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September 17, 1998

Wall Street’s Wild Ride

The Los Angeles Times’ front-page article that reported the Aug. 31 stock market plunge referred to the drop as “a financial bloodbath,” then, a few sentences later, cautioned that the “tumble wasn’t a crash.” The following week’s edition heralded the biggest one-day point gain ever, which was erased over the ensuing couple of days.

With unpredictability the only certainty about the current market, opinions about the best course of action vary, but the consensus seems to be “stay the course.”

Most market analysts agree that the stock market drop was an overdue correction. “Stocks got higher and corporate profits were slowing,” explains Gail Ludvigson, senior vice president at Schroder and Company Inc., a Westwood brokerage firm headquartered in Britain. “That’s not a good combination.”

Political and financial instability in Asia, Russia and Latin America — not to mention anticipation of the Starr Report release — fueled the uncertainty, and the result, says Ludvigson, was that “it was time for a pause.”

“This is very normal when we have had the kind of upswings we’ve had,” says Steven Holtz, an independent certified financial planner in Westwood, who says this kind of correction normally occurs one in every three to four years.

Ludvigson, Holtz and others concur that, despite problems abroad, the U.S. economy remains strong. “The economy in our country is good. Companies are doing well. Devaluation is deceptive,” says Mark Levin, managing director for Imperial Capital, a Beverly Hills-based broker-dealer specializing in high net worth investors. Levin says that the decrease in valuation is inconsistent with current domestic trends, making this a good opportunity to buy.

Holtz agrees. “Things are going on sale,” he says. Investors who have a long-term time horizon can look at this as a buying opportunity because prices “will be higher in five years, and higher still in 10 years,” says Holtz.

The message is that investors should stick with their long-term investment plans, and not let market fluctuations drive their decisions. Analysts caution that each individual investor needs to look at his or her personal situation before determining the best course of action. Investment strategy should take into account the individual’s time frame for needing to have money in hand, tolerance for risk and ultimate financial goals. Investors with shorter-term goals, or those near retirement, would take a different course from those in for the long-term.

“Stay the course as long as you have good quality stuff,” advises Ludvigson. “This is the way you create real wealth.”

Holtz agrees. “There are two ways to protect yourself from the movement of the market,” he says. “Be invested for the long term… and develop an asset allocation that takes into account your long term goals and desires and your ability to handle volatility.” Holtz also suggests investing “across various asset categories,” — varying the mix of investment vehicles to include stocks, bonds, treasury bills, etc. — in order to minimize risk.

The danger with the kind of volatility we have recently been experiencing is the temptation for investors to try to make a quick profit, which analysts insist is a chancy business. Those who try “are the ones who come out losers,” says Eric Sussman, a faculty member of UCLA’s Anderson Graduate School of Management. “Stay the course. Invest for the long term. If you have a long-term perspective you’ll come out fine,” Sussman advises.

Holtz concurs. “For the average person to try to predict which way the market will go is a huge mistake. People with decades of experience have no idea which way the market will go,” he says. Ludvigson shares the same sentiment. Her advice: “Buy quality and hold a long time.” In addition to the inherent riskiness of trying to time the market, transaction costs and tax consequences make this strategy quite costly, Sussman cautions.

Although most investors know, at least in theory, that the market grows over time, it is sometimes difficult to translate that knowledge into practice when the market is behaving erratically.

“There is much emotion involved in the movement of the stock market,” says Holtz.

“The mentality is: Is this it or is there more?” says Ludvigson. “Any correction and people get fearful,” she says.

The recent ups and downs seem to have made many investors forget that the market is, at press time, about where it was eight months ago. “Things aren’t going badly. Just not as well,” reminds Ludvigson, noting that the market went up between 17 and 18 percent between January and July of this year. Now, “we’ve given that back,” she says. “Investors still have plenty of gains if they’ve been in the market the last five years,” she says.

Less Money, Less Giving?

Despite these gains, the analysts agreed that the market’s volatility would adversely affect charitable giving. Sussman felt there was “no question” that charitable giving would decline, noting that studies tie stock market movement with personal spending. “Uncertainty leads to inaction,” he says. “People will hold off giving… until the uncertainty passes.”

“When you’re worried about the future, you’re less likely to give,” Holtz says.

But Jewish Federation Executive Vice President John R. Fishel remains optimistic. “There are four months before the end of the year. A great deal can happen,” he says, noting that many donors have “made a lot of money over the last couple of years.”

When asked if she thought investors would be reluctant to part with disposable income, Ludvigson answered, “You bet. [There will be fewer purchases of] all the things you would think of as discretionary: vacations, luxury cars… “

“Personally, I’m not going to buy a new car,” says Levin, “I’d push that back one to two years.” But although Levin anticipates a “dampening on Rodeo Drive” due to lower spending by both domestic and Asian consumers, he notes that “in this city, people go overboard regardless of the economic cycle.”

According to Ludvigson, the thing to remember is that stocks have produced a 10 to 12 percent annual return on average over the last 70 years. The high performance that marked the last two to three years were an anomaly, but “people got used to it.” The S & P (Standard & Poor’s) 500 Index rose an average of 31 percent during 1995 through 1997, giving investors a false impression. “It started to look easy,” Ludvigson says.

Even though she believes we are in for “a period of sloppiness,” she projects that “probably the worst is over.”

So what’s a bewildered investor to conclude about the wild ride on Wall Street? That patience and a strong stomach pay off. As Ludvigson says, “In five years the market will be higher. Next week or next month is anyone’s guess.”

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The Great Profile in Caricature

John Barrymore’s career can be divided into four acts: a reigning matinee idol in the silent era, America’s most conspicuous classical actor in the 1920s, a somewhat medium-sized Hollywood star in the 1930s and, in the final days, a crapulous has-been whose main stock in trade was mocking the great artist he once had been. It is this final phase that playwright William Luce and star Christopher Plummer have taken as the basis of their one-and-a-half-man show “Barrymore,” now at the Ahmanson Theater. (I say one-and-a-half advisedly, as Barrymore’s foil throughout the evening is his devoted off-stage prompter, played winningly by John Plumpis).

This is the second Barrymore outing in three years. In March 1996, Nicol Williamson tried to compress the entire biography of the great actor into Leslie Megahy’s “Jack: A Night on the Town with John Barrymore.” It was presented to the audience as a slightly boozy confessional by an actor who, having just been canned, proceeded to narrate his life as if to a collection of captive barflies. Megahy’s script touched all the bases but never made it successfully back to the plate. The facts of Barrymore’s checkered life and career were consistently interesting, but they were like stray leaves torn out of a scrapbook rather than episodes in a progressive biography.

In Luce’s play, the details of Barrymore’s life are even less pertinent. The object here is to evoke the crumbling actor a month before his demise, when his self-effacing humor was at its richest and the man himself in the final throes of delirium tremens.

Plummer, ably abetted by Luce’s gag-riddled script, is thoroughly captivating in this stand-up comedy judiciously sprinkled with deflationary anecdotes and obscene limericks. Occasionally, he grips us with a pang of anguish or a painful reminder of a vanished glory, but, most of the time, he is amusing us with Barrymore’s self-denigration and inability to retain lines. Then, when we least expect it, he impales us with an excerpt from “Hamlet” or “Richard III,” and we are forcibly reminded that this “clown prince,” with the self-mocking laugh and weakness for booze, was once a marvel and the toast of two continents, and we are duly sobered.

The play never builds to any clear-cut resolution but merely dribbles to a close. No attempt is made to sum up Barrymore — either the quirks of his personality or the vicissitudes of his life and career. It is simply an evocation of a fading actor cocking his snook at the world and regaling us with his outlandish personality.

Williamson attempted a rounded portrait, but Plummer, who covers less territory, actually achieves more. He captures the reckless exuberance that inspired some of the actor’s more madcap escapades. (Irritated by obstreperous bronchial attacks from several members of his audience, Barrymore, during an intermission, once secreted a batch of sea bass into the theater and, when the coughing broke out again, flung the fish at the audience, crying: “Busy yourselves with that, you damned walruses!”) In Barrymore’s case, anecdotes that appear to be apocryphal are usually traced back to actual events.

In the earlier show, one tended to read Barrymore’s character through the prism of Williamson’s personality, but Plummer, in his bearing and vocal mannerisms, actually conjures up all the eccentricities of Mad Jack himself. It is an evening of superficial delights, which is perhaps why the show has been strewn with honors, including a Tony, a Drama Desk Award, and Outer Critics’ Circle Award.

Luce’s play doesn’t try to come to terms with the paradoxes and contradictions of the man who, in the 1920s, was arguably America’s finest classical actor, but concentrates rather on the ebullient and endearing aspects of his public persona. Given the choice of an in-depth portrait or an amusing caricature, American audiences usually opt for the latter.

Barrymore’s inconsistency was his most consistent trait. He could follow an astonishing performance, in which he appeared to be draped in the mantle of Edwin Booth, with some of the most grotesque histrionics ever perpetrated on a stage. As Luce makes clear, he, brother Lionel and sister Ethel simply inherited the family business — just as Booth and his brothers did from their barnstorming dad, Junius Brutus.

It was all flashes and filigree until Barrymore scored a success with “Richard III.” After that, and for a very brief period of time, he worked diligently to become the classical actor most American critics believed he already was. But an innate laziness compounded with drink and a weakness for hell-raising, wore him down and eventually out. The broken-down farceur who rolled his consonants and snorted superciliously on the Rudy Vallee radio show in the 1940s was a brilliant self-parody of the great actor Barrymore actually was for a decade or so, and could have been until his death if he hadn’t been abandoned by the very gods that once counted him as one of their own.

Charles Marowitz is theater critic for The Jewish Journal

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Trading Places

In a unique effort to redefine the future relations between Israeli and Diaspora Jews, 14 Israeli 10th-graders arrived last week to participate in what may be the first student-exchange program between Israeli schools and a non-Orthodox Los Angeles Jewish day school.

But the Milken Community High School program is far more ambitious than this, according to Yoav Ben-Horin, the school’s director of special projects and coordinator of this program. It is part of an overall “twinning” of Tichon Hadash, a 60-year-old creative and pluralistic high school known for its warmth and informality, with Milken, said to be the country’s largest non-Orthodox high school.

In addition to sending a group of Milken 10th-graders to Tichon Hadash next February, the twinning effort includes the goal of developing some parallel curricula, video conferencing, a joint commemoration of the third anniversary of Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination this November, and much more in the years ahead.

The student exchange is the most important element of this broader exchange, Ben-Horin said. In the past, most “exchanges” have tended to be nonreciprocal, with American Jewish youngsters going to Israel, where they lived and learned with other Americans in specifically designed programs. Although such programs are valuable, the Milken educator said, “what distinguishes this [one] is it will try to integrate the students in each other’s curriculum and lives.”

The 15- and 16-year-old Israelis received a rousing welcome, along with blue balloons and school T-shirts, at the opening-day assembly of the newly expanded Milken campus. A 15th student is due to arrive after Rosh Hashanah.

The teens are staying with host families for the next three months and will experience Jewish holidays from the perspective of American Jews. That promises to be a much different experience than in Israel, said Etty Vered, an English teacher at Tichon Hadash, who accompanied the students on the first leg of their journey.

“Our kids are nonreligious,” Vered said. Going to services to pray on Shabbat and High Holidays will be novel for many of them, since they don’t do it at home. “We take it for granted that we are Jewish [in Israel]. They are born Jewish, and they never have to prove it to anyone…. I think, for many of them, this is the first time they will realize the concept of plurality in Judaism.”

Next February, Milken will return the favor by sending about 15 10th-graders to stay with Tel Aviv families and to attend Tichon Hadash. They will experience Pesach, Yom Haatzmaut (Independence Day) and Yom Ha-Zicharon (Holocaust Remembrance Day) in Israel.

“It’s a historic moment for Los Angeles Jewry to have something like this happen here,” said Metuka Benjamin, director of education at Stephen Wise Temple Schools, of which Milken High School is one. “We’ve talked about it for many years.”

The program is part of the Los Angeles-Tel Aviv Partnership. Now in its first full year of operation, the partnership was the brainchild of the Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles’ Israel and Overseas Relationships Committee (IORC) and receives some of its funding through the Federation.

“I think it’s crucial for the future of the Jewish people that Jews here and [in Israel] get to know each other as human beings,” said IORC Chair Herb Glaser. Creating that “people-to-people” relationship is the main goal of the Los Angeles-Tel Aviv Partnership, which includes an ambitious range of other educational, cultural, health and human services, and pluralism partnerships and exchanges between the two cities.

On his first day at school, Israeli teen Ravid Ben Ami called the opportunity to live and study in Los Angeles “a once-in-a lifetime opportunity,” which he was excited about, although it was difficult to say goodbye to his family for so long. “We are all very close to our parents,” the 15-year-old said.

Tal Goldenberg, also 15, said that she was very happy with her new family, which includes 11th-grade Milken student Millie Mamer. Tal sees herself as a kind of Israeli goodwill ambassador. “My goal is to make [my family and American friends] feel closer to Israel.”

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Coming of Age

Ismail Merchant was brash and charming as he recently took a call from The Journal at his New York office. The Merchant Ivory producer was eager to promote his latest film, “A Soldier’s Daughter Never Cries,” in which a girl comes of age while living with her expatriate parents in Paris in the 1960s and ’70s. The movie, starring Kris Kristofferson and Barbara Hershey, is based on Kaylie Jones’ semi-autobiographical novel about life with her father, author James Jones.

Like many Merchant Ivory films, “Soldier’s Daughter” explores the conflict of cultures and the pressures experienced by protagonists living in exile. The pre-occupation makes sense when you consider the diverse backgrounds of the artists who run the company. Director James Ivory, a Catholic from a wealthy Oregon lumber family, made his first films in Italy and India. Producer Merchant, a Muslim whose father headed the Bombay branch of the Muslim League, moved to New York at age 22 to get into show business. Screenwriter Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, a Jew and Holocaust refugee, settled with her Parsee husband for a time in New Delhi.

Today, the filmmakers live in the same Manhattan apartment building and share a sprawling manor house in Claverack, N.Y. “We observe each others’ holidays and traditions,” says Merchant, who fasts on Yom Kippur and joins Jhabvala for the proverbial bowl of matzo ball soup. About Ruth’s soup, Merchant, an epicurean and cookbook author, delicately says, “She tries.”

About filmmaking, however, the artists invariably concur. “Our movies strive to understand human beings of various cultures and religions, in the same way we understand our own,” Merchant says.

The story of Merchant Ivory begins with Ismail Merchant, whose panache for extracting funds from reluctant backers on several continents has made the company a pioneer of independent film.

The producer traces his powers of persuasion to his childhood, when, as the pampered only son of a textile merchant, his parents and six sisters doted on his every word.

In New York in 1961, he met the professorial Ivory at a screening of Ivory’s documentary about Indian miniature painting. Over coffee, he persuaded the novice director that they could do great things together. Before long, the two men were off to India to convince shy, reserved Ruth Prawer Jhabvala to sell the movie rights of her novel, “The Householder.”

Merchant says he was fascinated by Jhabvala’s Holocaust background, having learned the details of the Shoah only the previous year. “I saw the Swedish documentary, ‘Mein Kampf’ in San Francisco in 1960,” he says. “Afterwards, I was horrified and full of anguish. I had learned the extent of what humans can do to each other.”

In the ’70s, Merchant was so affected by the Italian Holocaust classic, “The Garden of the Finzi-Continis,” that he can still “vividly recall the scenes, shot by shot.” The producer points out that while he has directed only four films for Merchant Ivory, one has a Holocaust theme. “The Proprietor” (1996), starring Jeanne Moreau, tells of the daughter of a Holocaust victim who travels to Paris to reclaim her mother’s pre-war apartment.

Jhabvala did not write the film, Merchant says. In fact, she was so traumatized by the Nazis that she rarely spoke of the past. Merchant and Ivory did not learn the specifics of her experience until she delivered a speech on the subject in 1979. Then, she described a family tragedy as gripping as any Merchant Ivory film.

Ruth Prawer Jhabvala was born in Cologne, Germany in 1927, the daughter of a Jewish solicitor from Poland and the granddaughter of the cantor of the largest synagogue in Cologne. She began writing stories and poems, she has said, as soon as she learned the alphabet. Many of her relatives were “patriots” who had “sung for the Kaiser and the Fatherland” during World War I.

When the Holocaust began, her immediate family managed to escape to England, where 12-year-old Ruth quickly learned English, continued to write fiction and read voraciously in her adopted language. “Not really having a world of my own, I made up for my disinheritance by absorbing the world of others,” she has said. “The more regional, the more deeply rooted a writer was, the more I loved them: George Eliot, Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens. Their landscapes, their childhood memories, became mine. I adopted them passionately… It was as if I had… no country of my own, but only theirs.”

At the end of the war, Jhabvala learned that all her father’s relatives — more than 40 people — had died in the concentration camps. Her father, Marcus, was so despondent that he committed suicide in 1948. Several months later, Ruth met the Indian architect Cyrus Jhabvala; in 1951, they married and moved to New Delhi. She reveled in the exotic new “world of sensuous delights;” her enthusiasm, she has reflected, was a response “to the bleakness and deprivations of my own childhood [in] Nazi Germany and then wartime-blitzed London.”

Jhabvala ecstatically began writing about India, but her novels turned darker as she gradually became disillusioned with “the tide of poverty, disease and squalor.” After her three daughters were grown, she told her husband she could no longer live in India. The couple began a transcontinental marriage; Ruth made her primary home a flat a floor above Merchant’s and Ivory’s on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

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Center Provides Hope for Autistic Children

As Tony and Barbara Miller* awaited the birth of their first child in 1990, they excitedly planned for the future by purchasing a large, family-friendly home in a suburb renowned for its school district. When their son Robert* was born — a striking child with olive skin and a halo of blond hair — they were ecstatic.

But by the time Robert was 18 months old, they noticed that something was wrong with their baby boy. He did not make eye contact and he did not care to be held. As he grew older, he refused to play with other children; rather, he sat by himself, repetitively rattling toys in front of his face. At home, “he threw things, hit and pinched and scratched,” his mother said. At pre-school, he pushed or lashed out at children who approached him. After just several weeks at the school, Robert was asked to leave. Worst of all, the boy was still unable to speak as he approached 3 years old.

His parents finally learned why: Robert suffered from autism, a social communication disorder caused by abnormal brain development and functioning. Tony, Robert’s father, had one mantra as he left his son for three months of training at the UCLA Neuropsychiatric Institute. “All I want him to be is toilet trained,” he prayed.

The low point of Tony’s life was visiting Robert in the locked UCLA facility on Christmas Day, he said. “Like many men, I don’t cry,” he said. “But it sunk in that I would never have a normal family relationship with my child; that he would never go away to college, never marry and have children.”

Today, however, Tony and Barbara have new hope for Robert. For the past year, he has been attending the Julia Ann Singer Center’s therapeutic classrooms at the Vista Del Mar School, a member agency of The Jewish Federation; the classrooms have recently placed special emphasis on treating autistic children. A luncheon Sept. 23 at the Beverly Hilton will benefit the center and its school program, where about half of the 15 students are autistic.

The Julia Ann Singer Center is a division of Vista Del Mar Child and Family Services, which began as The Jewish Orphans’ Home of Southern California in Boyle Heights in 1908. The Singer Center was originally founded as the Jewish Mothers’ Alliance in 1916; the outpatient facility became a division of Vista in 1982. Today, it serves children who are victims of child abuse, emotionally disturbed or have learning or developmental disabilities. There is a therapeutic school, a family therapy program and a child abuse treatment program, among other services, all on Vista’s bucolic Cheviot Hills campus.

What makes the center’s treatment of autistic children unique, said Center Program Manager Dr. Catherine Doubleday, is the family-oriented approach and the fact that the student-teacher ratio is about one-to-one. The goal is to reach children, aged 3 to 8, who, like Robert, cannot attend mainstream public school and often have no place else to go. Early intervention is crucial for such children, because at a young age the brain is most flexible, Doubleday said.

At the school, one emphasis is on social functioning — teaching children to respond to frustrations with words instead of the body. “All the things you take for granted that a child learns must be broken down and mapped out sequentially,” Doubleday said.

If a child grabs a marker from another child, a teacher might ask that child to stop and study the look on the other child’s face; to note the grimace, the clenched teeth. Then the teacher might model another way of securing the marker; the child is praised for any approximation of the appropriate response. “Besides motor and [pre-academic] skills, a lot of the curriculum is identifying facial expressions and feelings,” Doubleday said. “We concentrate on the face, on ‘What do you see?’ To stimulate language, we also do a lot of reading, and talking, talking, talking.”

Parents learn to take the techniques home by volunteering at least once a week in the classroom; they process their feelings and exchange information during a Friday parents’ group.

For many families, the results are dramatic. One mom was finally able to attend her annual family reunion with her two autistic sons, Doubleday said.

And the Millers report that Robert has become a different child. He is calmer; he knows the alphabet; he can speak in two- or three-word sentences; he can hold a pencil. “Before, my son would never even look up when I came home from work,” Tony said. “Now he looks up at me and says, ‘Hi Daddy.’ It’s a change that, for me, can’t be quantified.”

For more information on the luncheon, call (310) 202-0669, ext. 500.

* Not their real names


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Living in the Here and Now

When the Chassidic master, Reb Yitzchak Yakov, the Seer of Lublin, died, his disciples divided his worldly goods. One got his books and his notes, another his shtender, his study lectern, one his Kiddush cup, another his tallit and tefillin. When it was all distributed, there remained one humble Chassid who had not asked for anything. To him was given the Rebbe’s clock.

On his way home, the Chassid stopped at an inn. But when he discovered that he had no money to pay the innkeeper, he offered the Rebbe’s clock as payment. And so it was that the innkeeper took the clock and installed it in one of the rooms.

A year later, another one of the Rebbe’s Chassidim passed by and stayed the night at the same inn. All night, he could not sleep. All night, the innkeeper heard the footsteps of the restless Chassid pacing back and forth in his room. In the morning, the concerned innkeeper confronted the Chassid: “Master, why did you not sleep last night?”

“Where did you get the clock?” asked the Chassid. And the innkeeper related the story.

“I knew it,” responded the Chassid. “This clock belonged to the Seer. It is a holy clock. All other clocks in the world mark time from the past — from where we’ve come. This clock ticks toward the future — toward redemption. And every time I lay down to rest, the clock reminded me how much more there is to do before the future can come, before redemption can be realized.”

It’s all in how we read the clock. We are the heirs and bearers of a rich, powerful and magnificent tradition. We come from a long and remarkable past. And with all we have experienced, there is a powerful temptation to look backward. To count backward. To calculate how far we have wandered from our past.

There is a difference between love of tradition and an obsessive habit of looking backward. There is a difference between reverence for the past and enslavement to the past. But this difference can become obscure because, in looking backward, there is certainty and security. Forward, there is apprehension and wonder. Forward, there is fear. And it is this dreadful fear of the present that grips so many.

It grips the child afraid to begin a new year of school. It shackles the young person afraid to commit to marriage and family. It holds the middle-ager afraid to admit that he’s not 20 anymore. It paralyzes the community obsessed with the way things used to be. It cripples the spirituality that measures our contemporary struggle for faith and wisdom against a mythical ancestry of giants and geniuses. It blinds us to all the possibilities and promises of today and tomorrow.

“Atem nizzavim hayom” — “You stand today, all of you before the Lord your God…to enter into the covenant of the Lord your God, which the Lord your God is concluding with you today, with its sanctions, so that He may establish you today as His people” (Deuteronomy 29:9-12). This triple reiteration of the word “today” in the opening verses of this week’s Torah reading leaps off the page, embracing us in the present. Today, we are invited to the Covenant. Today, we are invited to share God’s dreams for the world. The choice we make today is the one that counts. Today — with all its wondrous and fearful potential.

A Chassidic master asked his disciples, what is the most significant moment in all Jewish history? In all the experience of the Jewish people, what moment stands out as paramount? And the students answered: The crossing of the Red Sea, the giving of Torah on Sinai, the conquest of Jerusalem. No, taught the master, the most important moment in all Jewish history is right now. We. Here. Now. That’s the only reality.


Ed Feinstein is rabbi at Valley Beth Shalom in Encino.

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Please Forgive My Bad Review

Stan Taubman, I did you wrong. All you did was write a little self-help book called “Ending the Struggle Against Yourself.” Unfortunately, you ran into me, and that was your undoing.

If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been racked with guilt ever since my review of your book ran back in 1995. Maybe not all the time, but, occasionally, when I can’t sleep or when I’m driving a long stretch or when I least expect it, I think of you, and it makes me feel just a little bit nauseous.

I realize you might not even remember me, the young journalist who interviewed you back in San Francisco. You were such a nice man, with your soft, nurturing Berkeley therapist voice and your woolly turtleneck sweater. But something about the title of your book struck me funny, and instead of giving the work a serious review — probably the only review you would receive for your small-press book — I mocked you. Just for a few cheap laughs. Maybe your publisher lost faith in you; maybe some of your counseling clients read the review and starting scanning the Yellow Pages for a new shrink; maybe you’ve never written again. I just didn’t think, Stan. I was flip and young, and I just thought slamming your New Age-y tome would be amusing.

Why do I bring this up now, so many years later? Well, last weekend, I went home to San Francisco, where I spent an evening smoking cigars and drinking brandy with my father and brother, as is our custom. We sat out on the stoop and talked. For some reason, we were discussing the movie “Flatliners.” Julia Roberts, Kiefer Sutherland and Kevin Bacon play medical students who experiment with flatlining, hoping to experience death and be revived. As each student approaches the end, they are haunted with scenes of the most egregious sins they committed in life. Puffing on my cigar, I asked my dad if he’s ever done anything he feels really guilty about.

“On the third date with your mom, she took me to some Bulgarian folk-music concert. You know, where the singers sounded like” — at this point, he launched into a high yodeling not unlike an Eastern Bloc Jewel — “I kept making fun of the music until your mother started to cry. I was such an [at this point, he used a term I can’t repeat here]. I made fun of something that was important to her. I still feel bad.”

“Why did she marry you, Dad?” I asked. “I mean, not to be rude, but that’s not a real auspicious beginning.”

“She was desperate,” he answered, with not a hint of irony. Apparently, that’s not a great basis for a relationship. The marriage lasted about 12 minutes, but the guilt has really stood the test of time.

That’s when my brother, a man incapable of lying, one of the most moral people I know, began to shake his head. “I can’t even tell you mine. It’s so bad.”

Like we were going to let him get away with that one.

As it happens, in a fit of misplaced honesty, my brother included in his list of grievances cataloged in a recent breakup speech, his ex-girlfriend’s weight. “I told her she was too fat. I can’t believe I did that.”

“How do you live with yourself?” I asked, smugly sipping at my Hennessy.

That’s when it was my turn. That’s when I remembered you, Stan, the long commute you took into the city for our interview, the excitement on your face, the hours I spent interviewing you as though I was actually going to treat your work with respect. When I finished telling the story, my dad and brother looked at me as if I were a leper.

“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” said my brother, the blood drained from his face. “Now I’m depressed.” He looked away wistfully and asked, “What ever happened to Stan Taubman?”

“He probably killed himself,” said my dad, only half joking.

“Thanks, guys,” I responded. “Why don’t you two just go out and make some women cry?”

We sat there for a while, just soaking in a sludgy pool of our own guilt. That’s when we started talking about forgiveness, an apt topic for this time of year, for the beginning of the Days of Awe, Judaism’s prescribed period of self-examination and repentance.

Does an apology have any value, I wondered, other than assuaging the guilt of the wrongdoer? And is it good enough to be sorry in our hearts, or do we have to actually reconcile with the wronged party? I hit the books.

According to Rabbi Hayim Halevy Donin, who wrote, “To Be a Jew,” atonement is not achieved until the “grieved party is pacified and forgives.”

That’s why you got that weird message on your machine, Stan. I looked you up and gave you a call. Too embarrassed to leave the whole sordid story on your answering machine, I left a vague message that you probably assumed was some disgruntled patient or the phone company calling to find out why you switched long-distance carriers. It was me. I hope you call me back, but if you don’t, I’m really sorry. Technically, I know I should have sought forgiveness years ago, but it took me awhile to realize I may have hurt your feelings.

By the way, I also found a little loophole: “The person whose forgiveness is sought is, however, duty-bound to forgive wholeheartedly.” How about that? I don’t know if I agree with the premise, but it is the law. I didn’t write it, Stan; I’m just passing it along.

I’m also struck by the fact that, in an admittedly small statistical sampling of three, all of our transgressions were relatively mild in the grand scope of sins. Still, those are the transgressions that first came to mind, small things really, silly, thoughtless mistakes that coat our souls with a sticky film of lingering guilt.

Even though it makes us cringe, looking at our stupidest moments with merciless candor is likely to make us think twice before repeating a similar blunder, even if it’s just a rude comment or a hurtful review.

Anyway, you being in the mental health profession, Stan, I’m sure you understand all of this already. I’m sure you’ve known for years what I’m just figuring out: that guilt is information. It’s a wake-up call. And if guilt is a wake-up call, forgiveness is a brisk cup of coffee and new day ahead. What do you say?


Teresa Strasser is a twentysomething contributing writer for The Jewish Journal.

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ACLU Saluted

Tisha B’Av, the day of mourning in commemoration of the destruction of the two Temples, is notable for at least two reasons. For one, it may be the only holiday that Hallmark hasn’t designed a card for. And it seems to be the one holiday that most Jews have heard of, but few seem to know much about. As with quarks and RNA and Rothko, we can drop “Tisha B’Av” into a conversation, hoping all the while that we won’t be asked to actually explain it.

Here’s how to fix that: On Aug. 11, at 5:30 p.m., in the social hall of Congregation Etz Jacob (7659 Beverly Blvd.), you can attend a free meal as part of the observance of the holy day. The meal will be served prior to the beginning of the fast and will include a discussion with Rabbi Rubin Huttler on the laws and customs of the meal, the fast and the day of observance.

The meal will conclude across the street from the Los Angeles Holocaust Monument Amphitheatre in Pan Pacific Park. There, participants will eat the traditional hard-boiled egg dipped in ashes, and hear two speakers discuss another traumatic time in Jewish history: the prisoner uprising in the Treblinka concentration camp. U.S. Immigration Judge Bruce J. Einhorn, Adjunct Professor of International Human Rights Law and War Crime Studies at Pepperdine University School of Law, will speak on the lessons of the Temple destructions and Treblinka, and businessman and philanthropist Fred Kort, one of the few remaining survivors of Treblinka, will offer his recollection of the camp.

After the two addresses, the audience will read from the Book of Lamentations under the stars, using only flashlights for illumination. “It’s a very dramatic atmosphere,” Miriam Huttler told Up Front. “It’s a very moving way to mark Tisha B’Av.”

For reservations for the complementary meal, phone (213) 938-2619.


How To Mark Tisha B’Av, Part II

At the Westwood Kehilla Synagogue, a full day of special presentations will mark the Jewish day of mourning, beginning on Monday evening, Aug. 11, and running through Tuesday. In addition to the traditional services, Rabbi Eli Stern will speak about the “conceptual underpinning of the root causes of the various tragedies marked by Tisha B’Av and offer a paradigm for the bringing about of the Messianic redemption of the Jewish people,” according to synagogue publicity. Yaakov Glasser will discuss the elegies that commemorate the tragic events in Jewish history. This is no lighthearted holy day.

At 6 p.m. on Tuesday, the kehilla will join more than 100 synagogues worldwide in sharing a special made-for-Tisha B’Av video featuring Rabbi Yissacher Frand of Baltimore and Paysach Krohn of New York. Both will speak on “Peace Among Jews” and offer practical advice for interpersonal relationships. Why this subject? It was baseless hatred among Jews that brought about the destruction of the Second Temple, writes the Talmud. So why not work to prevent it from happening again?

For more information, call the Westwood Kehilla Synagogue at (310) 441-5288.


How To Mark Tisha B’Av, Part III

One way Up Front chooses to mark the destruction of the Temples is to update readers on the increasingly inevitable destruction of a local one. After The Journal reported last year on efforts to save Boyle Heights’ historic and once-magnificent Breed Street Shul, the Los Angeles Times ran a similar article. A public outcry followed both articles, and the Los Angeles City Council, prompted by the Southern California Jewish Historical Society, enacted a measure to surround the shul with a high fence to keep out the vandals, crack addicts and prostitutes who called it home.

Meanwhile, the parties contesting the future of the shul — the SCJHS, on one side, and Rabbi Mordechai Ganzweig, who claims title to the property, on the other — convened at the behest of an interested community member in an attempt to reach an agreement.

According to a source present at the negotiations — which nearly broke apart in acrimonious debate — the SCJHS agreed to buy the property from the rabbi for a price that the organization would determine. The purchase funds would be put into escrow and distributed to a charity chosen by the widow of Osher Zilberstein, the synagogue’s longtime former rabbi. The SCJHS, in return, signed a covenantal agreement with Ganzweig that the structure would never be used for any religious services other than Jewish. Sources estimate a possible purchase price at around $100,000.

For a while, everybody seemed happy.

But that was August 1996. One year later, the SCJHS has yet to make a firm offer to Ganzweig. One source told Up Front that the historical society is looking into the possibility that the rabbi cannot sell what he doesn’t legally own. Ganzweig’s lawyer claimed during the negotiations that he can produce a clear and unencumbered title to the property. The parties have not been in contact, and none were available for comment as The Journal went to press.

In the meantime, the stately old shul off Cesar Chavez Boulevard — one of the last remaining monuments to that era of Los Angeles Jewish history — continues to decay.

“Tear it down; make it into a social center or a museum — I don’t care what they do with it,” said one of the participants in last year’s meeting. “Whatever they decide, they should have done it already.”


Music, Solemn and Otherwise

To bring you into that Tisha B’Av mood — and to lift you out of it — we can recommend a newly released album available on CD or cassette. In “The Covenant,” keyboardist/producer/arranger Wally Brill combines original recordings of the great cantors of the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s, lifted from original 78-rpm recordings, with creative vocalizations and new instrumentation. The technique is called sampling, and if it has worked for a generation of great rap artists, why not for a past generation of great cantors.

And it does work. Take the first track, “Kiddush L’Shabbat.” As Cantor Ben Zion Kapov-Kagen sings the traditional blessing over the wine, Ari Langer weaves his lyrical violin work around the cantor’s voice. The same magic is worked in “Rtzeh,” featuring a chilling recording by Cantor Gershon Sirota. And in “A Typical Day,” Brill mixes the descriptions of life in Auschwitz by survivor Helen Lazar with a stunning liturgy sung by Cantor Samuel Malavsky.

Using instruments ranging from the Indian tabla to the Australian didgeridoo, Brill has managed to enrich, not cheapen, these great cantorial recordings. We’ll be listening to it long after this Tisha B’Av, and the next. “The Covenant” is available at most record stores.


ACLU Saluted Read More »

Forgiving the Vatican

Congregants at Valley Beth Shalom heard an unusual plea for forgiveness at their Sept. 12
Selichot services. Monsignor Royale M. Vadakin, pastor of St. Anastasia Church in Los Angeles, spoke
of efforts on the part of the Vatican to address the “bad blood” between Catholics and Jews, so that
“the year 2000 and its millennium celebration may serve as a possible vehicle for reconciliation” among
the world’s religions.

“My presence here speaks louder than words — regardless of what I say or don’t say, we’ve
begun a journey,” Vadakin said. “For me, as a Catholic Christian, it is the courage to look at and
acknowledge the sinfulness, both individual and corporate, of the Shoah which rests within my faith
reality. For you, it is the patience to lead me to those painful moments and encourage me.”

Prior to the event, members of the congregation received a copy of the Vatican document, released in
March and titled “We Remember: A Reflection of the Shoah.” Developed by the Vatican Commission for
Religious Relations over a period of 11 years, the sometimes defensive report briefly examines the history
of Catholic prejudice against Jews in the time leading up to the Holocaust and the consequences of that
relationship. It then exhorts present-day Catholics to work toward preventing any future tragedies
fueled by bigotry and racism.

The monsignor called the report “an enabling document,” comparing it to the Nostra Aetate, a report
released in 1965 that decried anti-Semitism and eliminated the practice of blaming Jews for the death of
Jesus — thus providing the first basis for Jewish-Catholic relations.

While he lauded the sentiment behind the recent report, the monsignor upbraided the Vatican
Commission for its slow pace.

“I believe an 11-year period of hyped announcement was a tragic flaw. It seems to the Jewish
community and many Catholics as if much was promised but little produced,” he said. “My hope is that all
of us — especially Vatican commissions — may take deeply to heart the Torah wisdom that the pious
promise little but produce much.”

The monsignor later commented on the current situation in Poland, where Catholics have been
planting small crosses just outside the gates of Auschwitz.

“While the Church has not taken an official position on the matter, Cardinal Glemp [the local Church
authority in Poland] has asked his people to take down the small crosses,” Vadikin said, adding that,
while he understood the local Jewish community’s consternation, he hoped that the large cross erected
outside of the camp’s gates to honor a recent visit by the Pope would be allowed to remain.

Vadakin was asked to appear by VBS’ Rabbi Harold Schulweis, a longtime participant in
ecumenical peacemaking. Schulweis said that his decision to invite the monsignor was spurred,
in part, by his frustration with Jewish community leaders who did not take the Church’s report
seriously enough.

“I know the newspapers carried some reports, but most people [in the Jewish community] didn’t even
comment on it,” Schulweis said, shaking his head. “They don’t realize how important this is to both
communities.”

The synagogue’s main sanctuary, which holds about 1,000 people, was filled to capacity for
Saturday’s event. In addition to Selichot worshipers, the audience included representatives of St.
Cyril’s and Our Lady of Grace churches, both in Encino. In honor of the monsignor and their other
Catholic guests, the VBS choir performed a special arrangement of Psalm 117 (known in Catholic
parlance as In Exitu Israel) in Latin and Hebrew, combining Sephardic cantillation with Gregorian chant.

After hearing the soaring blend of the two musical styles, Vadakin wryly remarked, “Perhaps we
all would have a greater understanding of each other if we simply sang our thoughts instead of
saying them.”

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