Snot and Whatnot

A great little post someone got onto the Yavneh listhost. I was rolling on the floor:

If I may, I'd like to add a view from Jerusalem. I actually don't think the
issue is "eating child snot." I would prefer not to eat adult snot either.
The issue is snot, simpliciter. However, if the point is to separate adult
snot from child snot, I am not sure how I feel about that. Maybe some kids
don't want to eat adult snot, some adults don't want to eat child snot, and
some adults and children don't want to eat any snot, regardless of its age
or gender. Until we settle some of these basic questions, I am not
convinced that separate tables--or a mehitzah--will solve the problem. The
only unequivocal solution, which does strike me as a tad Draconian, would be
to eliminate kiddush. Or maybe even the minyan.

Yes, as Jack reminds us, fascism is often preceded by anarchism. Now,
there's something to look forward to.

Some people are really much funnier than they appear.

On Residing in Lakeview....

Now that I've got DSL for my apartment, I can finally start to contribute. So here's my first entry of substance....

It's now been 3 weeks since I've moved from sleepy, ol' Hyde Park, up north to Lakeview. All in all, things have been going just fine, although my apartment is still a mess (but is in the process of obtaining some sense of order). A few observations on the neighborhood, and Anshe Shalom:

1) The bus ride to work has been rather different than the one I had while coming up from Hyde Park. It's pretty clear how segregated this city is, and apparently iPod sales must be booming in this neck of the woods, as everyone seems to be sporting the white headphones. Now that I am amongst the yuppies and bourgeois, does this make me a yuppy or bourgeois? I certainly hope not, but my pink shirt seems to indicate otherwise.

2) Anshe Shalom is really big. Never again will I ever have to feel guilty about coming to minyan late because I might be that 10th guy. Also, I would imagine long gone are the days when I get to lein every week. It's so big, that I think it's almost too big. To some extent, I sorta miss having to scratch and claw for a minyan, and having the honor of leining every week (although I'm sure my occasional no-shows won't be missed). The flip side to being in such a large community is that a) the kiddush is really large (and doesn't have snot on it); b) there is an eruv, and apparently a mikveh on the way as well (in which I'd hope there are no sharks); c) plenty of learning opportunities (into which I hope to infuse myself).

3) As I sit inside trying to study for another regulatory exam I have coming up (clearly the studying isn't that effective), I can't help but notice how many people are partaking in the Gay Pride parade outside. Several people from shul urged to me check it out, saying how much fun it is. Would I ever receive such encouragements from people at Yavneh? Probably not, as they'd be too busy urging me not to get my snot over the potato chips on the kiddush table.

Is Lakeview the anti-Hyde Park? Time will tell...

Eminent Disaster

The American supreme court has ruled "that fostering economic development is an appropriate use of the government's power of eminent domain" (New York Times). The idea is that the government can take land from private citizens and give it to private companies. Not surprisingly it was the more liberal judges who were for this. Scalia and Rhenquist were both opposed. I found the liberal justification for this action surprisingly Lockian: developers will make better use of the land than the citizens who were living there previously.

Funny story: in Israel, where a similar argument is being used to justify the expansion of Jerusalem and other cities, the liberals are radically opposed to the government's use of eminent domain.

Stumpo's and Cheesequakes

On our drive to Ben's wedding yesterday Oren and I stumbled across two fine parts of New Jersey: Cheesequake State Park and Stumpo's Italian Restaurant. There were, obviously, other landmarks we passed, but none took out attention quite like these.
What is a cheesequake? How does it occur? When was the last great cheesequake? Are they doing anything to prevent another of similar magnitude? It soon became clear that Stumpo had saved the entire village from the certain decimation of a vicious Cheesequake and in recognition of his brave rescue and sacrifice, they named a restaurant in south Jersey in his honor. At 11p last night, while driving home to Oren's melodic snores, I composed a ballad of Stumpo's intrepid battle against the Cheesequake to the tune of Paul Robeson's "John Henry." But I have forgotten it now. It started something like,

Oh it happened many years ago
That Philly cheese came a-rainin' from the sky
and it did cascade down the mountain
yes the Cheesequake of aught six had arrived

but I forget the rest...

Checkpoints have a purpose

Zionist thugs humiliate Palestinian woman.

Kosher Wines

There has been a recent explosion in the interest of wines. Not just kosher wines, where Jews are discovering that there is more to life than Carmel, but also an interest in small, fine wineries from remote parts of the world. "Sideways," as I see it at least, was only an indication of this trend.

The funny thing about kosher wines, however, is that they are completely identical to non-kosher wines. Ideally, whereas non-kosher food contains ingredients which either by themselves, or mixed together are trief, a non-kosher wine consists of nothing which is physically assur. Rather wine, through Rabbinic edict, must be "made by a Jew" (whatever the technical definition of that may be). It is thus very frustrating for a wine coinsure that the wine, so rich and subtle, which he or she may have enjoyed in a past life, is no longer permissible for merely artificial and ethereal reasons.

You enter a large wine supermarket and are overwhelmed by the choice and selection at hand. There are wines from known and venerable wineries, along with new, smaller groves. While those instantiated wines are known for their exquisite composition, you can always get a surprising and novel new wine, with a palette you could have never otherwise dreamed of. As you go through the store you accumulate a basket full of wonderful, exotic, rich, complex wines which have been fermented and crafted with the utmost care. As you proceed to the register you remember that you ought to check the bottles for a hechsher. Nothing. They are all trief. You put them all back, one by one, shedding a tear as you replace every bottle individually. But as you replace a certain highly touted and specialized New Mexican '85 vintage you can't help but pause and sigh.

"Can you please direct me to the kosher wines?" you inquire of one of the attendants. The kosher wines are kept in a small ill-lit room in the back. There exists a wide variety of fruity, bubbly and overly sweet Mascato D'Asti-esque beverages (which seem filled with mostly air) and Baron Herzog White Zinfendels, the complex (yet acerbic) end of the Jewish palate. As you rummage through the selection in desperate yearning for a kosher run of that New Mexican wine you love so much--or any other respectable wine for that matter-- you are at a loss. Nothing. Where are the sweet, soft, light, complex and intriguing bottles that you had discovered just moments earlier? While at one time you were amused by some of the Israeli and Australian attempts to mimic good wine, you know that today is lost.

You leave the market, bowed head and bowed shoulders, lamenting the dismal array of kosher wines. Oy me haya lanu. Pausing, you compose yourself-- DAMN IT! DAMN IT!!! you then yell in a fury which could only echo the cry of Hades when he lost Persephone-- and then regain calm. There is no guarantee you will ever be able to find the a kosher bottle of that New Mexican you once cherished so. But you must face the truth, Jews do not know how to make fine wine. So you wait, as others do for the messiah, for the once a decade kosher runs from your favorite trief wineries. You must be patient and not lose composure, settling for the second rate Binyamina or Dalton, but remain composed for the best wines to become kosher. It takes a combination of luck, patients and discernment, but it can be done. Hamevin Yavin.

End of a School-Year

Well, folks, my school-year is officially over -- excluding exams and papers which will continue throughout the summer. I am pretty much done with my coursework here and I am considering sticking around to do my PhD here as well. If I stay here, I will work on the connections between Greek philosophy and Jewish and Islamic philosophy. Particularly the poltical philosophies of both and the connections between (religious) law and philosophical ideals.

I am also nearing the one- year anniversary of my arrival in Israel. Unfortunately I cannot seem to remember on which day exactly I arrived. I think it was between June 20 and 22, but the trip was such a nightmare that I am blanking on the details.

Anyway, I hope you are all enjoying your summer.

For Zev, with Love

HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning. 10
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle, 20
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse. and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Update: This poem is by Carl Sandburg.

Why a Mac Mini?

As my old computer entered college with me, it is time for a new one. Although I have been oggling over a iMac G5 for many moons, I think I am going to go with the Mac Mini. Here's why:

1. Apples move to Intel- if the chipset is going to be so vastly improved over the course of the next year, it seems silly to invest in old technology.

2. Disposable computers- the Mac mini is cheap enough to replace every 15 months. I figure that I spend $2000 on a computer for four years. Why not invest in a cheap machine that can be upgraded more frequently? Present value, and all that.

3. Gaming- There is an age old adage about Mac gaming: If you want to be a Mac Gamer buy a PC. Why should I buy a high end G5, which will allow me to play a few, very nice games (e.g. Doom 3) when I can buy a PS2 (or maybe 3) and hook it up to an external monitor
3.5 External monitor- imagine the possibilities...

4. External monitor redux- If and when I do choose to get a higher end machine, I can use the monitor that the Mac mini used as a second monitor. That would also allow to get the 17" and not the 20" iMac (thus saving $300+)

5. It works- 1.5 GHz is enough for me to do the photoshop and other graphics processing work I want, which is really the most intensive process I use.

6. All Macs go to heaven- after a year or so of faithful service I can still use the Mac mini as a server, DVD player or other such piddling uses.

My rant ends.

Will Zev leave a legacy?

This past weekend was alumni weekend here at the UofC and included a 5th year reunion for Rachel's graduating class, the class of 2000 (perhaps the greatest ever). Apparently only one Hillelite, Eugene Rabinovitch, showed up from that class. Eugene's presence sparked Josef Stern to ask me who were the Hillelites from that class. I mentioned Rachel, Eve Krakowski, Dashiell Shapiro, and Daniel Pilarski among others. When I mentioned Daniel Pilarski, though, Josef simply had no recollection of him. This astounded me because Daniel was the Zev before Zev. Well maybe they weren't that similar, but they were both red-headed tyrants of Yavneh. I can only imagine that in five years, if someone mentions Zev Berger to Josef, his response will be a bewildered "who?". Now I think that it will be different for me. I will be better remembered than Daniel or Zev, if only because of my family's notoriety.

Conversation in 2011 between Josef Stern and Yehuda Halper (who has returned to the UofC).

Y: Do you remember Shmuli Soloveichik?
J: I think so. Wasn't he the guy whose kids dropped Hillel library books from the third floor in an attempt to get them in the small wastebasket next to the staircase on the first floor. (Shmuli- in all fairness only Yosef was trying to drop them into the wastebasket, Chaim thought the point of the game was simply to throw books)
Y: Yeah that's the one.
J: What about him?
Y: Do you know he still hasn't given me the Family Guy DVD's he bought for my wedding present.
J: Scoundrel.

Weekday Update

In no particular order, an incomplete list of books I've read in the past months:

1) The Illuminatus Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson et. al.
2) The Image and other stories by Isaac Bashevis Singer
3) The Magician of Lublin by Isaac Bashevis Singer
4) Love in the Time of Cholera by Marquez
5) Dune by Frank Herbert
6) Maps in a Mirror, by Orson Scott Card
7) The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon
8) Winning Low-Limit Hold'em by Lee Jones
9) The Unbearable Lightness of Being my Milan Kundera

I recommend all of these, though most are appropriate only for specific audiences.

Some random thoughts on academia, from an aspiring (cough) academic:
1) Academics really don't work hard, unless they choose to, and even the ones that choose to work hard work much less than similarly skilled professionals in the field.
2) That's what's great about academia, and there's nothing wrong with that. Society likes smart people to have a second to think, and (some) smart people care more about that free time than they do about the higher pay in industry.
3) Academic jobs in fields which pay extraordinarily well in industry (law,business, medicine, and once upon a time CS) are really sweet jobs. I may want to do this one day. You get paid a fraction of what your colleagues in industry earn, but three times what your colleagues who teach sociology earn, and you don't really work much harder. The anecdotal evidence I've heard suggests it's easier getting these jobs than other jobs in academia (at least in business). The downside is, well, the money, and grad school.

Intelligent Diseased Ashkenazim

The NYT article about intelligent diseased Ashkenazim is being widely discussed. People may want to read the actual study rather than the NYT writeup. Unsurprisingly, there are those who just don't like it (I don't know whether "it" is the actual study or the NYT writeup). What I don't understand is the demand to see a "mathematical-type model of the strength of pressures necessary to maintain mutations with these adverese effects based solely on the advatages the allegedly confer in terms of survival (though such models are themselves highly speculative, i think)" in order to credit the study. We are discussing a hypothesis that is relatively simple to test empirically.

on Finishing

So it appears that I am done at the UofC, or more appropriately, the UofC is done with me. If words and wishes are in order I think Chazak VeEmatz is my favorite. Mazal Tov implies that it was a chance occurrence, and congratulations is far too happy.

I was feeling quite down until I ran into a prof I had once, a grad student in the Math dept. I told him graduation was a sad occasion, he reminded me that never graduating is even sadder--an all too common occurrence in the grad school. I realized it is not so bad, it could be worse.

As I finished my last exam (after taking a train back from StL at 4:30a) I handed it in to Dean Boyer, received the standard congratulations and walked outside. My friend had called to say she was busy and could not go to see the Phantom Tollbooth so I walked to see the movie, alone, in the drizzle. Dramatically ironic, I thought.

Sylvia Plath - Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Prisoner Release

The world apparently thinks it a good idea for Israel to release her security prisoners. I, as someone who could be susceptible to further security breaches, am somewhat sceptical of the value of this approach. Further, as someone who grew up in Georgia, where people routinely bid for increased punishment for attempted murder, I find the public sentiment toward the recent freeing of these 398 security prisoners somewhat odd. Nonetheless, no one asked me and I am forced to record my opinions on this blog.

There are some indications that the Israeli prisons may not live up to their reputation. According to the Jerusalem Post,

Although initially 400 prisoners were meant to be released, at the last minute, two decided to remain in prison – one because he wished to complete the bagrut (matriculation exam) and the second because he wished to stay with his brother who was still completing his term.

While 398 did actually leave, the fact that 2 stayed really shows the humanity of the Israeli prison system. I've never heard of this happening in the United States, nor in the Russian Gulag.

My God, Your God, Our God?

I have recently had the opportunity to take time to reflect on why God enjoys making me fret. I feel that every-so-often I, the good pious little Jew-boy that I am, am forced to come to grips with some element of my theology/practice that I really had intended to avoid. There are a bevy of theological issues to encounter, and well, I only choose to ponder those that I can solve. For some reason I find myself in situations which require me to ponder, very immediately, these other "dirty nasties" (as Dad would call them) that I would have preferred to skirt. Bekitzur, God has a sense of humor (echoed by Kevin Smith and Jose).

Tonight, I had the pleasure of dining at the Brackman's and listening to an Alum (turned Chabad) and his wife (also turned) talk about their religious experience. The wife spoke of being an executive with a record label, only to find that the Rebbe would show her a path away from her job and towards her beshert [husband]. (This happens bederech hateva [in the normal course of things], of course, when she does not get the promotion) I am not slighting her religious odyssey, but rather find myself puzzling over why some peoples journey takes them towards emunah [faith] and others away. Are we (ehm, I) just not looking for God? Does He play games (i.e. challenge us)? And on what grounds is this the same God? Obviously, as a monotheist, there is only one God, but what does that mean to say that our conceptions vary so distinctly?

Why would you want to be an academic?

I was speaking to an aspiring academic (AAA) a couple days ago and he was explaining (part of) why he wanted to be an academic. AAA felt that academics do not work very hard and have flexible schedules and were willing to earn less than similarly talented individuals because they just don't value money so much. I responded that he seriously underestimates how hard academics work and he ignores the long, difficult road to tenure and the downsides of limited choice as to where one will live. Further, I argued, if the tradeoff was merely between riches and few hours + flexibility, there are much better choices. The classic example is prostitution and the sex trade, but I also suggested beer vending. WARNING- TANGENT In Chicago there are two baseball teams, so you can work some 150 games for half the year at about $250 a game (a conservative estimate) and collect unemployment for the other half year. I remember how Rachel's younger brother Joe mocked his older siblings in the summer of 2001 for earning less than he did. Rachel had just graduated U of C and was working for Chicago Partners, an economic consulting firm, and her older brother David had just graduated from Harvard and was (and still is) working for the [Government Agency]. Joe was spending his summer vacation vending at the ballpark. TANGENT OVER The academic tradeoff, I suggested, was more about valuing status more than most people do than it was about valuing money less than most people do. This is one reason, I think, that women in academia are disproportionately feminist. Why do the aspiring academics among y'all want academia ? Beware, the rest of us might try and keep you honest.

UPDATE. I implied that feminist women are more concerned with status than non-feminist women. Seeing as how I say that only based on my own thought and experience and not systematic research of any sort, I feel I should limit that suggestion to Orthodox feminist women, a group I at least have a little more knowledge of.

Non!

We'll see how this one plays out, but the feared diplomatic 500 ton juggernaut, better known as the EU, about may be slowed indefinitely.

UofC Gossip

While I was over at the house of one UofC administrator, watching a slide show on Vienna, I learned some interesting tidbits:

1. Hutchins destroyed the University by building the RI with money from the Rockefeller endowment. This led to further dippings in to the account, which did not allow it to grow. Furthermore, the need to rehabilitate the neighborhood in the 50's sapped a lot of money that the University did not foresee. They got so depreate that they started admitting 15 years olds and giving BA's to 19 year olds in order to raise money from undergrad tuition. This then led to the utter devaluation of our undergraduate degree, to the point that no grad school would accept it. High-Schools were then withholding transcripts of bright high-school kids who wanted to apply here and enrollment dropped to below 1,500 for the entire college.
That's why Hutchins left, he was forced out by the board.

2. Admission is capped at 1,200 (per class) for the foreseeable future because the University cannot provide housing to more undergrads (and promises housing to all first years).

3. The new dorm is breaking ground June '06 and will be attempted to fit into the environment--no more orange brick. Hopefully something like the new GSB.

4. While the UofC does not look at the US News rankings they get a lot of angry calls from younger alums when our ranking drops. Make of that what you will

A Glimpse of Another Jerusalem

Yesterday, Sara and I went with a Druze friend of ours to Salah a'Din street in search of some Arabic literature. Sara and I have been to a number of small villages in the North of Israel in search of books, but I found my trip into East Jerusalem somewhat different. What struck me first was how nice East Jerusalem looked. Far from looking like a town under military lockdown, it had fancy stone paved streets and sidewalks (unlike the horrible asphalt sidewalks of West Jerusalem) and the buildings were all beautiful and in excellent condition. There was a lot of construction and the new buildings promised to add even more elegance to the neighborhood.

What I noticed next was how many Palestinian flags there were and how many signs and posters against Israel. The signs of Arab resistance to Israel were far more plentiful in East Jerusalem than in any Northern village we had been to. While we were there someone was shouting his support for the Al-Aksa Martyrs and we had to be careful to avoid speaking in Hebrew.

The bookstores were a great disappointment. Apparently, philosophy has gone out of style among the Arabs here and the closest thing we were able to find was a sort of encyclopedia of the important religious thinkers (which included no texts). While at the bookstores, I scouted out the collections of books in English. Since the Arabs of East Jerusalem have a lot of foreign visitors, they sell many books in English. I figured that these books may be able to give me an idea of how these Arab Jerusalemites wish themselves to be seen. The only book I saw on Palestinian culture was a short Palestinian cookbook. Every other English book was about the intifada or their suffering. I did not see a single book on architecture, art, music, etc.

On the whole I found the trip slightly nerve wracking and when I got home to my apartment (which is about five minutes away from Salah a'Din) I had a nice glass of Ouzo and returned to my study of epistemology.

Writing from Jerusalem,

Yehuda