Letters
Letters to the editor
\”This is a story about my brother, Moriel. Moriel has autism.
Meet the class of 1998. This month, they leave high school behind and careen toward adult life.
It\’s likely no statewide candidate today, including California\’s two Jewish Senators and gubernatorial rival Jane Harman, has culivated more ties to LA\’s Jewish elites than Davis.
My mother is 87. Or is it 90? As long as I can remember, I thought that she had been born in 1910, was named Miriam Euffa, and brought here from Kievas a 5-year-old by parents who were educated, and who had been part of what must have been a turn-of-the-century minority: the Russian-Ukrainian Jewish professional class. Now Medicare tells methat her Social Security card lists her year of birth as 1907.
Frankly, I\’m all for it.\n\nBut what about sports? Girls? Humvees and washboard abs? This column\’s supposed to parse the experience of a Jewish Guy in the world. But some guys have called, confused. What\’s all this about singing baby boys to sleep? About tender talks and the salve of toddler hugs? It\’s all very sweet, but, guy, hey guy, they ask, where\’s the testosterone?\n\nFunny. My wife\’s been bugging me about the samething.
In my mind, Icall him Mr. Droopy Pants, my elderly neighbor who shuffles down thehall every morning to steal my paper, his orange toupee askew.
Try as I will to guard against it, thepersonal always seems to intrude on my professional life.




