit, she will gladly pay me for my troub ----
Damn. Another spam. I really had hopes for that one. I mean, she even blessed me in the name of the Lord (Halleluyah!). How can you doubt the integrity of woman like that?? Oh well.
Ahhh – here we go. I can increase the size of my ….
Oy!!!! We’re definitely not going there! I wouldn’t touch that one with a 10-inch pole…
As gullible as I may be with some of these, at least I’m smart enough to know that the offers to increase my breast size aren’t real, and I definitely don’t believe that some 20 year-old sexpot happened to look at my profile somewhere and thought that I was fascinating and sexy and can we get together soon.
Even I won’t fall for that one.
But I can’t help wondering about this abundance of scams which I am constantly receiving. Obviously the fact that there are so many of them, being sent, some more clever and creative than others, others more transparent, tells me that there must be people – a LOT of people – who fall for them.
I’m sorry, but I just don’t get that! Who the hell will receive an email from Sister Marjorie Kenyatta asking for bank account details, and truly believe that by giving those details, the random person with a sob story will deposit $15 quazillion into their account for a couple of months and pay them $2 million for their assistance?
I guess there are those that do believe it – or we wouldn’t still be getting those same damn emails (albeit under different, equally exotic names) week after week, year after year. Over the past 6 years I could have become a billionaire several times over by now, if I had only allowed the love in my heart to help out my fellow man in dire straits Nairobi-style…
While some of these scams are so pathetically simplistic that we can’t help but to laugh at them, what I find scary is that many others are becoming more and more sophisticated and clever.
For example – lately I have seen a few times where a friend’s email account was hacked, and an email was sent to everybody in the person’s address book – ostensibly from the person, saying “I’m in _____ (fill in the blank – most often I’ve seen London) and I was mugged – now I have no money to get home and I’m scheduled to fly out tonight! If any of you can you please send me _______ (fill in the blank – usually not too ridiculous an amount) to help me get home, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can get to my bank.”
This is a pretty intelligent one – until you’ve seen the same damn thing 2 or 3 or 17 times. But the first time? I can imagine even an intelligent person falling for this one.
What blew it for me was the first time I saw it, the hacker had sent it – not only to all of the hackee’s friends, but a city-wide mailing list as well.
Maybe it’s my own naiveté, but I can’t help thinking that if these hackers and spammers and scammers would take all of the energy and creativity and whatever else they have that they put into these attempts at taking what little money I have, and put even some of that energy and creativity into actually working – they probably wouldn’t need the scams to live a very comfortable life.
Then again, who knows?
All I know is that here I am stuck in the Nigerian Airport being mugged at gunpoint by the daughters of 348 deceased bankers, diplomats and honourable politicians all trying to put money into my bank account, and I just want to get home. So if any of you can send me some money to get out of here, I promise to either pay you back tomorrow or to give you the secret to increase your bust size.
And may the Lord bless you forever and ever. Amen!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
At 13, I was a man. Today I just am.
Next week is the anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah. It will be (oh dear God!) 33 years since I went up on the pulpit wearing my brand new 3-piece suit and in my squeaky "trying-to-evolve" voice declared to all of the family members, friends, and pretty good number of strangers that from that day forward I was a man.
Little did I know…
On the Shabbat of my Bar Mitzvah, I led the Friday night service, read the entire weekly Torah portion as well as the Haftarah (reading from one of the books of Prophets) and led the final service on Saturday morning in the synagogue.
More importantly, I was the excuse for a big Kiddush after the Saturday morning services (various food, drinks, and other refreshments). Then on Saturday night I had a kick-ass party for my friends at my house with lots of the greatest hits of 1977 playing on the record player.
OK – let's be honest – in my mind at the time, it was a "kick-ass" party, but in reality the best that can probably be said for it was that of all the Bar Mitzvah parties held that year, mine was definitely one of them.
But it was my "rite of passage" – what every Jewish kid goes through at that age.
Unlike what is statistically the majority of kids though, I actually stayed involved on some level, although for very many years I worked very hard at giving the impression of being much more knowledgeable and observant than I really was. I continued going to weekly services with my folks, occasionally read the Torah portion, or the Haftarah, or led one of the Sabbath services.
We kept kosher in the home, and while out of the house we were not – according to Jewish law, being kosher, I never ate meat in restaurants and never ever had anything blatantly not-kosher (i.e. pork products).
When I went off to college, I decided to start showing even more what a "holy man in training" I was, and I began to wear my kippa (skullcap / yarmulke) full-time. Of course, when I say "full-time" I mean except for when I went into McDonalds (to get fish sandwich – never meat), or any other restaurant, since they weren't kosher. I also took off the kippa when I was out and about on Saturdays – I wouldn't want people to think that I was a hypocrite – advertising myself as "religious" by wearing my kippa yet going into non-kosher restaurants and violating the Sabbath (never mind that in doing so I really WAS being a hypocrite – but I didn't want anybody (besides me) to think or know that).
3 years later, when I moved to Atlanta, I kept up this personal "tradition" – wearing the kippa in public, but covering it when I went out on Shabbat or into the various restaurants (never ordering meat, of course – that wouldn't have been kosher). There were many Friday evenings when I drove to the local Orthodox synagogue, and I was very careful about parking a couple of blocks away and hiding the key so that I could walk to the synagogue (religiously observant Jews don't drive on the Sabbath) and go in as a nice young religious single. The beauty of that particular synagogue was that I never went into services without receiving at least 2 or invitations to Shabbat dinner.
After dinner, I would very "religiously" walk back to my car (confident that nobody from the synagogue was there to see me), take my key from its hiding spot and drive home to watch TV.
All in all, I thought I had a pretty good life at the time. People who knew me thought that I was a nice religious boy, but I wasn't weighed down by too many of the obligations and restrictions that went along with that label.
Then it came time to move to Israel. I had decided that my first stop in the Holy Land should be a kibbutz (a communal living settlement) which offered an ulpan (intensive Hebrew learning program). Every immigrant is entitled to receive a 5-month ulpan, fully subsidized to help ease into Israeli society. I had been all set to go to a kibbutz which was not a religious kibbutz, but when I discovered that this also meant that they were not kosher, I decided to switch to a religious kibbutz.
My life on this kibbutz opened my eyes to what I had been doing for past several years, but not really in a good way.
I went to services at the kibbutz synagogue – not so much by choice, but because that's what we had to do (When in a "religious" community, do as the Romans do, and all that....).
2 things really struck me there – one was how unspiritual it seemed. People were talking non-stop through the services, praying at a pace faster than the speed of light, and basically just going through the motions of being a religious community without having any of the real "oomph" to what they doing. In all fairness, this was not everybody there, and probably not even the majority of people, but it was a high enough percentage that it really stood out for me and struck me as a bit phony as best and hypocritical at worst. It made me thing that if this was where "religiously observant" Judaism was and was heading, that there really wasn't much future for it.
The second thing that struck me from this whole thing was that what I had been doing for the several years leading up to this time was not really any different that what I was seeing on the kibbutz that really bothered me. I was putting one show on for the outside world to see and to define me – a definition that I wanted to wear with pride, but privately there was none of the reality backing it all up.
I realized that it was time to make some decisions. I couldn't go on mirroring what upset me with so many of the kibbutz members. The time had come to "shit or get off the pot" – either to truly follow a religious lifestyle or to stop letting people think that I was. Either way, I had to be much more consistent with what I projected outwards and what I was truly believing and following for myself.
For whatever reason inside of me, there was obviously something about the traditional side of Judaism that I had never been able or willing to let go. I would eat in non-kosher restaurants, but not the meat – that seemed to taking it "too far" for me. I would drive to the Orthodox synagogue in Atlanta, but I was going to services, and something inside of me really wanted to be invited to a family's home for the traditional Shabbat dinner. I wore my kippa - even though I projecting, or advertising something that I really wasn't, it was something with which I felt the need to be associated. Something about this whole "Judaism" thing was keeping me holding on, even if I didn't know what it was.
Understanding that reality, albeit without understanding the reasons helped push my decision. If I wanted to be associated with observant Judaism, then I should at least learn what it was all about. So I spent the next 2 years at a yeshiva (learning center of Jewish texts, thought and tradition) learning. This particular yeshiva is a very special place – aimed primarily for people searching for "answers" but refusing to give them the answers. Rather, all of the rabbis and teachers there help us develop the tools for finding the answers within ourselves.
This set me on a path, which today I find very ironic.
I have reached the point in my religious development and my observance level that not only do I refuse to label myself in any way, but I don't think that I really fit into any of the labels.
I am what I am (and that's not Popeye the Sailor Man). I consider myself religiously observant – which is not so much a "label" as it is a description (and yes, there is a huge difference between the two), but that doesn't necessarily mean that I fit into any of the categories of "types" of Jews. I have my spectrum of beliefs, some of which would fall into the "Orthodox" camp, others into the "Conservative" one and others yet into ""Reform". I'm not comfortable praying in a Conservative or Reform synagogue, but I don't rule out the possibility that they might be "right" and I'm wrong.
On the other hand, maybe there is no "right" and "wrong" in this – everybody has to find what works for them in their relationship with God (for those that feel that have/want/need a relationship with God – not everybody does, and it is definitely not a pre-requisite for leading a good, moral and fulfilling life).
In my religious practice, I lean much more towards the traditional, but in philosophy and theology, I fall all across the spectrum. That being said, I believe that my practice and beliefs are actually consistent with one another. I don't assume to have the ultimate "right" answers, nor do I presume to have a monopoly on any ultimate "truths". There is too much up in the air, too much unknown.
Which brings me back to where I started this blog. The anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah is next weekend, and as I did oh-so-long-ago, I will be reading the Torah portion in my synagogue next Shabbat. At the time, it was important for me to define myself as a "man" – although I don't know many 13 year-old boys that really understand what that means.
And at the time, my real biggest concern wasn't what it meant to be a man, it was how much would my party that night really kick some serious tush?
What I have since learned is that the passage from childhood into adulthood is the constant struggle to figure out who I really am, as opposed to "what" I think I want to be. I spent so many years trying to define myself, trying to find the label that best suited me, and trying to see that others would give me that label – as if somehow magically being labeled by others would help determine how I could see myself.
The irony is that today I'm happier than ever being un-labelable (yes, I know that's not a real word. Deal with it!). Labels don't work. Definitions don't work. Even descriptions aren't so clear cut as I once thought they were.
It's kind of funny, but after spending so many years trying to push others to define as something that I really wasn't, today I can't even define myself for what I am.
And somehow that seems to fit me pretty well.
Little did I know…
On the Shabbat of my Bar Mitzvah, I led the Friday night service, read the entire weekly Torah portion as well as the Haftarah (reading from one of the books of Prophets) and led the final service on Saturday morning in the synagogue.
More importantly, I was the excuse for a big Kiddush after the Saturday morning services (various food, drinks, and other refreshments). Then on Saturday night I had a kick-ass party for my friends at my house with lots of the greatest hits of 1977 playing on the record player.
OK – let's be honest – in my mind at the time, it was a "kick-ass" party, but in reality the best that can probably be said for it was that of all the Bar Mitzvah parties held that year, mine was definitely one of them.
But it was my "rite of passage" – what every Jewish kid goes through at that age.
Unlike what is statistically the majority of kids though, I actually stayed involved on some level, although for very many years I worked very hard at giving the impression of being much more knowledgeable and observant than I really was. I continued going to weekly services with my folks, occasionally read the Torah portion, or the Haftarah, or led one of the Sabbath services.
We kept kosher in the home, and while out of the house we were not – according to Jewish law, being kosher, I never ate meat in restaurants and never ever had anything blatantly not-kosher (i.e. pork products).
When I went off to college, I decided to start showing even more what a "holy man in training" I was, and I began to wear my kippa (skullcap / yarmulke) full-time. Of course, when I say "full-time" I mean except for when I went into McDonalds (to get fish sandwich – never meat), or any other restaurant, since they weren't kosher. I also took off the kippa when I was out and about on Saturdays – I wouldn't want people to think that I was a hypocrite – advertising myself as "religious" by wearing my kippa yet going into non-kosher restaurants and violating the Sabbath (never mind that in doing so I really WAS being a hypocrite – but I didn't want anybody (besides me) to think or know that).
3 years later, when I moved to Atlanta, I kept up this personal "tradition" – wearing the kippa in public, but covering it when I went out on Shabbat or into the various restaurants (never ordering meat, of course – that wouldn't have been kosher). There were many Friday evenings when I drove to the local Orthodox synagogue, and I was very careful about parking a couple of blocks away and hiding the key so that I could walk to the synagogue (religiously observant Jews don't drive on the Sabbath) and go in as a nice young religious single. The beauty of that particular synagogue was that I never went into services without receiving at least 2 or invitations to Shabbat dinner.
After dinner, I would very "religiously" walk back to my car (confident that nobody from the synagogue was there to see me), take my key from its hiding spot and drive home to watch TV.
All in all, I thought I had a pretty good life at the time. People who knew me thought that I was a nice religious boy, but I wasn't weighed down by too many of the obligations and restrictions that went along with that label.
Then it came time to move to Israel. I had decided that my first stop in the Holy Land should be a kibbutz (a communal living settlement) which offered an ulpan (intensive Hebrew learning program). Every immigrant is entitled to receive a 5-month ulpan, fully subsidized to help ease into Israeli society. I had been all set to go to a kibbutz which was not a religious kibbutz, but when I discovered that this also meant that they were not kosher, I decided to switch to a religious kibbutz.
My life on this kibbutz opened my eyes to what I had been doing for past several years, but not really in a good way.
I went to services at the kibbutz synagogue – not so much by choice, but because that's what we had to do (When in a "religious" community, do as the Romans do, and all that....).
2 things really struck me there – one was how unspiritual it seemed. People were talking non-stop through the services, praying at a pace faster than the speed of light, and basically just going through the motions of being a religious community without having any of the real "oomph" to what they doing. In all fairness, this was not everybody there, and probably not even the majority of people, but it was a high enough percentage that it really stood out for me and struck me as a bit phony as best and hypocritical at worst. It made me thing that if this was where "religiously observant" Judaism was and was heading, that there really wasn't much future for it.
The second thing that struck me from this whole thing was that what I had been doing for the several years leading up to this time was not really any different that what I was seeing on the kibbutz that really bothered me. I was putting one show on for the outside world to see and to define me – a definition that I wanted to wear with pride, but privately there was none of the reality backing it all up.
I realized that it was time to make some decisions. I couldn't go on mirroring what upset me with so many of the kibbutz members. The time had come to "shit or get off the pot" – either to truly follow a religious lifestyle or to stop letting people think that I was. Either way, I had to be much more consistent with what I projected outwards and what I was truly believing and following for myself.
For whatever reason inside of me, there was obviously something about the traditional side of Judaism that I had never been able or willing to let go. I would eat in non-kosher restaurants, but not the meat – that seemed to taking it "too far" for me. I would drive to the Orthodox synagogue in Atlanta, but I was going to services, and something inside of me really wanted to be invited to a family's home for the traditional Shabbat dinner. I wore my kippa - even though I projecting, or advertising something that I really wasn't, it was something with which I felt the need to be associated. Something about this whole "Judaism" thing was keeping me holding on, even if I didn't know what it was.
Understanding that reality, albeit without understanding the reasons helped push my decision. If I wanted to be associated with observant Judaism, then I should at least learn what it was all about. So I spent the next 2 years at a yeshiva (learning center of Jewish texts, thought and tradition) learning. This particular yeshiva is a very special place – aimed primarily for people searching for "answers" but refusing to give them the answers. Rather, all of the rabbis and teachers there help us develop the tools for finding the answers within ourselves.
This set me on a path, which today I find very ironic.
I have reached the point in my religious development and my observance level that not only do I refuse to label myself in any way, but I don't think that I really fit into any of the labels.
I am what I am (and that's not Popeye the Sailor Man). I consider myself religiously observant – which is not so much a "label" as it is a description (and yes, there is a huge difference between the two), but that doesn't necessarily mean that I fit into any of the categories of "types" of Jews. I have my spectrum of beliefs, some of which would fall into the "Orthodox" camp, others into the "Conservative" one and others yet into ""Reform". I'm not comfortable praying in a Conservative or Reform synagogue, but I don't rule out the possibility that they might be "right" and I'm wrong.
On the other hand, maybe there is no "right" and "wrong" in this – everybody has to find what works for them in their relationship with God (for those that feel that have/want/need a relationship with God – not everybody does, and it is definitely not a pre-requisite for leading a good, moral and fulfilling life).
In my religious practice, I lean much more towards the traditional, but in philosophy and theology, I fall all across the spectrum. That being said, I believe that my practice and beliefs are actually consistent with one another. I don't assume to have the ultimate "right" answers, nor do I presume to have a monopoly on any ultimate "truths". There is too much up in the air, too much unknown.
Which brings me back to where I started this blog. The anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah is next weekend, and as I did oh-so-long-ago, I will be reading the Torah portion in my synagogue next Shabbat. At the time, it was important for me to define myself as a "man" – although I don't know many 13 year-old boys that really understand what that means.
And at the time, my real biggest concern wasn't what it meant to be a man, it was how much would my party that night really kick some serious tush?
What I have since learned is that the passage from childhood into adulthood is the constant struggle to figure out who I really am, as opposed to "what" I think I want to be. I spent so many years trying to define myself, trying to find the label that best suited me, and trying to see that others would give me that label – as if somehow magically being labeled by others would help determine how I could see myself.
The irony is that today I'm happier than ever being un-labelable (yes, I know that's not a real word. Deal with it!). Labels don't work. Definitions don't work. Even descriptions aren't so clear cut as I once thought they were.
It's kind of funny, but after spending so many years trying to push others to define as something that I really wasn't, today I can't even define myself for what I am.
And somehow that seems to fit me pretty well.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The day after the storm - sunny with dissipating clouds...
You know the proverbial “calm after the storm”? That was today.
I wrote a few days ago about my friend RivkA, who succumbed to cancer last week. A big part of RivkA’s legacy is her constant optimism, and the fact that she never ever allowed herself to dwell on what she was going through. She would never feel sorry for herself and her constant upbeat attitude and personality was an inspiration to all who knew her.
One of the comments I saw on a site dedicated to her memory was by a woman who had paid a comfort call to the family, and she said that the family had comforted her more than she did them. Considering RivkA's strength and charater, hearing this about her husband and her 3 teenage children really didn’t surprise me in the least, but it did make me smile for the life-affirming element that it really shows.
Her legacy has also touched another very close friend of mine is who has spent the last 3 years + going through various surgeries, recovery times, further surgeries, relapses, etc. After RivkA’s funeral, she decided that she should and will commit herself to emulating as much as she can RivkA’s attitude, her finding the joy and love in life, rather than focusing on the negative.
After I posted yesterday’s blog about kicking myself in the cojones, I had a chance to take stock of a few things, and I had a lot of help in doing so.
Yes, I made a mistake. On the one hand, it was just a “little” brain-fart. On the other hand, the ramifications of it were significant – both to the group members, and to my company having to cover a lot of costs as a result of it.
But you know what? Everybody else involved in the soap opera – from the tour leader, to the hoteliers affected to my boss are being extremely gracious about recognizing that a mistake was made, but it was just that – a mistake. Nothing more. Nobody has said anything to make me feel bad over it (they couldn’t have made me feel worse than I felt already, even if they had tried) and all of the “players” in the episode have been very active in joining me in working through the issue and moving forward.
My job is not in danger, the group is (after all of the mess with the hotels) having a great time, and life is going on.
A lot of family and friends shared a lot of love - in the comments of the blog, on Facebook where I shared the link, in personal emails and Instant Messengers, and in person. I’ll say to you all right here and now – it helped – more than I can possibly put into words. You all made a huge difference for me and I thank and love you all for it.
You have all helped me take stock in what I do have going – and the fact that I’m not the tour operator that I have wanted to imagine myself being, cannot and will not take away from what I am, and what I can and will continue to aspire to be.
My reality, which I was overlooking yesterday when being caught up in my anger at myself is that:
* I have a family that I love with two wonderful little girls who have me so wrapped around their little fingers, it’s pathetic
* I have family – immediate and extended - and friends – near and far, young and old – that really gather around me (figuratively speaking, of course) when things are rough – and I didn’t feel anybody doing or saying anything our of obligation, but rather out of love and out of a desire to allow me to forgive myself and to feel better.
* I have a job which, in spite of the current group, is secure (or as secure as anything can be in the world of tourism) and I am being placed in that job in a position in which I really have every opportunity to shine
* I have recently found a real love of writing, which has not only brought a tremendous amount of positive feedback and reinforcement, but it has also provided me with an inner fulfillment and sense of accomplishment which I haven’t really experienced in a hell of a long time.
* I haven’t lost my sense of humor (OK – I know some folks don’t necessarily see that as a positive thing, but I can on occasion crack myself up, and that’s really what matters). Even during my down moments yesterday, while kicking myself and feeling sorry for myself for being kicked, I was still able to share a couple of light-hearted thoughts with my own (albeit, twisted) humor.
What’s the bottom line? I have family, friends, a very decent job, a (new-found) hobby, which I dearly love, and I still have the ability to laugh at the world around me and at myself.
Beyond that, I have the lessons and legacy left by one friend who departed us this week, and another one who is overcoming the crappy hand that her health and her body have dealt her recently – both of whom have enabled me to see a lot more around me than I sometimes notice.
Not a back scorecard to bring into the ball game, you know…?
They say (whoever the hell “they” are) that you can judge a man by his friends. If that’s true (and I believe that it is), then you guys have all ensured that I will get a good judgment.
Thank you all!
I wrote a few days ago about my friend RivkA, who succumbed to cancer last week. A big part of RivkA’s legacy is her constant optimism, and the fact that she never ever allowed herself to dwell on what she was going through. She would never feel sorry for herself and her constant upbeat attitude and personality was an inspiration to all who knew her.
One of the comments I saw on a site dedicated to her memory was by a woman who had paid a comfort call to the family, and she said that the family had comforted her more than she did them. Considering RivkA's strength and charater, hearing this about her husband and her 3 teenage children really didn’t surprise me in the least, but it did make me smile for the life-affirming element that it really shows.
Her legacy has also touched another very close friend of mine is who has spent the last 3 years + going through various surgeries, recovery times, further surgeries, relapses, etc. After RivkA’s funeral, she decided that she should and will commit herself to emulating as much as she can RivkA’s attitude, her finding the joy and love in life, rather than focusing on the negative.
After I posted yesterday’s blog about kicking myself in the cojones, I had a chance to take stock of a few things, and I had a lot of help in doing so.
Yes, I made a mistake. On the one hand, it was just a “little” brain-fart. On the other hand, the ramifications of it were significant – both to the group members, and to my company having to cover a lot of costs as a result of it.
But you know what? Everybody else involved in the soap opera – from the tour leader, to the hoteliers affected to my boss are being extremely gracious about recognizing that a mistake was made, but it was just that – a mistake. Nothing more. Nobody has said anything to make me feel bad over it (they couldn’t have made me feel worse than I felt already, even if they had tried) and all of the “players” in the episode have been very active in joining me in working through the issue and moving forward.
My job is not in danger, the group is (after all of the mess with the hotels) having a great time, and life is going on.
A lot of family and friends shared a lot of love - in the comments of the blog, on Facebook where I shared the link, in personal emails and Instant Messengers, and in person. I’ll say to you all right here and now – it helped – more than I can possibly put into words. You all made a huge difference for me and I thank and love you all for it.
You have all helped me take stock in what I do have going – and the fact that I’m not the tour operator that I have wanted to imagine myself being, cannot and will not take away from what I am, and what I can and will continue to aspire to be.
My reality, which I was overlooking yesterday when being caught up in my anger at myself is that:
* I have a family that I love with two wonderful little girls who have me so wrapped around their little fingers, it’s pathetic
* I have family – immediate and extended - and friends – near and far, young and old – that really gather around me (figuratively speaking, of course) when things are rough – and I didn’t feel anybody doing or saying anything our of obligation, but rather out of love and out of a desire to allow me to forgive myself and to feel better.
* I have a job which, in spite of the current group, is secure (or as secure as anything can be in the world of tourism) and I am being placed in that job in a position in which I really have every opportunity to shine
* I have recently found a real love of writing, which has not only brought a tremendous amount of positive feedback and reinforcement, but it has also provided me with an inner fulfillment and sense of accomplishment which I haven’t really experienced in a hell of a long time.
* I haven’t lost my sense of humor (OK – I know some folks don’t necessarily see that as a positive thing, but I can on occasion crack myself up, and that’s really what matters). Even during my down moments yesterday, while kicking myself and feeling sorry for myself for being kicked, I was still able to share a couple of light-hearted thoughts with my own (albeit, twisted) humor.
What’s the bottom line? I have family, friends, a very decent job, a (new-found) hobby, which I dearly love, and I still have the ability to laugh at the world around me and at myself.
Beyond that, I have the lessons and legacy left by one friend who departed us this week, and another one who is overcoming the crappy hand that her health and her body have dealt her recently – both of whom have enabled me to see a lot more around me than I sometimes notice.
Not a back scorecard to bring into the ball game, you know…?
They say (whoever the hell “they” are) that you can judge a man by his friends. If that’s true (and I believe that it is), then you guys have all ensured that I will get a good judgment.
Thank you all!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
A kick in the groin. From myself
So, a realization hit me this week, and hit me hard. And it was a low blow, at that.
I have worked in Incoming Tourism now for just over 7 years, about two-thirds of that time as a tour operator, and the rest in Marketing and Sales. I enjoy both aspects of the work, and while I concede that my natural skills are more in the direction of the Marketing and Sales side of the business, I also really enjoy the operations side.
To give a working “definition” of what I’m talking about:
A Tour Operator is responsible for all of the land arranging for tours of groups, families, individuals, etc. that come into Israel. From meeting and assistance immediately after passport control at the airport through luggage claim until they return to the airport (and have meeting and assistance again to check their luggage and go through passport control). It is arranging the guide, bus, hotels, sites, meals, transfers, domestic flights within Israel, and whatever else is necessary (and requested) to make the trip the best it can possibly be. Some families just need us to arrange hotels and transfers for them, others request the full package. A Tour Operator is in charge of all of the logistics involved in the tour, and is usually very much behind the scenes. As far as the tourists are concerned, more often than not the operator doesn’t even exist. All of the “credit” goes to the tour agency abroad that arranged the trip and to the tour guide that is with the family or group throughout.
Most of the Incoming Tourism companies in Israel, as far as I know, do not work “directly” with the travelers. The clients are the travel agencies around the world whom people turn to for the trips. The agency in turn has its land operator (for example, my company) that makes all of the arrangements. The travelers pay their agency, the agency pays the land operator, and everybody is happy.
And most operators are behind the scenes, interfacing with the travel agency abroad and doing all of the grunt work, unbeknownst to the travelers themselves.
The Marketing & Sales side is different. Rather than getting involved in the detailed operation of each individual family or group, the Marketing people are responsible for getting the tour agencies abroad to choose them as their land operator. They do this by establishing and maintaining contact with agencies around the world, they create new and exciting programs that the agencies will want to try selling to their clientele, and they offer an initial cost proposal either for one of the new programs that they’ve created or for a specific itinerary requested by the agency. The Marketing staff nurtures a relationship with the agencies until they reach the point when the file (or files) can go into Operations and the tourists can start coming.
Both aspects of the business are crucial to a company’s success, and both aspects are very interesting, challenging, fun and fulfilling. And both are things which I’ve personally enjoyed working.
When I was first moved at my previous job from Operations into Marketing & Sales, I understood the rationale behind it – I am good at writing programs and itineraries, strong at communication with potential clients, and I personally have a successful background in sales. So it made a lot of sense.
But it also hurt me – because there was an element of my being a decent tour operator, but not a good one, or even a good one but not a great one. And I wanted to see myself as having succeeded in Operations.
My manager in Operations at that job, who had been one of the instrumental forces in moving me into Marketing had told me (and I honestly respect the way that she puts it all “on the table”) that I really should not be in Operations. She said that my strengths don’t lie in that direction (as opposed to the Marketing and Sales, which she claims is absolutely where my strengths are), and that working in operations – because I drive myself so crazy over things when they fall through the cracks – is not healthy for me.
I respect her opinion, and I have always seen her as a friend, but this still upset me a great deal. So I dealt with the disappointment, and threw myself into the Sales & Marketing side of things, which I enjoyed very much (despite having a very difficult boss – he is an absolutely brilliant VP of Marketing, but our personal chemistry made for some “interesting” days there…). When I left the company, this boss told me that despite our personal differences, my leaving did not make him happy.
I started at my current company as an operator, with the understanding that they would also want me working some of the time with the Director of Marketing & Sales.
So far so good. I was doing operations, and doing some Marketing stuff and life was good.
Then we got a new General Manager of Incoming (in short, a new boss for me) – it was my friend (and I am not using that word sarcastically or ironically) from my previous company – the Manager of Operations that feels that I’m really not cut out for operations.
She allowed me to continue the handful of files that I had already in motion, but decided that she really wanted to have me work full-time here with the Director of Marketing and Sales (which is also under her supervision).
It was on the one hand disappointing, because I do enjoy Operations, on the other hand reasonable because I also like Marketing (and I get along with the Marketing boss here much better than with the one at my previous job), and on the other hand (don’t ask how I have 3 hands – you really don’t want to know…) not at all surprising, given how this manager feels about me as a tour operator.
So, this week the last group that I will be operating arrived in Israel. I was so careful to go over everything with the proverbial “fine toothed comb” – checking every reservation 4 and 5 times, comparing it all to the itinerary, and cross-referencing it all with the original proposal sent to this agent a year ago (before I was even at this company). And I was ready to go out with a proverbial “bang”.
But you know what they say – the best laid plans, and all that crap….
In short, I screwed something up. In a huge way. And the worst thing about it is that was in one simple email which I sent 6 months ago. Without going into details, I had booked one set of hotels (nice, serviceable 4-star hotels) but accidentally gave the agent names of more luxurious 5-star hotels that the group would be staying (the names are very similar, so it's not as unthinkable a mistake as you might imagine, but still...)
So when the group arrived a couple of nights ago and they were brought to the 4-star hotel which I had booked for them, they nearly mutinied in the lobby that this was not what the agent (who is accompanying this group as the tour leader) had promised them.
My manager and I have spent the last 2 days patching things up with the group and with the agent, and by the end of the day tomorrow, I think (and sincerely hope) that everything will be squared away.
There is a Hebrew expression, ”ha’asimon nafal”, which translates “The token has fallen” (this expression dates back to 30 or so years ago and is a reference to the old public phones that Israel used to have. Rather than using coins, as phones in America and other places did, Israeli public phones used tokens, or asimonim, and the caller would put a few of these tokens in the phone, and a token would “fall through” every couple of minutes). So when we say ”ha’asimon nafal”, we mean that we finally get it. An idea that is obvious to everyone around us and their grandmother has finally become clear to us as well.
This week, my ”asimon" finally fell. I finally understood why I should be in Marketing and Sales and not in Operations. I love working Operations, but the time has come for me to face the reality that it isn’t what I should be doing in the world of tourism. I hate facing this reality. I hate even more that something that I should have seen and understood a long time ago, something that was so clear to so many people close to me whose opinions I respect, took me this long to finally “get”.
I know that in the long run, all will be well. My job is not in danger (for some reason) and I have proven myself – to my colleagues and bosses as well as to myself – to be very good at what I do in the Marketing & Sales department, so I have no reason to doubt that in the new role which I will now be taking on full-time, I’ll do just fine.
But I still can’t shake the disappointment in myself, and the, I guess embarrassment in not having have seen in myself what was so obvious to those around me. And I’m not sure what pisses me off more – that I’m not as good an operator as I want to be and have tried to be, or that I was so self-deluded about it for so long.
There’s no shame in recognizing where one’s strengths lie, and where they don't. But there is something wrong in not seeing what we are and what we are not.
These past couple of days, I finally started seeing a part what I really am. And what I’m not.
I have worked in Incoming Tourism now for just over 7 years, about two-thirds of that time as a tour operator, and the rest in Marketing and Sales. I enjoy both aspects of the work, and while I concede that my natural skills are more in the direction of the Marketing and Sales side of the business, I also really enjoy the operations side.
To give a working “definition” of what I’m talking about:
A Tour Operator is responsible for all of the land arranging for tours of groups, families, individuals, etc. that come into Israel. From meeting and assistance immediately after passport control at the airport through luggage claim until they return to the airport (and have meeting and assistance again to check their luggage and go through passport control). It is arranging the guide, bus, hotels, sites, meals, transfers, domestic flights within Israel, and whatever else is necessary (and requested) to make the trip the best it can possibly be. Some families just need us to arrange hotels and transfers for them, others request the full package. A Tour Operator is in charge of all of the logistics involved in the tour, and is usually very much behind the scenes. As far as the tourists are concerned, more often than not the operator doesn’t even exist. All of the “credit” goes to the tour agency abroad that arranged the trip and to the tour guide that is with the family or group throughout.
Most of the Incoming Tourism companies in Israel, as far as I know, do not work “directly” with the travelers. The clients are the travel agencies around the world whom people turn to for the trips. The agency in turn has its land operator (for example, my company) that makes all of the arrangements. The travelers pay their agency, the agency pays the land operator, and everybody is happy.
And most operators are behind the scenes, interfacing with the travel agency abroad and doing all of the grunt work, unbeknownst to the travelers themselves.
The Marketing & Sales side is different. Rather than getting involved in the detailed operation of each individual family or group, the Marketing people are responsible for getting the tour agencies abroad to choose them as their land operator. They do this by establishing and maintaining contact with agencies around the world, they create new and exciting programs that the agencies will want to try selling to their clientele, and they offer an initial cost proposal either for one of the new programs that they’ve created or for a specific itinerary requested by the agency. The Marketing staff nurtures a relationship with the agencies until they reach the point when the file (or files) can go into Operations and the tourists can start coming.
Both aspects of the business are crucial to a company’s success, and both aspects are very interesting, challenging, fun and fulfilling. And both are things which I’ve personally enjoyed working.
When I was first moved at my previous job from Operations into Marketing & Sales, I understood the rationale behind it – I am good at writing programs and itineraries, strong at communication with potential clients, and I personally have a successful background in sales. So it made a lot of sense.
But it also hurt me – because there was an element of my being a decent tour operator, but not a good one, or even a good one but not a great one. And I wanted to see myself as having succeeded in Operations.
My manager in Operations at that job, who had been one of the instrumental forces in moving me into Marketing had told me (and I honestly respect the way that she puts it all “on the table”) that I really should not be in Operations. She said that my strengths don’t lie in that direction (as opposed to the Marketing and Sales, which she claims is absolutely where my strengths are), and that working in operations – because I drive myself so crazy over things when they fall through the cracks – is not healthy for me.
I respect her opinion, and I have always seen her as a friend, but this still upset me a great deal. So I dealt with the disappointment, and threw myself into the Sales & Marketing side of things, which I enjoyed very much (despite having a very difficult boss – he is an absolutely brilliant VP of Marketing, but our personal chemistry made for some “interesting” days there…). When I left the company, this boss told me that despite our personal differences, my leaving did not make him happy.
I started at my current company as an operator, with the understanding that they would also want me working some of the time with the Director of Marketing & Sales.
So far so good. I was doing operations, and doing some Marketing stuff and life was good.
Then we got a new General Manager of Incoming (in short, a new boss for me) – it was my friend (and I am not using that word sarcastically or ironically) from my previous company – the Manager of Operations that feels that I’m really not cut out for operations.
She allowed me to continue the handful of files that I had already in motion, but decided that she really wanted to have me work full-time here with the Director of Marketing and Sales (which is also under her supervision).
It was on the one hand disappointing, because I do enjoy Operations, on the other hand reasonable because I also like Marketing (and I get along with the Marketing boss here much better than with the one at my previous job), and on the other hand (don’t ask how I have 3 hands – you really don’t want to know…) not at all surprising, given how this manager feels about me as a tour operator.
So, this week the last group that I will be operating arrived in Israel. I was so careful to go over everything with the proverbial “fine toothed comb” – checking every reservation 4 and 5 times, comparing it all to the itinerary, and cross-referencing it all with the original proposal sent to this agent a year ago (before I was even at this company). And I was ready to go out with a proverbial “bang”.
But you know what they say – the best laid plans, and all that crap….
In short, I screwed something up. In a huge way. And the worst thing about it is that was in one simple email which I sent 6 months ago. Without going into details, I had booked one set of hotels (nice, serviceable 4-star hotels) but accidentally gave the agent names of more luxurious 5-star hotels that the group would be staying (the names are very similar, so it's not as unthinkable a mistake as you might imagine, but still...)
So when the group arrived a couple of nights ago and they were brought to the 4-star hotel which I had booked for them, they nearly mutinied in the lobby that this was not what the agent (who is accompanying this group as the tour leader) had promised them.
My manager and I have spent the last 2 days patching things up with the group and with the agent, and by the end of the day tomorrow, I think (and sincerely hope) that everything will be squared away.
There is a Hebrew expression, ”ha’asimon nafal”, which translates “The token has fallen” (this expression dates back to 30 or so years ago and is a reference to the old public phones that Israel used to have. Rather than using coins, as phones in America and other places did, Israeli public phones used tokens, or asimonim, and the caller would put a few of these tokens in the phone, and a token would “fall through” every couple of minutes). So when we say ”ha’asimon nafal”, we mean that we finally get it. An idea that is obvious to everyone around us and their grandmother has finally become clear to us as well.
This week, my ”asimon" finally fell. I finally understood why I should be in Marketing and Sales and not in Operations. I love working Operations, but the time has come for me to face the reality that it isn’t what I should be doing in the world of tourism. I hate facing this reality. I hate even more that something that I should have seen and understood a long time ago, something that was so clear to so many people close to me whose opinions I respect, took me this long to finally “get”.
I know that in the long run, all will be well. My job is not in danger (for some reason) and I have proven myself – to my colleagues and bosses as well as to myself – to be very good at what I do in the Marketing & Sales department, so I have no reason to doubt that in the new role which I will now be taking on full-time, I’ll do just fine.
But I still can’t shake the disappointment in myself, and the, I guess embarrassment in not having have seen in myself what was so obvious to those around me. And I’m not sure what pisses me off more – that I’m not as good an operator as I want to be and have tried to be, or that I was so self-deluded about it for so long.
There’s no shame in recognizing where one’s strengths lie, and where they don't. But there is something wrong in not seeing what we are and what we are not.
These past couple of days, I finally started seeing a part what I really am. And what I’m not.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Remembering a friend
This past Saturday night, tens of thousands of people attended a rally in Tel Aviv commemorating the life – and more specifically – the death, of former Israeli Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin, who was murdered 15 years ago by a right-wing extremist.
At the same time, I was with about 1,000 other people commemorating the death – and more specifically – the life, of a friend, RivkA Mattitya, whose long battle with cancer finally came to an end on Friday.
On one hand, the cancer won out in the end – it claimed the life of another victim. On the other hand, maybe RivkA won the battle – after all, she is no longer suffering and in pain.
No matter which of them can be declared the “winner”, there is no question in my mind that the rest of us have all come out as the losers in this one.
I won’t spend this blog eulogizing RivkA too much. I doubt that I have anything to say about her that hasn’t been said by anyone and everyone that had the opportunity of knowing her. What’s more, I hadn’t really been in touch with RivkA for the last 3 or 4 years (which I referred to in my blog on October 20) but there are a few things that I feel that I can and perhaps even should share about her.
First of all – her name. You may have noticed the capital A at the end of RivkA’s name every time that I type it. Yes, I often do type a capital letter when I don’t intend to (the fun of having “full-figured” fingers and not being a particularly skilled typist). But this time it is completely intentional. One of the first things a person would learn about RivkA upon meeting her is that her name is pronounced Riv-KA – emphasis on the second syllable, as opposed to the more common pronunciation on the first syllable. She would never get angry about the pronunciation, but she left no doubt that this was more than a mere “request” or preference. This was how she expected her name to be pronounced when she was being spoken to.
And nobody had a problem with that (it may have been hard to remember sometimes – but only one time per conversation).
There are a couple of things that speak the loudest for what an amazing woman RivkA was. One, obviously, is the number of people that attended her funeral. Over 1,000 people coming to a funeral – after the Sabbath, at 10:00 at night (we won’t even go into the idea of being in a cemetery at midnight the night before Halloween…). More than half of the people in attendance stood outside – in the relatively cold weather, listening to nearly an hour and a half of eulogies, all to pay tribute to this woman.
People don’t do that – especially not that many people, for just “anyone”. They do that when they feel that the hole being left by a person’s passing is a significant hole, and they wish to join together in love with others who are feeling the same sense of loss.
The second thing that emphasizes (for me, at any rate) the affect that RivkA had on people is actually based on Facebook. She and I have 78 “mutual friends”, which in and of itself is not so unheard of when you have a lot of Facebook friends. What amazes me about the 78 mutual friends that we share is how many different times and places in my life these friends represent. It’s not that we shared a big circle of buddies all in touch on Facebook – but rather, she is friends with people I know from Jerusalem, from Modi’in (where I currently live), friends that I knew when I studied at Bar Ilan University, and several other sources of my friends – most of which RivkA had not been with me. One of the friends that posted on her wall after she passed away on Friday is actually a friend of my wife from her childhood!
RivkA touched people all over the place – religious and secular, in Israel and abroad, old, young and everything in between.
She kept a blog throughout her battle with cancer – called “Coffee and Chemo” in which she not only chronicled the fight for her life, but also shared her vast wisdom about a plethora of other, more personal subjects. RivkA was an open book – she was never shy about sharing anything, or about asking anything about those with whom she spoke, and regarded as friends. Her openness, her honesty, and her love of her fellow mankind were an inspiration, and she will be sorely missed.
The last thing that I would share about RivkA was mentioned at great length in every single eulogy delivered the other night, and rightfully so, because more than anything and everything else, it was her most defining quality. Anyone who had the pleasure of knowing RivkA can probably already guess that I’m referring to her love and commitment to her family.
Years ago, when I was studying in yeshiva (a learning center of Jewish texts, thought and tradition), a student asked one of the Rabbis about the Jewish view of life after death.
The first thing that the Rav said was that, as with pretty much every topic, there is no “one” Jewish view or approach, but many. All the more because, since nobody has yet died and then come back to tell us what was going down on the “other side”, we can’t really know, we can only guess.
The second thing that the Rav said was that there was one of the approaches in Jewish thought to life after death that particularly appealed to him. He said that the way that a person touches those around them while they are alive determines their “life after death”. Not in a spiritual, or hard to grasp way, but something much more down-to-earth. The way in which we relate to those around us – the love we show our friends, family, colleagues and even strangers – stays with them in some form or fashion. When that effect is a positive one, then those touched by us, in turn are able to touch others in the same way (maybe it’s just me, but it sort of reminds me of the old (and very annoying) commercial for Faberge shampoo – “they tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on…”).
Here, it’s the same thing. What people gain from us, they pass on to those in their lives, who in turn pass it on to those in their lives, and so on, and so on, and so on. In that sense, a part of us can continue living forever – through the legacy that we leave with those that we love and that love us in return.
If all of her friends are feeling the loss of RivkA as strongly as we are, I cannot even begin to imagine the emptiness being felt right now by her husband and 3 children. My thoughts are with them, as are my prayers that they – and all of us are able to keep all that we were fortunate enough to gain from knowing RivkA, and continue passing it on to those in our lives, and in doing so, that we will always keep a big part of RivkA alive.
May her memory always be a blessing.
At the same time, I was with about 1,000 other people commemorating the death – and more specifically – the life, of a friend, RivkA Mattitya, whose long battle with cancer finally came to an end on Friday.
On one hand, the cancer won out in the end – it claimed the life of another victim. On the other hand, maybe RivkA won the battle – after all, she is no longer suffering and in pain.
No matter which of them can be declared the “winner”, there is no question in my mind that the rest of us have all come out as the losers in this one.
I won’t spend this blog eulogizing RivkA too much. I doubt that I have anything to say about her that hasn’t been said by anyone and everyone that had the opportunity of knowing her. What’s more, I hadn’t really been in touch with RivkA for the last 3 or 4 years (which I referred to in my blog on October 20) but there are a few things that I feel that I can and perhaps even should share about her.
First of all – her name. You may have noticed the capital A at the end of RivkA’s name every time that I type it. Yes, I often do type a capital letter when I don’t intend to (the fun of having “full-figured” fingers and not being a particularly skilled typist). But this time it is completely intentional. One of the first things a person would learn about RivkA upon meeting her is that her name is pronounced Riv-KA – emphasis on the second syllable, as opposed to the more common pronunciation on the first syllable. She would never get angry about the pronunciation, but she left no doubt that this was more than a mere “request” or preference. This was how she expected her name to be pronounced when she was being spoken to.
And nobody had a problem with that (it may have been hard to remember sometimes – but only one time per conversation).
There are a couple of things that speak the loudest for what an amazing woman RivkA was. One, obviously, is the number of people that attended her funeral. Over 1,000 people coming to a funeral – after the Sabbath, at 10:00 at night (we won’t even go into the idea of being in a cemetery at midnight the night before Halloween…). More than half of the people in attendance stood outside – in the relatively cold weather, listening to nearly an hour and a half of eulogies, all to pay tribute to this woman.
People don’t do that – especially not that many people, for just “anyone”. They do that when they feel that the hole being left by a person’s passing is a significant hole, and they wish to join together in love with others who are feeling the same sense of loss.
The second thing that emphasizes (for me, at any rate) the affect that RivkA had on people is actually based on Facebook. She and I have 78 “mutual friends”, which in and of itself is not so unheard of when you have a lot of Facebook friends. What amazes me about the 78 mutual friends that we share is how many different times and places in my life these friends represent. It’s not that we shared a big circle of buddies all in touch on Facebook – but rather, she is friends with people I know from Jerusalem, from Modi’in (where I currently live), friends that I knew when I studied at Bar Ilan University, and several other sources of my friends – most of which RivkA had not been with me. One of the friends that posted on her wall after she passed away on Friday is actually a friend of my wife from her childhood!
RivkA touched people all over the place – religious and secular, in Israel and abroad, old, young and everything in between.
She kept a blog throughout her battle with cancer – called “Coffee and Chemo” in which she not only chronicled the fight for her life, but also shared her vast wisdom about a plethora of other, more personal subjects. RivkA was an open book – she was never shy about sharing anything, or about asking anything about those with whom she spoke, and regarded as friends. Her openness, her honesty, and her love of her fellow mankind were an inspiration, and she will be sorely missed.
The last thing that I would share about RivkA was mentioned at great length in every single eulogy delivered the other night, and rightfully so, because more than anything and everything else, it was her most defining quality. Anyone who had the pleasure of knowing RivkA can probably already guess that I’m referring to her love and commitment to her family.
Years ago, when I was studying in yeshiva (a learning center of Jewish texts, thought and tradition), a student asked one of the Rabbis about the Jewish view of life after death.
The first thing that the Rav said was that, as with pretty much every topic, there is no “one” Jewish view or approach, but many. All the more because, since nobody has yet died and then come back to tell us what was going down on the “other side”, we can’t really know, we can only guess.
The second thing that the Rav said was that there was one of the approaches in Jewish thought to life after death that particularly appealed to him. He said that the way that a person touches those around them while they are alive determines their “life after death”. Not in a spiritual, or hard to grasp way, but something much more down-to-earth. The way in which we relate to those around us – the love we show our friends, family, colleagues and even strangers – stays with them in some form or fashion. When that effect is a positive one, then those touched by us, in turn are able to touch others in the same way (maybe it’s just me, but it sort of reminds me of the old (and very annoying) commercial for Faberge shampoo – “they tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on…”).
Here, it’s the same thing. What people gain from us, they pass on to those in their lives, who in turn pass it on to those in their lives, and so on, and so on, and so on. In that sense, a part of us can continue living forever – through the legacy that we leave with those that we love and that love us in return.
If all of her friends are feeling the loss of RivkA as strongly as we are, I cannot even begin to imagine the emptiness being felt right now by her husband and 3 children. My thoughts are with them, as are my prayers that they – and all of us are able to keep all that we were fortunate enough to gain from knowing RivkA, and continue passing it on to those in our lives, and in doing so, that we will always keep a big part of RivkA alive.
May her memory always be a blessing.
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