PORNOGRAPHY: An open letter to the folks in Florida, Texas, and the other reactionary states.

There  used to be a old joke about a guy who was arrested for having pornography, and in his own defense, he protested saying, "I don't even own a pornograph!"

When I was a little kid, I thought that was a really funny joke. I have no idea why I thought it was funny, but I did. I even asked my dad if we had a pornograph since I knew we had a phonograph. Of course, Dad explained there was no such thing as a pornograph and the two weren't interchangeable. 

I do not believe he explained, however, what pornography was. I doubt I would've understood the concept because I really thought it was a new kind of record player. 

So, I'm thinking that maybe you and your governor DeSantis don't actually know what pornography is, because you forced out Hope Carasquilla over showing her students Michelangelo's David. Some overzealous parents said the statue was pornographic. 

So much for literacy, so let's try to fix that without offending your delicate sensibilities.

Pornographic, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is

printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings.

How about a little dictionary diving here?

• Erotic : relating to or tending to arouse sexual desire or excitement.
• Arouse : three definitions offered here. What to choose? What to choose?
• evoke or awaken a feeling 
• excite or provoke (someone) to anger or strong emotions.
• excite (someone) sexually. (Ding! ding! ding! we have a winner!) 
• Aesthetic : concerned with beauty or the appreciation of beauty.
• Emotional : relating to a person's emotions; arousing or characterized by intense feeling.

Hmmmm. I don't know about any of you, but a flaccid penis doesn't do it for me, therefore, having stood up close to this flaccid penis, I can tell you without hesitation that Michelangelo's David is a celebration of the perfection of human form. For all you good Christians, this is exactly what you're fighting for when you all go on about how G-d doesn't make mistakes and everyone is gender-assigned at birth and no one has the right to be anything except what you want them to be.  

David, originally commissioned as one of a series of statues of the prophets to be installed along the roof of Florence Cathedral, was deemed too beautiful to be placed at such a height. Instead, he was set in the Piazza della Signoria, the seat of city government, where he could be seen by all. This was not erotica in any way, shape, or form. This was...and still is...art. Oh, just so you don't think this is modern liberal thinking, the location of the statue was changed and ultimately unveiled on September 8th, 1504....519 years ago. Now, he's the most popular guy in the Galleria dell'Accademia di Firenze.

Pornography is in the eye of the beholder. If you see David as pornographic, you probably should never set foot in the Sistine Chapel, or practically any Catholic church with its iconic depictions of nursing mothers, naked children, and scourged almost-naked saints, not to mention any museum in any city. IF you're the one getting turned on by this stuff, YOU are the one with the problem, not the nuns who gleefully take selfies with David...not because it's the closest they'll ever get to a penis, flaccid or otherwise, but because he's an expression human physical perfection, that thing all those pastoral trophy wives strive for. 

And to be honest, this is really just another expression of book banning. You are attempting to control what others see in a rather hopeless attempt to control the minds of others. You want to drop a glass bubble over your children, forbidding them to learn about other people. Is that such a good thing to do? What happens when they meet someone who is different? Is it hate at first sight? 

There are people who are homosexual in this world. There are people who are of a different mind about religion than yours. Why teach a child to be ashamed of difference? 

And why teach them to be ashamed of their bodies. Kids are gonna touch themselves and each other. And how do you explain "nocturnal emissions?" Are you telling them that natural functions are evil? And wouldn't that be the antithesis of "everything G-d does is perfect?"

As a parent and grandparent, I understand the need to exercise some control over media that comes into your homes. I mean, as loath as I am to admit it, after one episode of REN AND STIMPY I did tell the boys if I ever saw it on the television again I would rip the cable outta the wall. I know I wasn't alone in my distaste for that show, but it wasn't in my job description to ban it for everyone on the planet. That was between Ziggy, me, and the guys. 

Those decisions are left to the parents and guardians within the walls of a home. No one gets to tell my kids what they can or cannot watch or read. I mean, the person who asked that the bible be banned in Utah had a point in demonstrating how ridiculous the law is. By the way, IF I could ban The King James translation of the Jewish part of the bible, I would do it in a heartbeat, but not because it's totally salacious...which it is... but because it's a terrible translation and should just be ditched. Christian scholars think it's a terrible translation. How would you feel if I started a campaign to do just that? Who am I to tell you that you can't read a terrible translation of a book written in Hebrew and still read in Hebrew?

Honestly, it's bad enough you want to control the bodily functions of over half the population while leaving the other, lesser part, to continue to ejaculate into women sans consequence. But I'm not talking about that here. I'm actually defending your kids' right to know about their own bodies, themselves, and the world around them. I want them to learn. I want them to experience being naturally curious about their bodies and themselves. I want them to grow up healthy and well adjusted. 

What I want is unimportant inside your walls. What I don't understand is why you don't want the same thing. 

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

This is a great butt. 

It's not porn no matter how much you look.

It's just a butt.

The Certainty Trap

1 + 1 = 2

2 x 2 = 4 

100 - 49 = 51

17 is a prime number

WALKED = past tense of WALK 

2 atoms of H + 1 atom of O = H2O (the molecular structure of water)

Are the above posits irrefutable, or part of a certainty trap? 

Can I change the laws of mathematics and science because I personally believe there is a different outcome because I saw something online by someone who saw the same outcomes differently from me? 

I believe, therefore it is?

More and more, the phrase the Certainty Trap is appearing in the op ed columns around is. The phrase attributed to Ilana Redstone, an associate professor of Sociology at the University of Illinois/Urbana-Champaign. Simply explained, the Certainty Trap is the tendency to treat our values, principles or beliefs as inviolable. That if one believes it to be true, it must be true. This is not just found in religious beliefs, but in politics as well, and that's where Tucker Carlson comes in. 

Tucker Carlson has emphatically stated the action on January 6th was a sightseeing adventure gone wrong, even though the live video tells an entirely different story. In my world, anyone with a television or internet access can watch the riot, both inside and outside the Capitol, as it unfolded over and over again. These are facts. There are lots of tapes, recorded phone conversations, not to mention photographs taken by thousands of spectators with smart phones who were sending jubilant updates of the action to friends, family, and Facebook. 

That overwhelming footage was streamed live to a horrified nation cannot be in dispute in the real world. Not so much, however, in Fox World. 

But wait!

Have I just fallen into a certainty trap with that conclusion? Is it possible my so-called facts are actually just as much speculative manipulation as the reporting on FOX? How can I tell whether or not I am ignoring what is real when I believe myself to be processing my version of facts even if I watched it live on television?

Possibly. But not, if you're a bit of a fact-checking pragmatist as I am, not bloody likely.

Certainty does, at some point, become toxic certainty as it's manipulated for public viewing. Last week, Carlson took America through his carefully curated exposé of the sightseeing tour of January 6th, 2021, Tucker Carlson repeatedly harps on the death of Officer Brian Sicknick:

The tape shows very clearly Brian Sicknick walking through the building in apparent health after the media told us for two years that he had been murdered. So, they were wrong about that. Ok. They got caught. Here's the interesting thing. They won't admit it. Liz Cheney's tweet is still on Twitter tonight. "Officer Sicknick was killed defending our Capitol from the violent mob on January 6." No correction. Anderson Cooper of CNN still has not apologized "Officer Brian Sicknick died after being hit [on] the head with a fire extinguisher during the fight," he told us. Those are lies. Why not just admit it and move on? They won't. 

Except they did. On April 19th, 2021, the Washington Post reported on the release of the medical examiner's report that states Officer Sicknick suffered two strokes on January 6th, and the aerosol sprayed on him would not have triggered those strokes. In his report, ME Francisco J. Diaz reported:

Sicknick suffered two strokes at the base of the brain stem caused by a clot in an artery that supplies blood to that area of the body. Diaz said he could not comment on whether Sicknick had a preexisting medical condition, citing privacy laws. 

In the days after the riot, police and a Justice Department official attributed Sicknick’s death to his efforts to contain the riot.  ...

Diaz’s ruling does not mean Sicknick was not assaulted or that the violent events at the Capitol did not contribute to his death. The medical examiner noted Sicknick was among the officers who engaged the mob and said “all that transpired played a role in his condition."

The Capitol Police added that his strokes do not change the fact that he died in defense of the Capitol. 

But Tucker never mentions that the cause of death was corrected and recognized early on as not having been from a blow to the head. Instead, he continues to sell the idea that the Democrats continued to lie about that when they did not. The rest of the footage he shows is so carefully edited and stitched together that he could say whatever he wanted based on video that had been fundamentally altered to show a very different version of the events. He makes the assumption that no one will go back to the original videos as posted that day.

Carlson is kneading the truth, reshaping into something he wants his audience to gasp and grasp while disseminating absolutely untrue information that his audience will spread in a toxic game of telephone. 

It's a game. A dangerous one, but a game all the same. 

Look, I'm not suggesting that Tucker Carlson has a dick to lean on here, but you gotta admit, he's highly skilled and motivated in the art of certainty manipulation. He's mastered this skill. As have lots of his supporters and compatriots. They are unable to refrain from believing anything he puts out there. 

The same principle transfers onto lots of other discussions. Large segments of the evangelical population absolutely believe their particular brand of belief is the ONLY proper way to believe in God. Muslims have similar issues between Sunni and Shiites. Jewish sectarianism tends not to be extreme in the US, but in Israel? Ha! The ultra-religious right have a stranglehold on much of Israel's civil life much to the dismay of most Israelis. Don't believe me? HUGE demonstrations are going on weekly in Israel directed at Netanyahu and his proposed changes to the judicial system. These are just a few examples of certainty traps; that place where only you are right and everyone else is an idiot. 

Tel Aviv ~ Oded Balilty | Credit: AP

Yeah, I'm just as guilty as the next guy when I think about ultra-religious Jews. I cannot normalize them in any way, but I know enough to listen to what they're saying. Understanding their mishugas, their brand of craziness, (IMHO) is the only way I can engage in conversation about it. I cannot combat their propaganda with more slogans; I need to understand what's being said so I can respond to questions I am asked here. They are a part of my world whether I like it or not. And when I am in Israel, they're an even bigger part of the world I would seriously like to drown out. I view them as the ultimate enemy of the STATE of Israel. And yes, I take comfort knowing I'm not alone in that certainty. Secular Israel is out in the streets these days, protesting the direction the government is taking. It's not just kids; young and old alike, including friends my age, are in those crowds. 

When opinions flood mass media without any sort of fact check or verification of validity, the news cycle disseminates the information in a flash, added to that wonderful (snark,snark) habit of people to suck up the news from any particular bubble into their own stream of consciousness bubble so they can vomit it back to their own audience. The certainty trap is enhanced when only information from your bubble spreads to your connected bubbles. That ensures only news and information supporting your beliefs will be valid in your own world. Neither Truth, nor Justice, nor even the American Way have anything whatsoever to do with this formulated reality. 

But here's the kicker...we all fall into the trap one way or another. Keep that in mind the next time you scoff at the perceived enemy. Knowing that you do should help to focus your own reality check now and then. 

Just a thought.

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

Passover is rapidly approaching.

Time to get the non-perishables,

but the hunt for Temptee has commenced. 

Follies, Foibles, and Family Fun

This past weekend, all 6 of us first cousins on my dad's side were together in probably almost two decades at an event where headstones did not dominate the landscape. No kidding. We've been together for funerals and unveilings, but no happy events. To be fair, this is pretty much my fault because I'm in Minnesota and they're all on the east coast. But this, the first bat mitzvah in the newest generation, was not to be missed. 

We  4

Preparation for the trip was a big deal. Plane ticket, hotel, clothes. East coast events are different from here and I wanted to get it all right. I also noticed that last night (Sunday) happened to be our Grandma Sarah's 44th yahrzeit and we would all be together in shul on Shabbat morning. 

That stopped me in my tracks. RH is Grandma's first great-great grandchild. RH's grandfather, RE, was Grandma's first grandchild. I was at RE's bar mitzvah. It was a huge event in my life. I remember it vividly. There were only 4 first-cousins in those days, and we cannot possibly be that much older than we were then. Or not.  Truth is, we 4 are all over 70. Impossible!

RE's daughter, DK, was the first great-grandchild and she born in just enough time to know her Great Grandma Sarah, even if it was briefly. 

RH's bat mitzvah, the first of her generation, is a huge family milestone. I marvel that we were all together for this. I wish I had a picture, but alas, herding us is like herding cats even though all 6 of us are old-er....and the next generation of second cousins are all adults... who just think we're weird. But that's okay, because we pretty much are. 

Still, as I prepared for the trip east, I thought a lot about us as kids, and the impact Grandma had on all of us. I wanted to give RH something besides a cheque, something that would have significant meaning. Something that would be a physical link to Grandma Sarah. 

Turns out, it wasn't a stretch. 

I happen to have in my possession a whole lotta hankies. See, our very British grandmother was big on things like hankies. She used to buy plain, very fine Irish linen handkerchief squares, then tat or crochet the edges. She spent endless hours teaching me how to do that, as well as embroider. (And yes, I still can do both …especially now that the cataracts are gone.)

 

Most of the hankies in the bag belonged to my mom, her daughter-in-law, and some even had her name, Helen, or her initial H on them. But a dozen hankies were simply edged, most in the variegated cotton string she favoured. Since my own mom was completely inept at that needlework stuff, it was easy to recognize my Grandma's exquisite handiwork. 

Sarah and Moishe Schwaidelson have nine great-grandchildren: six girls and three boys. They now have five great-great-grandchildren: three girls and two boys. Well, this is girls' week. I took 8* handkerchiefs, laundered and starched them just as Grandma Sarah taught me, ironed them to sharpness, and brought them with me to the Bat Mitzvah. They were distributed to the great and great-great granddaughters. There were lots of sighs, ooh, and ahs. Amongst the granddaughters, there was a fair amount of emotion going on. [Note: the 9th handkerchief will go to Little Miss here in Minnesota.] 

See, we are an American family. We don't always agree. We have serious differences amongst us. But in the end, we are a family. Somehow, we manage to come together for the important stuff, to sit together, to be together...even when it's really, really hard. But we do it no matter the faults, the foibles, and the follies. It ain't perfect, but it's just us. Grandma would expect no less. We are a net-work; we catch each other when we fall, then push each other back up. It's interesting to note that RE, the grandfather of the the bat mitzvah girl, and my Big Brother are BFFs and have been for as long as I can remember. (They even have matching Groucho/WC Fields cufflinks.) I love my cousins unconditionally. We share a collective memory no one else has. We are us.

The Saturday night party was a hoot. I even wore high heels and made it through the night. Sitting at a long table, all the cousins and the kids who were able to be there bounced around talking the night away, catching up, exchanging stories, and generally laughing a lot. I was thrilled to finally have a chance to talk to one of the girls who just graduated from med school and has started her residency in OB/GYN. Her sister is in the reality TV end of the industry but we still got to talk shop about the POMEGRANATE since she now has a copy of the pitch-deck. Another great-granddaughter recently graduated and is moving toward a career in conservation and environment. Her sister is the family baker and it's a thrill to listen to her talk about her craft. Very different paths for some rather strong women. None of that surprises me. 

The short one is 
Grandma Sarah

Grandma Sarah and her sister Jane boarded the S.S. St. Paul in Southampton, England on March 28th, 1908, and arrived in the Port of New York on April 6th, 1908, with £10 between them. Grandma was 14 and listed as a pupil, her sister was 11 and listed as a child. They almost got sent back because they didn't have enough money to enter New York.  Aunt Yuddis talked them off the boat. They survived; they thrived. 

And you wonder why her daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters, and great-great granddaughters are tough? We come from tought stuff. 

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

Keep your friends close, your family closer.

Even when you're all mad at each other,

you still share blood, DNA, and upbringing.

Odds are one of us might be your organ donor.

Happy Purim! Eat Hamantaschen!

Queen Esther - illustration by Isabelle Cardinal

Okay, it should come as no surprise that I have a thing for strong Jewish women doing stuff in difficult situations. Read any one of my three novels, and you'll know this is true fact. But here's the thing: this is not, nor are my characters, an aberration. Since Rebecca was reported to have taken the matter of her twin sons, Esau and Jacob, into her own hands, Jewish women have been perennial fixers. Oh, yeah, sure, we overstep and overreact on rare occasions, but you can count on Jewish women to get the job, any job, done. It takes incredible strength of character and an iron will to even run a Jewish household. Which is why we sometimes get a bad rap. But never mind that. 

I did not write The Pomegranate from within a vacuum. Batsheva Hagiz is a natural extension of that line of strong biblical women. In fact, there is a moment in the book where, when she refuses to divulge her name, her captor calls her Vashti, inadvertently naming her for the deposed queen, because it means lovely. And while the name is close to her own (and she self-comments on that,) she is not like Vashti at all. She is like Esther, Vashti's replacement queen. 

I wrote this midrash on Esther a lot of years ago. I was in the middle of early drafts of THE POMEGRANATE, and not even close to being done. It was right around Purim and I was surrounded by the story of two women who faced tremendous odds. I was Team Vashti early on...long before it was popular...and I took a fair amount of flak for that. I staunchly believed she did not go quietly nor with admissions of some kind of guilt. And once I learned that Atossa, daughter of Cyrus the Great and wife of Darius, one of the all-time great queens of Persia, might have actually been the mother of Xerxes, the guy we think was Ahashverush, I was hooked. Hence the midrash.

QUEEN 101 - INTRO TO QUEENSHIP

Hadassah wandered through the rooms of the harem, anointed in myrrh, swathed in robes of the finest eastern silks, and bored out of her mind. The other women, it seemed to her, were happy enough to rifle through casks of baubles and bolts of cloth, chattering on nothing more important than the depth of the shade of silk compared to the color of eyes or hair. To Hadassah, it seemed they had nothing more than fluffy wool between their ears. Surely there was more to life in the palace of the world's greatest king than this.

Hegai was not much help. He tried to find her puzzles and games to keep her amused, but the girl solved them quickly and without effort. Years in the harem business taught him that bored women are dangerous women. Without anything to occupy them, the ladies of the harem invariably turned on each other for sport. But Hegai liked the one they now called Esther; she was observant and cautious. Nothing escaped her notice, and if that were not enough, she asked an endless stream of serious questions. She wanted to know how the king's council was chosen and how it worked. She asked about the methods used to get information out to the corners of the Empire. She never asked about the color of the cosmetics and ointments the servants applied, she only wanted to know where they came from and how they were made. Still, Hegai knew it wasn't enough.

On this day, Hegai led Esther through a plain door on the western side of the harem's pool, away from where most of the other ladies lounged on divans covered with trays of delicacies beside them. The constant chatter faded as Esther passed through the doorway and into another world. Songbirds trilled in the trees, and a pair of peacocks paraded on the grassy bank beside yet another pool, this one fed by a carefully constructed waterfall at the far end. There were several couches, a table with two chairs, and a small gazebo away from everything else. Between the birdsong and the gentle rustle of the waterfall, Esther thought she was miles away from the rest of the harem. "What is this place?" she asked Hegai.

"This is the queens' garden," he replied.

"Where is the queen?"

"There is no queen."

"Oh. Yes. I didn't mean to…."

"I thought you would enjoy this place.  In the gazebo you will find story scrolls, the kind that queens like to have read aloud. I know you read. You can read here undisturbed. No one will know you are reading."

Esther looked up at Hegai. "You are so kind to me. Why?"

He smiled at her, "Because you do not annoy me with empty words and endless requests for honeycomb. I shall come back for you before you are missed."

***********

Sitting in the gazebo, absorbed in tales of genies and maidens, Esther did not hear the soft footfall of other women; not until one coughed that she saw them and jumped up.

Both women were wrapped in exquisite silks, one in black, the other in white. Their hair was completely covered, and their faces only barely visible through the sheer gauze of a veil. "That's a good story," said one softly as she lifted the white veil over her head. She was very beautiful; her skin was the color of the chai, and her eyes were like dark Chinese jade.

The second one lifted her veil as well. She was older, with onyx eyes beneath winged grey brows. "I hope we didn't startle you."

Esther shook her head, but said nothing. She was fairly certain the older woman was the famed beauty Atossa, daughter of Cyrus the Great, this king's mother, and the most powerful woman in Persia. And the eyes of the second....no, it could not be possible. Her own eyes widened.

The green-eyed woman smiled. "Yes, I am Vashti," she said, answering the question before it was spoken. 

"But you are dead,"  Esther whispered.

"Obviously. I am wrapped in white silk," she answered with a small smile, and both women gently laughed. 

"May we join you?" asked the older woman.

Esther nodded, still speechless. She had seen Atossa in the harem, but would never dare to speak to her.

"We come here," said Vashti, "to enjoy each other's company in a way we could not when I was queen. As queen, it was assumed I would have an adversarial relationship with my mother-in-law."

"Why?" blurted out  Esther  without thinking.

The other woman laughed, "Because, child, one would expect a new queen to be at odds with the head of harem. Vashti and I, however, have found comfort in each other's company."

"I should leave you, then,” murmured  Esther as she drew her own veil over her head.

"Stay," commanded the king's mother. Then she added, "Please. We would like you to stay."

"But...."

"Hegai has arranged for you to be here...to meet us. Don't let him feel as though he has failed. He has great faith in you; he is doing what he knows to be right not just for you, but for my son," said the king's mother. She swept past Esther into the gazebo and sat down. "Come sit with us, child; you have much to learn if you are to be queen."

"We are the voices of experience." The discarded queen took the seat on the other side of Esther. "Learn from us lest you repeat our mistakes."

So Atossa, the mother of Ahasverush, and Vashti, his discarded queen, chose to teach the young girl the secret ways of the palace. And from them, Esther learned  how to reach out to the king's head as well as his heart. 

Thus it was the wisdom and valor of women united that saved the Jews from Haman.

~ The End ~ 
Not really. It's just a beginning.

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

Purim is costumes, candy and Hamantaschen ... 

but with a twist.

We don't trick or treat, we deliver the treats. 

Kinda like ding-dong-ditch

only everyone gets something good to eat.

Chag Purim Same'ach to all!

The Brothers Schvid rehearsing for Purim