Yom Kippur, and Papa Smiled

For years this Jew worked on the Jewish holidays because he never even thought about belief.

And then came cancer. Again. And then he met the rabbi.

For the last two years, I think, I've done the go to the night time service then go to work the next day strategy. Uno steppo at el timo, I call it.

Then I got the call. The rabbi would like to honor you by having you carry the Torah around in the procession Monday morning, said the old woman's voice.

And I had to think about it. And now that I think about it, I wonder if it was a test. Was it by the rabbi? By Papa? By god?

And as I walked around, carrying the heavy, holy scrolls, I felt like I was the rock star I had never become. Everyone reached out to touch and kiss what I had in my arms on this most important day.

The temperature plummeted last night. The wind blew trashcan lids in the alleys. Our seven foot tall sunflowers were bent over and bouncing and no longer yellow and standing tall.

And all of us in the temple were begging for forgiveness and asking to get written in the book of life. For one more year at least. One more year of life and love.

When I listened to Rabbi Doug chant from that Torah that I had just carried around the temple for everyone to kiss, I saw my grandfather and grandmother, and my Uncle Mitch in the room as angels, and they danced next to the rabbi with 11,000 more.

When Karla and I made it home after a near-four hour service, we stopped at Whole Foods, and picked up gluten free cupcakes with thick white frosting. Once home, we gave each other toasts as if we were drinking martinis, and broke our fasts with sweet cupcakes and a kiss.

Cancer, Kabbalah, and the Cubs

Maybe that should be the new title of my memoir and this blogger. Perhaps The Year of Death is indeed, um, too Freddie Kruegeresque.

I think I remember why I gave it that title--the death of cancer, blah blah blah; radiation and chemo in dark winter, blah blah blah; perhaps the rebirth of my belief is kinda like the death of, well, enough already. You get the point.

By the way, that title is more appropriate for this year's Cubs' season.

Sorry, Sir Ron.

Close to the Edge 2009

Karla's friend brought two friends from Cinci to stay with us this weekend. They had tickets to see U2 at Soldier Field. Our football field. The first of two nights.

The world acted like a spaceship had landed in Chicago.











Next thing you know, the Edge said hello. Or potato. Or something like that with a couple of strings on an expensive guitar.

He saw Karla and said like an Irishman might say, I play guitar, right? Why not stop backstage after the show?

Little did she know that backstage meant meant Io. The moon. U2, in fact, was from Jupiter.










And all this happened, you see, while I was at temple. On a Saturday night. Near midnight. S'lichot, it's called--the post-Shabbat, pre-Rosh Hashanah holiday, identifying my sins, confessing them, then requesting forgiveness.

I'd never done this before. As a holiday, I mean.

But I did cuz this was like prep work to get written in the Book of Life. For another Year. Another Good Year.

And I'm glad I went. Papa's spirit smiled. And I learned something. Rabbi Doug said: The O.T. God is not like Jesus. He/she doesn't love everyone all the time. You have to keep praying. You have to keep knocking at the door. You have to keep ringing the bell. And then god has no choice. God's love is like gravity.

Look, I know none of this is making any sense right now. But that's where meditation comes in. And that's why I ought to do it every day. Focus on why. Focus on life. Focus on love.

Labor Day Poem for Cancer Patients

laborious |ləˈbôrēəs|
adjective
(esp. of a task, process, or journey) requiring considerable effort and time : years of laborious training | the work is very slow and laborious. See note at hard


So is learning to play a musical instrument,
to create art, to write. Does that make cancer art?
No, you idiot. Cancer is hell.
What about the pharmaceutical industry?
You've been watching too much TV. Or been online.
(You haven't been reading the newspaper, have you?)

Cancer is laborious. So is baking bread.
So is fixing cars. Paying the mechanic.
Taking a shit while constipated is laborious.

Jerry Lewis is still on TV raising money for MD.
And Ed McMahon is dead. With Johnny.

Some say love is labor. I say it is easi-
er than a 4-day workweek on a salary,
more difficult than chemo for love gets you through it.


Thesaurus
laborious
adjective
1 a laborious job arduous, hard, heavy, difficult, strenuous, grueling, punishing, exacting, tough, onerous, burdensome, back-breaking, labor-intensive, trying, challenging; tiring, fatiguing, exhausting, wearying, wearing, taxing, demanding, wearisome, tedious, boring, time-consuming; archaic toilsome