We Meet Someone On The Way

 

It’s Two Miles To Milltown

Once, years ago, Milltown was a fishing village and a lumber town.  There was a tribe of Natives just outside the city limits.  Years went by and the place changed and grew.  It never lost that western waterfront feeling though.  Salt water and trees and a college. That’s what I have heard.  I wasn’t born until 2010.

Lou emerged into the kitchen in her current fave outfit.  She looked a little like a scarecrow.  Extremely distressed jeans, no hem just shreds. One of dad’s hoodies with some kind of hoohah printed on it about a tractor company, over a plaid man’s shirt and all covered in one of Mom’s weird fleece jackets.  Shoes were Keds.  OK.  She had jammed her curls into a scrunchie hair thing, had on some vintage shades and was ready to go.  I don’t scare easy, so I was fine with it.

I had on my battle uniform.  Jeans, no holes.  A big grey sweatshirt and over that a pea coat, old white trainers.  Hair up in a ponytail. I stuffed four of those pink boiled eggs in my pockets. Ready to roll.

I locked the back door, pulled the kitchen curtains closed. I glanced around. Home.  Hm. Home is where the heart was.  My sister and I passed out the front door.  I turned and locked the door.  I felt like something was changing. I was not sure why. Just shutting the door felt almost final.

It was still early in the day, like ten AM.  Grey clouds covered the sky. It had been raining during the night.  No surprises there. Our lawn was a shaggy mess.  No one bothers with lawns anymore.  Down the walk.  Past the mailbox.  We almost never get any mail, but I looked just to make sure. Nothing.

Just as we walked out onto the narrow two lane asphalt the sun broke through the clouds, brilliantly, like it does sometimes when you are used to the dim light of morning around here.  The whole road shone golden.  Surely a good sign. Down the shining road we must travel. “Turn your face to the sun.”

Two miles is not very far to walk. We passed by our old neighbor’s houses. I recited each name as we came across their places.  Erickson’s white house.  No one lives there now.  Steele’s red house.  One old lady is still living there.  She stays home.  People bring her supplies. A few more places where we didn’t remember who had lived there. Overgrown lawns. Huge bushes near the houses and unpruned rose bushes surrounded the houses where once people had lived and worked.  We passed the Gustafson's two story brick house. The fruit trees had not been tended to for several years.  Did I know that it was a gloomy scene?  Maybe not really.  It was the new normal.

Lou piped up, “Jen, there is a dog following us.”  Glancing back, I saw that she was correct!  There was quite a big dog on the road behind us.  He stopped about twenty feet away when we stopped.  He appeared to be a German Shepherd mix, mixed with some other really big kind of dog.  He had a black muzzle and tan body and one ear up and one ear down.  We used to call those Indian dogs because you would see them around the Reservation.

The dog sat on the pavement watching me.  They sense who is the boss, right? I squatted down on one knee and called to him. “Hey, Buddy, come here…”  I noticed that his sides were sunken in, and his fur looked a rough. “Want an egg, Buddy?” I coaxed.  I pulled one out of my pocket and started to peel it for him.  That got his attention in a big way.  He stood and approached slowly, tail waving.  This was a big dog.  He was taller than a regular German Shepherd. The pink eggshell bits lay scattered on the wet asphalt. The bright light of the sun was shining into his very aware looking brown eyes. I was not fearful of this big dog at all. 

He came to me then and took the egg.  He didn’t mind the shell that I hadn’t peeled off yet.  He put it on the road surface, looked up at me, then carefully ate it.  I peeled another egg for him then.  I guessed that his name was Buddy now.  I guessed we had a friend for now.

Lou walked over and stood with us and patted his head.  I did too. He seemed to like the attention. “OK, Buddy”, I said. “We have to keep going.”  Lou smiled then, like I had not seen her smile in quite a long time.

Two girls and a big mutt dog, we walked together down the morning road to town.

(the dog photo is not just right, but it's very hard to find a Shepherd/Mastiff photo just like I wanted!)

Death Of A Ninja

 

I must confess that I am a lover of gizmos, contraptions and doohickies.

This is just an example.  Not my kitchen. lol!

💜💀💜

I could have called this post Camping Out On My Mountain Of Stuff.  It's not all my stuff as you know. Over the past X number of years many object have come to nest here with us.  It's frankly terrifying.

My point is that most of it is archived.  Most of it never gets brought out and used. It's like we exist as caretakers of someone else's collections and we just camp among it. I wouldn't say that it is hoarding, but it's um well...crowded.  

I love gadgets that do clever, constructive things.  There are two knitting machines. Two treadle sewing machines.  I have no idea how many knitting needles. One little loom.  The VitaMix.  Two Cuisinarts.  Oh about three electric sewing machines. Two are electronic.  One spinning wheel. Two drop spindles.  Yards of books, including a couple hundred cookbooks.  There is the usual contingent of coffee makers.  One electric.  Two stove top espresso makers and three other manual coffee makers.  Two juicers and a Kitchenaid mixer.  It's terrible.  I'm sure there is more.  You get the idea. I wanted to do and make everything.  

There was also the Ninja air fryer, pressure cooker, slow cooker etc.  It was a cool contraption.  So cool.  Many functions.  Of course I didn't use even half of them. Yesterday the Ninja died a miserable death.  It began speaking gibberish and refusing to shut off.  I think it's in communication with the mothership.  I had to unplug the monster to get it to shut down.  It's going to a landfill.

I think this collection is fairly typical.  Americans have so much stuff.  Secondhand stores scare me.  We are like the people in Wall-e, the animated movie, living on a load of stuff all over the inhabited parts of the planet.  What to do, what to do?  Is there a solution?  Donating it just moves the problem out of the house.  There is a whole school of thought that says you can't bring anything new in unless something also goes out!  It sounds so good and so easy.

The wistful truth is that I know perfectly well how to keep house with just a few implements. You know, the way my life was before.  I dream of elegant simplicity.  I do. But, since confession is good for the soul..... I ordered a new Ninja tonight...

Not quite there. lol....

Men Can Live As Brothers

 

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Lately, in the context of trying to live a more Christly life, I've been examining more closely how I view my fellow man. There certainly seems to be an abundance of sin in the world, and people in all walks of life who have attached themselves to it and made it their own. But passing judgment on others is tricky business. Jesus laid down the rules when he said:

Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?  Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.

(Matthew 7:1-5) 

The Master also provided these admonishments in his Sermon on the Mount on how we should treat our brothers:

But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.

...

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven:

(Matthew 5:22;44-45)

And for emphasis, James reminded us:

However, if you fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” you are doing well.  But if you show partiality, you commit sin, and are convicted by the law as transgressors.  For whoever keeps the whole law, but falls short in one particular, has become guilty in respect to all of it. 

...

What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? 

(James 2:8-10;14)

By following more closely, I've begun to change my views and reactions from judging and accusing to loving and understanding. For instance, I'm trying to no longer see people as hopeless criminals or sick and miserable, but rather to recognize them as fellow brothers and sisters, children of God, who are acting under the spell of some worldly lie. 

God's will didn't make some people criminals, and others sick and miserable, so as his infinite reflection, I have no authority to see them in this way either. I'm trying to see with purer eyes, that we are all children of God, but at times we are all tempted to sin, turn away, and fall under some worldly spell. The key to healing is to realize that these worldly troubles, crime, misery, disease, etc. are not the truth about God's perfect image, but rather a conflicting mixture of our human, corporeal illusions which need to be negated through the eyes of love.

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Off To See The Wizard, Still Nibbling At the Novel Idea

 

We’re off to see the wizard!

💬

 

I kicked the side of Lou’s bed and did a little cake walk up and down the room, admiring myself in her dresser mirror.  I must admit I looked good. My black hair hung straight down to my breasts and I was slender and tall.  Not bad.

A muffled sleepy voice leaked out of a pile of quilts.  “Leave me alone Jen!”.  Lou is not like me.  She is soft and nearly blond and sleepy.  But she is still a kid, they sleep a lot. “Get dressed Lou” I yodeled.   “Places to go and things to do!”  She hated my morning routine. I sang her a cheesy rendition of Lucille, h/t Little Richard.  Hey, no new music for us.  All we have are my parent’s old records. She wrapped the quilts tighter.

None of this had anything to do with going to school.  There was no high school within 25miles and we don’t drive, of course.  No one does.  I don’t miss school, but it is weird.  We read books.  Next thing on the agenda was food. I ran down the stairs two at a time to the kitchen.

This morning it was boiled eggs and tea.  I had a dozen pinkish eggs from the lady next door who had some kind of hens who laid pink ones.  No wonder I am so skinny, I thought.  No sugar today! You can’t even find it in the store.  The tea consisted of mint leaves from the back yard, dried in the sun.  It’s ok.

So, I boiled those eggs!  I snapped on the radio.  No internet for us.  In fact, I don’t know if it still exists.  Oh it probably does, for important state and military types.  Since we have no internet, we have to go into Milltown in person to get a bit of supplemental money in the form of these little one-use bills.   There was a bit of a report of some guy in town attracting crowds and getting people all excited.

Lou’s rumpled head appeared, the rest of her bod still wrapped in one of those quilts mom had made years ago.  She sat on the bottom step and looked at me blearily. “I wish mom and dad were here…, you can’t cook. You never make anything good.”

“We have to go the state office today, so dress like you wanna take a long walk Lou.  Also, there is some kind of insurrection or something going on.  I want to see what that is.” She went back upstairs. I could hear drawers and doors slamming.  Good.  She was moving.

 Next chapter they meet a dog!

 

Prophecy With A Small p, Insight

 

John Singer Sargent, of course

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I thought this experience might be of some interest, so I will open it up a bit.

Everybody knows that prophecy is not only telling what is coming but also telling what is.  It's enlightenment.  

Yesterday, as I was walking from one room into another (good huh?) the Voice said to me "you treat your body like a side of beef".  Ah? I do?

What does that mean?  A side of beef is dead and meant to be consumed! It doesn't know or feel anything.  Recklessness certainly indicates a lack of respect.  Carelessness at the very least.  Well, I have messed up.

Being careless with the physical body doesn't make me more spiritual, even if for some reason I might have thought that.  It means that I am less spiritual because of my lack of appreciation for the magnificent biological machine I live in.  Things have not been in the right order in my mind.  

In a way, it's a kind of childishness.  Like I was in charge of a crying baby, I gave in to what she wanted and paid the price.  I wanted not to be thoughtful and act out of wisdom.  I was naturally strong and got away with this thoughtlessness for many years.

Will this change me?  I have yet to see, but I think it could because life is ordered by the mind.  I have been given a bit of enlightenment.

How should I treat Brother Ass?  Where does it fit in Creation?  Perhaps it is a kind of interface that needs to be kept in good running order.  The mind suffers when the body hurts too much and is weak.  

Also, destruction is the order of the day from the forces of evil out working in the world and I sure don't want to acquiesce to those forces! I should not roll over and let it happen on my small plantation.

Anyhow, that is what I have been thinking on today. Anybody have more to add or disagree with?  All ears, um, eyes!

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Psalm 19

14 Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.

Were The Song Writers Righter?

Well, let's see:

Bob said A hard wind's gonna blow, but then he said, you gotta serve somebody!

Tom said It's good to be king! and something good's coming for you and me!

Dr John mentions being in the right place at the wrong time! 💀

Capt. Beefheart said this is the day love came to town. 💗

Even Elvis weighs in with only fools rush in...

The Beatles covered it all.  In a Yellow Submarine.

ZZ Top, often bawdy, usually correct.

Quicksilver asks who do you love?

Kansas suggested that we carry on.

The examples are numberless.  Nothing too profound usually, but deeply heartfelt often.  Sometimes just acknowledgement of life as it is.

Sometimes no words at all speak loudly to the heart.

I would love to hear your examples.  I know nothing much about Country or Western, except John Cash.  He had some harsh words, but true.

Sometimes a little space is good.  

💙

Questions, and a Bonus!

I have a couple questions for you.  I wonder if there are subjects that you wish to discuss?  Is there something you are yearning to express?

We love suggestions and quest articles.

Tell the ravens!

They will spread the word!

_________________________________________________________________

Now, on to our bonus.

🎆🎆🎆🎆

A Plea To Uncle Ralphie

Oh Uncle Ralphie, you denizen of forest's drear mysterious shadows.  Listen.  Port us away to the silent Sierras, please, or maybe Grays Harbor's rainy deeps. Even Vermont or upper New York state would be fine!

You, keeper of the lore.  May we be invisible too!

Passer in the dark, shield us.  Teach us your ways.

You have beheld us in our manifold foolishness for these many years.  You know the sport of not being there, and how fine it is.  You have pinned the tail on our donkeys behind our backs.  You know where it's at, and where it ain't!

Where is the safest place Uncle? Is it mountain side, or beach, or meadow? Perhaps the murky recesses of some cave?

Don't eat us or beat us, but lead us.  We are all ears! Come on out of the mists, oldest relative of mankind. Put down that big rock, let us converse!

Things have gotten dicey in the haunts of man.

Some of us are real stinkers.  Not like you, oh pungent one.

So, what do you say?  Is it a deal?

😁

Trance And Dance

She had been walking a long time.  In fact, forever.  Walking was all her memory held.  The road was rough and seemed as if it might have been bombed at some point.  There were holes and areas of no asphalt even.  She stumbled frequently.

She carried a large bell in her right hand.  On the fourth step she rang her bell and it was a dreary note that didn't carry far.  Each fourth step the bell clanged dully.  It was a sort of march.

She had no idea what she looked like, but we may see the dark gown, sewn in some indifferent style.  The hem faded down into some sort of mist over the surface of the road.  There was a coat and her hair was loose on her shoulders.  There was no way to guess her age, for she was not in good focus.

Dark animals crossed the road sometimes, giving her faint baleful glances.  Trees of no particular sort leaned over dropping chilly drops of water. The road seemed to have no destination, though she remembered something she had heard once about a Place.

Around her left ankle was a chain fastened to a type of bracelet.  It chafed.  The chain receded back behind her down the road and into the mist.  If she looked she thought she saw the shadows of her parents and perhaps further back those of her four grandparents, all holding her chain in ghostly hands.  If she tried, she could see even further back.

Another day dawned darkly.  She walked on.

She came at last to a sort of open courtyard.  The sky was a bit lighter here.  There was a bench beside a small planted bed of some sort of flowers, though she didn't know what kind they were. There was a ringing tone in the air.  Perhaps that flower was a rose of some kind.  The word rose came back to her slowly as from a remembered dream.

Here you are, said the Silver Rose!  Sit down child, it said, though the rose knew her name.  She was so astounded that she sat, as bidden, and opened her eyes!

There was no chain! There was no bell. The rose was silent and golden, nodding there in the light. There was only brilliance in the daylight. There were the calls of robins, and some crows. The wind tossed some nearby trees audibly. She remembered her name then. There was nothing but light and warmth and she remembered love too, as from a dream. It filled her heart until she could hardly bear it. She began to be healed then. And she found that she was real, after all.

Our sister took a little nap in the comfort of a warm day on the nice grass.  When she woke, she was awake and went about her life rejoicing.  All her joys are her own. She gives as she has received.

There Was A Little Girl Who Lived In A Village

Once there was wee maiden, just tall enough to see over the table top. She only knew she lived in a village, so we shall not know where it was either! She only knew her Mother and Father, the Grandmother and the baby boy.

One day, seeing her mother spinning and spinning a fine thread on the wooden spindle, she was filled with the desire to spin also.  For the thread was very beautiful indeed, fine and shining like gold. Her hands ached to try it.

Oh Mother help me, she cried, for I must spin also!  Oh Daughter, said the Mother, I am too busy to stop and help you!  Go and see the Grandmother in her little room around the corner!

The anxious little maiden ran around the corner and down the hall to Grandmother's little room.  She found Grandmother dreaming by an open window.  She asked quietly, for she was a kind little being, Grandmother I must learn to spin and Mother is far too busy to take time from her work, and the baby also.

The Grandmother whispered to the wee maiden.  Child I cannot see to help you, for my eyes are dim with time and care and work.  You must find help where you may. God bless you my child.

May, for that was her name, went out to the meadow near home seeking help.  She wept a bit, then dried her chin, for she was actually a stalwart little thing. When she set her mind, her mind was set! 

Oh who will teach me, she cried to the sky.  Now, a wise old Raven was sitting in the branchs of a nearby tree, among the green leaves.  She cocked her head and looked at the child with a glittering eye.

Listen to me, croaked the bird kindly.  I will help you but if you tell anyone who taught you, they will laugh at you.  

First you must find a sweet old ewe in the field and walk with her for a while. For she will enjoy a chat.  Ask her if you may pluck some tufts of loose wool from her sides. If she agrees, then gather up a good armful of the cleanest, whitest wool from her that you can find.

Put it in a safe place and then find a straight little stick as long as your forearm.  It must be smooth and as straight as possible.  When you have that, go to the marsh in the meadow and look on the banks of the little stream and gather up a good handful of wet clay.

The Raven paused for her voice was a bit tired.  May, stood listening, as the sweet breezes blew over the field, lifting her brown hair.  She memorized her lesson so far.  When Raven had rested her voice a little she said, next you must make a nice round ball with your clay.  Then put the end of the little stick all the way through it, so that a little thumb of it sticks out of the bottom.  Then lay it aside to dry for a few days.  In the meantime, she continued, get your wool and fluff it up as loose as you can and pull out any weed seeds or bits of grass.  Put it in a bag until the clay ball is dry, child.

Now I must fly away for seven days, said the Raven.  I will return and talk with you then.  So May went home and the Raven flew to wherever Ravens go, and May contented herself in the house with her Mother, Father, Grandmother and the infant boy.  She helped as much as she could and kept her own counsel.

When the week was over, May returned to the field and the tree and there Raven was, waiting, picking through her feathers and sighing. Now, says she, go get your spindle, for such it is now!  Get your bag of wool and let's begin!  May ran back to the house and got her wool and her spindle and was back in a moment.

It's hard for a writer of fairytales to describe to you how Raven went about teaching May.  Suffice it to say that it happened.  Spinning, after all, is a normal human endeavor!  Raven taught her to pull out a few strands and put a little twist in them and to attach them to the spindle.  I forgot to say that she was instructed to cut a small notch in the top of the stick to tie her strands to.  Raven set her to drawing out fibers and at the same time giving a twist to the weighted stick....on and on and on and May became very skilled, as she had wished to. All the thread she spun would fill a whole house, it seemed.

Years went by.  May grew tall. She spun many a mile of very fine thread on a new, much better spindle that her Father had made. A fine smooth spindle it was with a clever little knob at the top and a smooth stone weight on it. 

May met Jack and married him too.  There were children.  Five!  The children grew and married and life went on in its sweet old cycle.

May became an old lady.  Her sight was poor now.  But she sat by an open window where she could feel the sun on her face and smell the breezes.  She listened to the Ravens as she always had. For Ravens know a lot and are fine observers of mankind.

One day as she was dreaming by her window in the little room at the back of her daughter's house a small girl came to her.  She said, Grandmother I want to learn to spin and my Mother is too busy to help me!  Will you help me?

May said, come here child, sit by my side here on this little stool and let me tell you what a Raven told me long ago. Then little Jane learned the lessons that the Raven had taught May and that's the way the world works at the best of times, is it not so?

And so says Raven also.

Challenges. Nisayon, Hebrew translation

Today I am taking a look at another word in the book about fifty formative words in the Hebrew language and just noting the difference from our English word challenges.

In English challenges are trials or tests which prove the value of whatever is being tested.  Test, or Middle English teste, refers to an earthen vessel in which molten metals were tried or tested.  Trial in English comes from the French word triet, which was a process of testing by experimentation or examination, whether something was as it was supposed to be.  That which was on trial had to prove its self against doubt.

In Hebrew the word for a challenge is nisayon. It is based on the Hebrew root nes, which means to raise up, it also refers to a banner.  A challenge, or experience, is God giving you a chance to rise to what he knows you are capable of.  Just a slight difference.

From the book, The Big Idea:

Tests and trials in life are an indication of inner strength, not weakness; they are G-d's way of letting us know we are ready for the next level.

In addition:

ARAMAIC WORD STUDY – TRANSFORMATION

ARAMAIC WORD STUDY – TRANSFORMATION – NSIONA נסיונא Nun Samek Yod Vav Nun Aleph

James 1:2-3: “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; (3) Knowing [this], that the trying of your faith worketh patience.”

"By digging a little deeper I found that in the Greek the word for temptations was peirasmois which means adversity or trials. The next verse then calls these trials dokimion which is the idea of trying out or testing to determine what is genuine. In other words all these problems we face are only to prove to you that your faith is genuine.

However, James native language was not Greek but Aramaic he may not have known Greek at all but just dictated to a scribe in Aramaic who translated it into Greek. In the Aramaic, unlike the Greek which uses two different words for temptations and trying, there is only one word used and that is nsiona which is an amazing word which means all that the Greek teaches and more.

In its Semitic origins this word comes from the root word nes which is used for a banner or a symbol of honor, such as a uniform worn by those who earned the right to wear that uniform. It is the same as the Hebrew word nisayon used in Genesis 22:1: “And it came to pass after these things, that God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him, Abraham: and he said, Behold, [here] I [am].” Our old pal KJV once again translates this nsiayon as tempt but even if we put it into modern English and use the word test that raises more questions. Why would God need to test Abraham. He knew Abraham’s heart and desires. When I was a teacher I would test my students to see how much they know, because unlike God I could not read their minds or hearts. But, you see that is not the testing of nisayon. There is also another word in Hebrew for testing that is bechinah which is a testing to show how much you know. That is the test I gave my students. Nisayon or nsiona in the Aramaic is a test not to prove how much you know but to provide an obstacle or struggle to propel a person beyond their limits."

 

I think she is singing about trials in the English sense!

And The Knit Goes On

 By now everyone has seen the beautiful yarn that Lady Bikki sent me.  It's very soft and smooth!  I must say that if it was handspun the spinner was very skilled.  It's fairly easy to do a small tight yarn.  Paradoxically it's harder to do a thicker yarn, like this one, without getting it too tight or too loose, or just lumpy.

Here is some of my spinning. Top is spun on a Rick Reeves red oak wheel.  The bottom photo is done on a simple drop spindle.  The drop spindle is harder to master than the wheel.  As you can see I am still doing quite thin strands of yarn.  Normally, you ply two or three of these singles, as they are called, into a finished yarn.  This also has the effect of averaging out the slight inconsistencies in the thickness of the individual plies of singles.  It also makes a more robust yarn that will not come undone.

I also asked for suggestions about what to make out of this nice yarn.  It is definitely not sock yarn as it is not washable like modern sock yarn which is made of wool treated to be machine washable and about 25% nylon.

I was thinking some sort of shawl or scarf with an open stitch, lacy even.  A type of hat called a Chullo was suggested by LoneStar.  A hat is a very good use for this weight of yarn, and it would be nice to wear because it isn't the slightest bit scratchy.

I summoned up some photos of Chullos.  Some of them, as worn in the Andes, at home, are very ornate indeed.

Some made for sale, even in countries such as Norway, are rather much simpler.

I immediately began thinking of designs with You Know Who knitted in, perhaps somewhat subtly.  Maybe just foot prints!  With some foliage and such and a nice border above and below.  Perhaps in a cream color, or maybe grey!

What I don't know is who would be willing to wear such a thing.  That's always the way isn't it?  If you are, let me know. lol

This thing continues on its expansive way also.  

💓😁💓

Little Clown Cars Full Of Angry Yeshiva Bros!

What were we doing there anyhow?

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 Since we were attending a Messianic Jewish Congregation in Bellevue, WA...

We decided to send me along.  It was a good cheap chance to see Israel.  

 I hope that you can click on these and see some of what was going on.

I see that the Trump administration bought the old Diplomat Hotel, where we stayed, as part of the new American Embassy there.  Very good!

The thing that was unusual about this conference was how controversial it was.  The official Jewish organizations were very upset, and set out to protest us, wherever they found us.  In reaction to Jews for Jesus passing out pamphlets and talking with people, the Yeshiva bros made up a pamphlet called Jews for Judaism and papered the world with them!

They literally followed people around and spied on them.  They were very bumbling and funny about it too!  They also posted rude posters.

In years before that, it was literally illegal to be there to present Jesus to the Jewish population.  Sounds silly, after all, he was one of them.

 

Faith Is Costly for Jewish Believers in Israel 

 Facing Israel's Wrath

Such an increase in Messianic Jewish activity is not without cost, however. At least a dozen organizations are devoted to assailing Messianics. Believers say that members of the best-known group, Yad L’Achim, periodically harass congregational leaders by disseminating distorted information about them. A poster with a photo of one Messianic couple and their toddler son, for example, warned: “Watch out for these people.” They are always smiling and helpful, it said, noting, “They love you because they want you to love Jesus.” Yad L’Achim’s tactics also include demonstrations and, some believers claim, bugging telephones, opening mail, and breaking into homes.

Another antagonist is Shmuel Golding, known for the weekly debates at his Jerusalem Institute of Biblical Polemics, where he attacks some 180 New Testament fulfillments of Old Testament prophecy. Golding also offers training for those who wish to dissuade young Messianics, and has “counselors” in place in several countries. In his own counseling, Golding claims a 75-percent rate of Messianics “coming back to their Jewish roots.”

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The Diplomat Hotel had been closed but they re-opened it for us.  It was huge, old fashioned, worn, and actually a little spooky.  I told some of the young guys that it reminded me of the Hotel California.  They were concerned that I must not know what the song was about.  I was so old you know.  40 that year.

I got to talk to some Australians in the bar there.  They were concerned that we not think that all Australians were "like that".  And truly they were not.

The big controversy has always been..do you have to quit being a Jew if you believe that Jesus is the promised Messiah.  Many would insist that you were then a Christian.  Sometimes I have used the terms Jewish Christian..or Christian Jew!  Sometimes that is understood.  Sometimes it is seen as offensive.

How to say this..  I don't think God ever intended for there to be any division at all between Jews and Gentiles after Messiah came.  But, being human, people wandered off. I will leave that, at that.  I will note that I believe modern rabbinic Judaism is off the mark also.

My old rabbi, Murray Silberling.

He didn't have grey hair back then!

lol

We Spent A Night In A Kibbutz in May 1988

 Per Fifi's suggestion about writing something about Israel when I was there with my congregation's tour group, I thought I would say a few words about the kibbutz.

In looking at a list of kibbutzim, I know that it was one of the Kfars in Northern Israel. I don't have photos because some turkey stole my camera off the plane when we landed in NYC to change planes.  Otherwise I would probably remember better.  I believe that it was Kfar Giladi up near the border with Lebanon.

The Lebanese civil war went from 1975 until 1990. We were there while it was still going on.  I was very surprised to hear real shelling!  It was a dire and sad sound. Please Lord, I never want to hear that again.

Kfar Giladi

History

Kibbutz Giladi was founded in 1916 by members of Hashomer on land owned by the Jewish Colonization Association. It was named after Israel Giladi, one of the founders of the Hashomer movement. The area was subject to intermittent border adjustments between the British and the French, and in 1919, the British relinquished the northern section of the Upper Galilee containing Tel Hai, Metula, Hamra, and Kfar Giladi to the French jurisdiction. After the Arab attack on Tel Hai in 1920, it was temporarily abandoned. Ten months later, the settlers returned. Several older buildings stand on the kibbutz that memorialize previous battles on the site, before and during the 1948 Arab–Israeli War.

Between 1916 and 1932, the population totaled 40–70. In 1932, the kibbutz absorbed 100 newcomers, mainly young immigrants. From 1922 to 1948, between 8,000–10,000 Jewish immigrants were smuggled into Palestine through Kibbutz Giladi, circumventing the Mandatory ban on Jewish immigration.[3] The immigrants came from Syria, Lebanon, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan and Eastern Europe.

In an operation known as Mivtzah HaElef, 1,300 Jewish children were smuggled out of Syria between 1945 and 1948. At the kibbutz, the children were dressed in work clothes and hidden in the kibbutz chicken coops and cowsheds.[3]

In August 2006, during the 2006 Lebanon War, twelve reserve IDF soldiers were killed after being hit by a Katyusha rocket launched by Hezbollah from Southern Lebanon. The group of artillery gunners were gathering on the kibbutz in preparation for action in the conflict.

Lots more at the link.

This has to be the right one.

We had the usual kibbutz dinner scene, buffet style service, food prepared by residents.  Then we had to take a historical meeting about the place, with speeches.  I don't remember the speeches but I do remember one speaker.  He was an Israeli general, and if that is not enough, at the age of 60 something he walked up to the stage which was at chest height to him, put one hand on the stage and vaulted up there to give his speech.  Tough, I reckon. lol!

From there we hung around outdoors a bit.  I bought some really awful Israeli, but very cheap smokes, for about a buck.  Then to bed in the very basic dorm type rooms.  One other wife traveling alone and her daughter stayed in my room with me.  Hard beds! lol. But after all it was a kibbutz.

The place was something like this, but very much a farm.  At our place the buildings were surrounded by hollyhocks about 12 feet tall.  As soon as the sun hit the windows in the morning I could hear bees!  These "bees" were at least an inch long and black.

Large black bee - Israel 2-3cm

In addition, a word about Israeli breakfasts of the kind they have in hotels and places like communal dining rooms.

It's buffet style, of course.  I mean after all, we are tough.  We wait on ourselves, right?

OK, always freshly squeezed orange juice.  It's a thing there. Blood oranges.

Mounds of olives.

Three different tartnesses of yogurt, plain.

Fresh rolls and butter and jam.

Fruit depending on what's good that day.

Boiled or scrambled eggs.

Smoked whitefish.  How I yearned for them when I got home!

The ubiquitous Israeli salad of cucumber, tomato and green pepper.

Sweet rolls sometimes.

Tea and coffee, with cream and sugar available.

I think that's it.  I never bothered buying lunch after that spread.  Also we all took a roll away with us, full of butter.

When I got home, miserably jet lagged, going to sleep at 4 in the afternoon and stuff like that, I gathered my children and went to the nearest Med style restaurant, in Edmonds I believe, and we had a sad substitute for the real Israeli meal.

This escapade was paid for with our income tax refund that year.  I remember that the whole deal was about $2000.00.  I had almost no cash!

A Homely Meditation

 This odd little squiggle is the beginning of a raglan sleeved sweater that I am making for myself.  It is being made top down, so what you are looking at is going to be the neck opening. Collar or just a band added after main construction is done.    

I chose light green because of a color memory I have, of the first yarn anyone gave me when I was kid.  It made such a permanent impression on me that I decided to give way, though it's not a color I would normally think of wearing.  It is a coming full circle of sorts thing.

Why knit?  In a way it's a terrible waste of time.  But I find that it slows me down in a good way also.  It forces me to be logical.  You can't be illogical and get anywhere making a sweater.  I think while I knit.  I can just be.  There is no tension in it.  It is, in fact, easier to knit than not to knit!  It's like breathing.  In goes the needle, wrap the yarn, out comes the next stitch.  All is right with the world.  It is something that I can get right.  Getting something right is a great comfort. I feel centered.  I have faith.  

It also helps me listen to human speech without fidgeting, such as movies or other programming.  Speaking of which, here is a nice travel program from last night. Things are certainly built up since I was there in 1988!

Shalom!

💓

That Silly Commercial Holiday Is Upon Us

 

Philosophy of Mind: Ancient and Medieval

The mind is a modern notion. But like many modern notions, it did not emerge from nowhere. What contemporary philosophers mean when they talk about the mind is part of a long tradition, stretching back through the Middle Ages to Greek and Roman antiquity....etc....

Ancient Greek and Roman Views

The main precursor of the modern concept of mind is the ancient Greek notion of soul (psyche ), which was originally used to mark the difference between things that are alive and things that are dead. Conceptually, it was related to breath (pneuma ), and was thought to come in degrees corresponding to different states of consciousness. Thus, a dead man was said to have lost his psyche entirely, whereas a sleeping or fainting man has lost enough of it to lose consciousness, though that too would bring him a step closer to death. The soul is composed of extremely light and tenuous matter, variously identified with pure and "breathable" elements such as air (as by the philosophers Thales [c. 625–c. 547 b.c.e.] and Anaximenes [570?–500? b.c.e.]) or fire (by Heraclitus [c. 540–480 b.c.e.]). Most pre-Socratic thinkers would have understood the expression "he breathed his last" literally, and seen the dying gasps of a Homeric warrior, say, as the exhalation of his soul. If psyche could exist in a disembodied state—and it is doubtful whether most early Greek philosophers thought that it could—it would have been as a shadowy or ephemeral form, like the denizens of Hades.

And lots and lots more of that.

Medieval Views

Two main factors shaped medieval thinking about the mind or soul. The first is religious doctrine. The idea that God freely created the world from nothing is absent from ancient Greek philosophy, but more or less definitive of medieval philosophy in all three monotheistic traditions: Christian, Islamic, and Jewish. In the Western or Christian tradition, it was expressed in terms of providence, the idea that creation is a product of God's wisdom and goodness, and that this is manifested in the orderly structure of the universe all the way down to its smallest details. Needless to say, it would have struck an ancient Greek philosopher as absurd that something could be made from nothing, or that a divinity—especially an omnipotent divinity—would care what happens to beings less powerful than it. But such doctrines changed the way the mind was understood, granting pride of place to the human soul and human modes of cognition. Since humans are made in God's image (Gen. 1:26), their own nature must in some way reflect the divine.

Etc, etc.

****************************************************************************

More or Less, Depending!

All of this is in aid of asking where does love live?  Does it live in my belly as some ancients thought?  Does it live in the pump that moves blood through my body?

Does love live with where we think our minds live, in our brains?

Another question for you.  Are the song writers righter?  

Are they closer to the heart of the matter?

Does anyone feel like telling love stories?  

With love from my silly heart to yours!

Even if the thought processes are tenuous, they are there.