MY HUMBLE ORIGIN: NOM DE DOODLE, CIRCA 1968 (2/27/04)
Just like my doppelganger Bart Simpson, I write it on the chalkboard a hundred times each day: “I must get into therapy and deal with my narcissism.” Not yet, I guess. Why should I think that the origin of “Rabbi Ribeye” would matter to anyone? Nonetheless, here goes:
The genesis of “Rabbi Ribeye” is not in its alliterative quality. Nor was it intended to be a nom de plume. It is the product of 36-year-old doodling during another sonorous, narcolepsy-inducing Talmud class during my yeshiva years. The late Rabbi Aaron Soloveichik would lecture us for two to three hours every other day on some arcane point of Jewish law. He was an absolute genius, certainly the magnitude of an Einstein; of this I have no doubt. Like most luminaries, though, his mind worked immeasurably faster than his gift of speech. Consequently, the geniuses in the class gained profound enlightenment, while the rest of us doodled. Had it not been for the exhaustive notes of Shael Siegel, I would today probably be an employable cable guy rather than an unemployed rabbi who fritters away his time cooking and trying to write the great American essay.
As I look back over yellowing notebooks that I have purposelessly archived, I remind myself that some of my doodling is actually a collection of anti-war shibboleths (“Dump the Hump!” – a reference to pro-war candidate Hubert Humphrey) and vain stabs at profundity. I again see that I had boldly inscribed across the top of one page, “God Is the Ultimate Ba’al Shtick (Prankster)!” In later years, I more fully developed this aphorism into a theology that I call “The God of Booga-Booga.” This is the notion that God occasionally manifests Him/Herself as neither merciful nor just, but as a practical joker who pulls some kind of shtick on us when we forget that S/He’s watching, and then winks down from heaven and thunders, “Booga-Booga!”
Examples? Take this classic about the rabbi who travels a hundred miles from the closest Jewish community to quell his lust for suckling pig. He is seated at the restaurant, knife and fork at their ready. With great aplomb, the waiter presents the golden-brown corpus delicti on a silver platter. Just then, a congregant walks through the door, and exclaims, “Rabbi, what are you doing here?” The rabbi, with atypical presence of mind, sputters his response: “What a novel way to serve an apple!”
Booga-Booga!
Or, what about the rabbi, with paramour in tow, who approaches the desk of an out-of-the-way motel for some afternoon delight, only to find that one of his bar mitzvah boys of five years earlier is manning the check-in counter?
Oh, that wacky God, He’s such a Ba’al Shtick! Booga-Booga!
So much for my stab at funky theology. If we have a chance some time, though, let me tell you about another attempt at homespun mysticism that I call “God Is Not an Asshole.”
But, what about “Rabbi Ribeye”? Be patient, I’m getting there.
Call it prescience, but even in my most formative years, my doodling had already led me to subjects gastronomical. It started out innocently enough – puns of culinary personification, people who in my imagination took on the names of favorite foods: Terry Aqui. V.L. Piccata. Cheri Coque. Biff Steaque. Coco Vann. Chuck N. Soope. G. Phil Tofische. Matt Sobel. Paw Tate O’Kugelle. Chuck and Ella King. Tom A. Topaste. Sam N. Salade. Cary Waysead.
Every class a new pun, a new name or two, a new challenge, a new doodle, a new diversion. But, across from me sat Jay Hirshman. Jay was a diligent student with a terrific work ethic, which struck me as particularly admirable since he was one of only a few classmates who came from real wealth. When my folks moved to the Coast, I spent many weekend as a guest of Jay and his family.
Jay’s mother had died a couple of years earlier, and their home was ruled by a wonderful live-in housekeeper of the old school. She always had a whiskey sour waiting for Jay’s dad just as he walked through the door. I saw this as the quintessence of inestimable luxury. And predictably, Friday evening dinner revolved around rare, succulent . . . ribeye. This, too, was quintessential luxury, at least relative to the meatloaf or “roasted out” (that’s what my mother called it) chicken that graced the Wilson’s Sabbath table.
As I watched Jay that particular day hunched over his Talmudic tome, my idling memory flashed up “ribeye.” A nanosecond later, my mind refocused on those rare occasions that my mother served steak, and how my erudite dad always requested liver. Thinking of the long anticipated encounter of Stanley and Livingstone, I mindlessly doodled in my notebook, “Rabbi Ribeye, meat Dr. Liver!”
So now you know the origin of my 36-year-old culinary nom de plume. I had actually suggested to the editors the pseudonym, “Cardiac A’fressed,” but they demurred on the grounds that nothing on eGullet should infer that food could be unhealthy.
It’s just as well, though. You see, in 1972, the same Jay who introduced me to luxurious ribeye went off to Israel to join the army. A training injury forced him to watch helplessly as most of his platoon was wiped out in the Yom Kippur War. He was never the same. A few years later, he was murdered in a holdup.
Truth be told, Jay always seemed singularly unimpressed by silliness. Be that as it may, I believe that every time “Rabbi Ribeye” brings a smile to someone’s face, it becomes an ounce of recompense for all the smiles that Jay could yet have smiled, had he only been given the chance. And as for me, despite the good humor with which the name is spoken, the edges of sweetness will forever be furrowed by an unavoidable twinge of melancholy over 36-year-old reminiscences of what was and what might have been.
February 27, 2004
February 22, 2004
FUNDAMENTALIST CHEERLEADING FOR GIBSON’S PASSION – AN OXYMORON (2/22/04)
For whatever it is worth, I stand by my assertion that Gibson’s Passion will not spark a new wave of anti-Semitism. My argument is not deeply philosophical, simply process of elimination: Anti-Semites will remain anti-Semites. Folks who are not predisposed to anti-Semitism will not be swayed.
I will be viewing the film with a religiously- and racially-diverse audience. A Christian colleague and I will then review it and respond during a Q&A session. Only upon seeing the film will I be able to judge whether the film is inherently anti-Semitic, that is, (a) whether it portrays the Jews in a particularly damnable manner, especially in a manner even more damnable than the Gospels themselves do, and (b) whether it emphasizes the Jews’ collective, eternal guilt for Jesus’s death. Again, though, whether the film is anti-Semitic or whether the film will foment anti-Semitism are two entirely different issues, two entirely different sets of dynamics.
One question, however, keeps burning in my belly. It has not been discussed much, but it goes to the basic spiritual, intellectual and historical honor of the Passion's most passionate advocates. Gibson is a self-admitted radical Catholic. Should it not strike someone as ironic, even a little weird, that the biggest backers to Gibson's movie are not Catholics – who seem at best to be ambivalent about the film – but Fundamentalist Protestants?
Fundamentalist Protestants are in bed with a radical Catholic on matters of Christian doctrine and its proliferation? Anyone who remembers seventh-grade World History should instantly recognize the oxymoron. From Henry VIII and Martin Luther onward, Protestants have not, to put it mildly, gotten along real well with Catholics, and vice versa. After all, why was Bloody Mary called “Bloody”? What of the centuries of carnage up to this very day in Northern Ireland? No one would minimize the Jewish blood that Christians spilled throughout Europe, but I dare say that Catholic-Protestant bloodshed comes in a close second.
The differences between Catholics and Protestants, to be sure, manifested themselves in countless political, geographic, cultural and sociological ways. But, the origin of the disputes in elementary church doctrine are undeniable: the divinely-ordained supremacy of the Pope, the significance of the wafer-and-wine upon consecration, the nature of the sacraments, the priesthood, the liturgy, even the text of the Lord’s Prayer.
More significantly, the Catholic and Protestant approaches to Biblical understanding, interpretation, even translation, substantially diverge. Moreover, the Catholic interpretive tradition has evolved in a relatively orderly fashion, always being subject to the scrutiny of Church doctrine, while the Protestant interpretative tradition ranges from absolute literalism to liberal academic inquiry.
Centuries have passed, and the bulk of Catholics and Protestants have made peace with each other, occasionally uneasy, but peace nonetheless. As one would expect, however, animosity and hostility still drive the attitude of Fundamentalist Protestants toward Catholicism. Go to the websites and see how salacious their hatred of Catholics still is: They are damned. Their doctrines are false. Their worship is idolatry. Their interpretation of the Bible is heretical. The Pope is the antichrist. The Vatican conspires for world domination. Catholic political aspirants will be puppets of Rome. The Jesuits plotted with the Nazis to mastermind the Holocaust. How often have I heard a Fundamentalist preacher refer to “Christians, Catholics and Jews,” inferring that Catholics are not even genuine Christians?
Some time ago, a Fundamentalist institution honored one of the most vituperatively militant anti-Catholics, Rev. Ian Paisley, with a Doctorate of Humanities. The same institution would allow on campus neither Jerry Falwell nor Pat Robertson, whom most of us consider staunch Fundamentalists, because they engaged in dialogue with Catholics. That very institution is now one of the most vociferous cheerleaders for Gibson’s film.
This is precisely the oxymoron: A significant segment, perhaps a majority, of Fundamentalist Protestants think that Catholics are a bunch of hell-bound heretics who subscribe to false doctrine. Likewise, radical Catholics like Gibson have little regard for the integrity and salvation of the Protestants. Yet, somehow in this lunatic world, the most fundamentalist Fundamentalists are actually turning to a fanatical Catholic to teach the world “the Truth” about Jesus and his sanctifying death.
What forked tongue declared this alliance? Let us momentarily put aside emotionalism and the specter of a new wave of anti-Semitism. Does this oxymoron not speak volumes about the basic spiritual, intellectual and historical dishonesty of a brand of Fundamentalism that is capturing the souls of people who might otherwise aspire to a more sublime level of Christian authenticity? What is wrong with this picture?
For whatever it is worth, I stand by my assertion that Gibson’s Passion will not spark a new wave of anti-Semitism. My argument is not deeply philosophical, simply process of elimination: Anti-Semites will remain anti-Semites. Folks who are not predisposed to anti-Semitism will not be swayed.
I will be viewing the film with a religiously- and racially-diverse audience. A Christian colleague and I will then review it and respond during a Q&A session. Only upon seeing the film will I be able to judge whether the film is inherently anti-Semitic, that is, (a) whether it portrays the Jews in a particularly damnable manner, especially in a manner even more damnable than the Gospels themselves do, and (b) whether it emphasizes the Jews’ collective, eternal guilt for Jesus’s death. Again, though, whether the film is anti-Semitic or whether the film will foment anti-Semitism are two entirely different issues, two entirely different sets of dynamics.
One question, however, keeps burning in my belly. It has not been discussed much, but it goes to the basic spiritual, intellectual and historical honor of the Passion's most passionate advocates. Gibson is a self-admitted radical Catholic. Should it not strike someone as ironic, even a little weird, that the biggest backers to Gibson's movie are not Catholics – who seem at best to be ambivalent about the film – but Fundamentalist Protestants?
Fundamentalist Protestants are in bed with a radical Catholic on matters of Christian doctrine and its proliferation? Anyone who remembers seventh-grade World History should instantly recognize the oxymoron. From Henry VIII and Martin Luther onward, Protestants have not, to put it mildly, gotten along real well with Catholics, and vice versa. After all, why was Bloody Mary called “Bloody”? What of the centuries of carnage up to this very day in Northern Ireland? No one would minimize the Jewish blood that Christians spilled throughout Europe, but I dare say that Catholic-Protestant bloodshed comes in a close second.
The differences between Catholics and Protestants, to be sure, manifested themselves in countless political, geographic, cultural and sociological ways. But, the origin of the disputes in elementary church doctrine are undeniable: the divinely-ordained supremacy of the Pope, the significance of the wafer-and-wine upon consecration, the nature of the sacraments, the priesthood, the liturgy, even the text of the Lord’s Prayer.
More significantly, the Catholic and Protestant approaches to Biblical understanding, interpretation, even translation, substantially diverge. Moreover, the Catholic interpretive tradition has evolved in a relatively orderly fashion, always being subject to the scrutiny of Church doctrine, while the Protestant interpretative tradition ranges from absolute literalism to liberal academic inquiry.
Centuries have passed, and the bulk of Catholics and Protestants have made peace with each other, occasionally uneasy, but peace nonetheless. As one would expect, however, animosity and hostility still drive the attitude of Fundamentalist Protestants toward Catholicism. Go to the websites and see how salacious their hatred of Catholics still is: They are damned. Their doctrines are false. Their worship is idolatry. Their interpretation of the Bible is heretical. The Pope is the antichrist. The Vatican conspires for world domination. Catholic political aspirants will be puppets of Rome. The Jesuits plotted with the Nazis to mastermind the Holocaust. How often have I heard a Fundamentalist preacher refer to “Christians, Catholics and Jews,” inferring that Catholics are not even genuine Christians?
Some time ago, a Fundamentalist institution honored one of the most vituperatively militant anti-Catholics, Rev. Ian Paisley, with a Doctorate of Humanities. The same institution would allow on campus neither Jerry Falwell nor Pat Robertson, whom most of us consider staunch Fundamentalists, because they engaged in dialogue with Catholics. That very institution is now one of the most vociferous cheerleaders for Gibson’s film.
This is precisely the oxymoron: A significant segment, perhaps a majority, of Fundamentalist Protestants think that Catholics are a bunch of hell-bound heretics who subscribe to false doctrine. Likewise, radical Catholics like Gibson have little regard for the integrity and salvation of the Protestants. Yet, somehow in this lunatic world, the most fundamentalist Fundamentalists are actually turning to a fanatical Catholic to teach the world “the Truth” about Jesus and his sanctifying death.
What forked tongue declared this alliance? Let us momentarily put aside emotionalism and the specter of a new wave of anti-Semitism. Does this oxymoron not speak volumes about the basic spiritual, intellectual and historical dishonesty of a brand of Fundamentalism that is capturing the souls of people who might otherwise aspire to a more sublime level of Christian authenticity? What is wrong with this picture?
February 10, 2004
WHO IS THE "REAL" LOSER BY THE MENSCH STANDARD?
The freaky roller coaster of political favor and disfavor is made all the freakier when we impose on it an appraisal of “real” winners and losers in terms of longer-range prognoses: Which candidates, even in defeat, have craftily postured themselves for 2008 and beyond? Which candidates have irreparably shot themselves in the foot?
We who have attained cranky middle age delude ourselves into believing that once upon a time the criteria of “real” winners and losers were determined by the yardstick of philosophical commitment and statesmanship. Whatever the case, our current measure of the “real” loser is the display of public stupidity: Michael Dukakis playing make-believe tank commander, the zaftig Donna Rice cuddling with Gary Hart on the Good Ship Monkeyshines, and most recently, Howard Dean’s infantile rants and cheerleading. Shall we also include the silly grandstanding of our flight-suit clad president’s loopdloop aircraft-carrier landing?
Thus, by the measure of shoot-yourself-in-the-foot stupidity, the “real” loser of this primary season is Al Gore, as evidenced by his misplaced political spotlight-grab and that goofy smile as he stiffly embraced Howard Dean. How many volumes could be written about the crass, foolish opportunism of a vice-president who almost became our president? How could a man who nearly attained the mantle of international leadership embrace a flash-in-the-pan candidate when anyone with any sense already suspected that Dean’s vaunted popularity was cresting too early to be of lasting value? Which other candidate would now have the most remote desire for Gore’s smarmy endorsement as second best? By the standard of public stupidity, Al Gore has forever discredited himself from any pretensions of prudent, honorable national leadership.
Gore’s status as “real” loser, though, derives even more from a flaw well beyond public stupidity: Al Gore is not a mensch. For the Yiddishly-challenged, a mensch is an honorable person. Even if in choosing to endorse a candidate prematurely, had Gore been a mensch, he would have supported Joe Lieberman. Yes, part of the issue is a betrayal of loyalty, even a breach of trust, to his former running mate, a man he deemed worthy of being a single heartbeat from the presidency.
More grievously, Gore failed as a mensch by his refusal to support the only candidate most consistently identified with integrity by his senatorial colleagues and even the cynical Limbaugh and O’Reilly. A real mensch would have endorsed a real mensch, not a rude, bellicose come-lately who is subject to unpredictable public displays of bipolarity.
Yes, Gore knew as we all did that Lieberman was unelectable. None of that, particularly early in the campaign, should have deterred Gore from the honor and decency befitting a true statesman, not an opportunistic hack. It could have become his singular moment for underscoring integrity as an issue in the campaign that should outshine opportunism and pandering for votes. Then, upon Lieberman’s anticipated withdrawal, Gore’s support of another candidate would likely have had at least some modicum of credibility, not the buffoonery that it now would engender.
One would hope that identifying Al Gore as the “real” loser over the mensch issue might become a cautionary tale, one of prizing integrity not only above stupidity, but above the disreputable machinations that ordain a candidate as “electable.” That is not likely to happen any time soon. Be that as it may, it should not deter anyone from being a mensch and supporting a mensch even if s/he does not place first in the race. Perhaps one day we will realize that it is not the mensch, but the race, that needs fixing.
The freaky roller coaster of political favor and disfavor is made all the freakier when we impose on it an appraisal of “real” winners and losers in terms of longer-range prognoses: Which candidates, even in defeat, have craftily postured themselves for 2008 and beyond? Which candidates have irreparably shot themselves in the foot?
We who have attained cranky middle age delude ourselves into believing that once upon a time the criteria of “real” winners and losers were determined by the yardstick of philosophical commitment and statesmanship. Whatever the case, our current measure of the “real” loser is the display of public stupidity: Michael Dukakis playing make-believe tank commander, the zaftig Donna Rice cuddling with Gary Hart on the Good Ship Monkeyshines, and most recently, Howard Dean’s infantile rants and cheerleading. Shall we also include the silly grandstanding of our flight-suit clad president’s loopdloop aircraft-carrier landing?
Thus, by the measure of shoot-yourself-in-the-foot stupidity, the “real” loser of this primary season is Al Gore, as evidenced by his misplaced political spotlight-grab and that goofy smile as he stiffly embraced Howard Dean. How many volumes could be written about the crass, foolish opportunism of a vice-president who almost became our president? How could a man who nearly attained the mantle of international leadership embrace a flash-in-the-pan candidate when anyone with any sense already suspected that Dean’s vaunted popularity was cresting too early to be of lasting value? Which other candidate would now have the most remote desire for Gore’s smarmy endorsement as second best? By the standard of public stupidity, Al Gore has forever discredited himself from any pretensions of prudent, honorable national leadership.
Gore’s status as “real” loser, though, derives even more from a flaw well beyond public stupidity: Al Gore is not a mensch. For the Yiddishly-challenged, a mensch is an honorable person. Even if in choosing to endorse a candidate prematurely, had Gore been a mensch, he would have supported Joe Lieberman. Yes, part of the issue is a betrayal of loyalty, even a breach of trust, to his former running mate, a man he deemed worthy of being a single heartbeat from the presidency.
More grievously, Gore failed as a mensch by his refusal to support the only candidate most consistently identified with integrity by his senatorial colleagues and even the cynical Limbaugh and O’Reilly. A real mensch would have endorsed a real mensch, not a rude, bellicose come-lately who is subject to unpredictable public displays of bipolarity.
Yes, Gore knew as we all did that Lieberman was unelectable. None of that, particularly early in the campaign, should have deterred Gore from the honor and decency befitting a true statesman, not an opportunistic hack. It could have become his singular moment for underscoring integrity as an issue in the campaign that should outshine opportunism and pandering for votes. Then, upon Lieberman’s anticipated withdrawal, Gore’s support of another candidate would likely have had at least some modicum of credibility, not the buffoonery that it now would engender.
One would hope that identifying Al Gore as the “real” loser over the mensch issue might become a cautionary tale, one of prizing integrity not only above stupidity, but above the disreputable machinations that ordain a candidate as “electable.” That is not likely to happen any time soon. Be that as it may, it should not deter anyone from being a mensch and supporting a mensch even if s/he does not place first in the race. Perhaps one day we will realize that it is not the mensch, but the race, that needs fixing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)