Sammy & Steve Go To Israel.

On my way.

Only Ethiopia stands in my way!

A gift from J.Z.

Fate.

Dedicated to Mishu,
in glory and disappearance. triumph and isolation.


The night was cold and unfriendly. My legs carried me, but the message I carried had long been forgotten. Every breath I took was an icicle piercing my lungs. Every thorn and stone seized the moment, grabbed all opportunities to cut at my flesh.

I beseeched the sun to make an early appearance, if not for his warmth than for his guidance. My call went unanswered. It seemed the concession was not worth his while.

I then begged the owl to forget his comfort zone and part from his branch of superiority. Tonight, just this moment, he should guide me to the light; make the glimmer a reality.

His stare was as blank and emotionless as ever, thus distancing himself from any burden or unease. How foolish I was. The owl was merely a spectator. My rush, my search was his entertainment. My end result was his bet.
In spite of the owl I raced forward. His aloofness only brightened the spark. Up in the mountain, across the valley, way beyond darkness’s reach, the spark was now looking more like a flash.

The moon expressed sympathy. But what good were his tears when they turn to rain and wrath? His sincere intentions only created mud, which sucked my energy from the core, which drained my strength till utter exhaustion. What was his compassion worth when is arm was out of reach?

My legs no longer carried my weight. Hope gave instructions while fatigue fought its battle. (What good is human attributes when one is out in the wild?) But beyond the disparity and within pain, my eyes once again encountered the inspiration; a flash that was now looking more like a glow.

It was at that moment that the mad man passed me by. Or was it I who passed him? Was he frozen in his tracks? Or was he speeding in frenzy?

Today, I only recollect his image and our words.Eyes Blood shot, bare foot, exposed scars, and drool running from his chin.

"Can we switch places? Can I hide in your infinite reality"?

I asked shouting, as if I wanted the entire universe to hear.

"Is it just me, or is the glow now looking more like a flame"?

The mad man simply closed his eyes, tightened his lips and shook his head as if to say: “tonight for once it is I who is sane. You my poor boy, you are the mad one.”

Had I not invaded his element, had I not exposed his domain, he would have been tearing at my pants begging for change. In a different life time, on a bright sunny day, I would have had the last laugh.

No time to waste, for the echo from the streams were bouncing off the treas. Her call only caused a maze of confusion. Blinded by misdirection, I still found the source; the rushing waters.

Water! Replenishes the soul, but on that night it froze every bone in my body. Waist deep, currents of shock running through my heart, I pushed forward breathing heavily while imagining the waves were clouds. Freedom depended on endurance. Endurance depended on the frame of mind.

Freed from the element of winter I reached the peak of the mountain. Waterlogged, I was carrying the weight of the past and the hunger for the future. I began my ascent. I used very rock as a step. I clawed my way upwards refusing to look down. I was victorious in my climb. Yet, I had no time or reason to celebrate. I was no longer breathing heavy. As a matter of fact I was no longer breathing at all.

Behold,

The spark of childhood laughed on by.

The flash of adolescence was short lived.

The glow of mid life was troublesome and uneventful.

The fire of ripe old age was tired and argumentative.

Regret had sunken my shoulders and moistened my eyes.

True, the fire was now looking more like flames. Indeed, the flames of hell.

Apartheid Rabbonim.

Wine Life.

Dear Spencer Hill Estate staff,

Thank you very much for making my stay extremely fun, pleasant and educational.

Now when I get back to New York and buy your wine and I see family and Friends buying it too, I will be confident in saying: Kosher wise, you guys are as honest and sincere as possible.

But most importantly, the Spencer Hill Estate staff love life, love each other and love their wine!

All the best,

Rabbi StevO.

Kaikora.

A million miles from home; an eternity away from anything I knew.

Unleashed –
Trekking from sun rise, hoping to kiss the sky, imagining night would never fall.

Rising –
On half the circle; wrapped in the clouds, and blinded by the mist.
On the other half; punished by the sun, yet grateful for his insurance.

The peak –
G-D’s emanating veins seemed to disappear from the mountain.
As we grew taller the ocean had threatened to vanish.


750 M. No traffic in the sky.

Forseight

It is now Shlomo’s turn to speak: “May I tell you about my meeting with Yeoshua? Do you remember him? The innocent preacher who had only one word on his lips: Love.
Poor man. I saw him the day he was crucified. Not far from here.

“I remember it clearly. I went over to him and said: ‘it is not you I shall be waiting for.’ He seemed serene, at peace with himself and the whole creation. I tried to make him understand that this was not the first time a Jew was dying for his faith. There were other martyrs before him. But they had gone to their death crying, screaming with pain. For them, for us, no death is worthy of being invoked or sanctified. All life is sacred, irreplaceable; it is inhuman for any person to renounce it joyfully, it is blasphemous to abandon it without remorse.

“’Are you angry with me?’ He asked.
“’No’ I answered. ‘Not angry. Just sad.’
“’Because of me?’
“’Yes, because of you. You think you are suffering for my sake and for my brothers’, yet we are the ones who will be made to suffer for you, because of you.

Since he refused to believe this, I began to describe what actions his followers would undertake in his name to spread his word. I painted a picture of the future which made him see the innumerable victims persecuted and crushed under the sign of his law. Thereupon he burst into tears of despair: ‘No, no! This is not how it will be! You are wrong, you must be! This is not how I see the reign of my spirit! I want my heritage to be a gift of compassion and hope, not a punishment in blood!’

His sobs broke my heart and I sought to comfort him. I begged him to retrace his steps, to return to his people. ‘Too late’, he answered. ‘Once the stone is thrown, it can no longer be stopped. Once the spark is lit, it must burn itself out.’ I was overcome by pity and ended up weeping not only for us but for him as well.”

-A beggar in Jerusalem.

Che Che