It started most recently when the Utlra-Orthodox community in which the Munchhausen mother lives chose to attack Jewish policemen, burn garbage bins and prevent the family from receiving the help they most desperately need. To admit that this woman has a pathological psychological disorder and needs intervention would be opening their community to the outside, and admitting that just because they are religious, they are not perfect and harmonious, but rather human. Having witnessed first hand in my work as a Chiropractor the devastating effects of a mother's Munchhausen by Proxy, I can say that this family, and the entire community, needs help in understanding and treating this disease.
Because she isn't really ill, and she didn't really endanger at least two of her children, it is a vast conspiracy against the Chareidi community.
As if the initial burst of violent and pointless protest wasn't enough, they took out traffic lights in major intersections throughout Jerusalem, not only destroying public property but also making driving in the Holy City dangerous. It would almost be acceptable (NOT) if they actually worked and paid taxes that would go toward repairing the accumulated damage they have caused thus far and over the years.
Then we have the ongoing Shabbat protests against the privately owned parking lot in downtown Jerusalem. These supposedly religious and Sabbath-honoring Ultra-Orthodox Jews somehow feel that it is preferable to spend their day of rest standing in the center of town, throwing rocks at cars attempting to enter the parking lot, and getting dragged away into police cars and getting arrested rather than spending quiet quality time with their family.
Because this parking lot represents a personal affront to the Chareidi community, who feel that they "own" Jerusalem and its politicians; Mayor Nir Barakat has had to increase security for himself and his family due to death threats from this supposedly morally superior community.
Then last night's news showed footage of the favored summer activity of young boys and teenagers from the Ultra-Orthodox set, who apparently have nothing better to do in between not getting a proper education during the school year. Captured on tape, these children take pot shots and completely dismember traffic lights in their neighborhood and throughout the city.
Because destruction of public property is AOK in Israel, as the modern State of Israel has not been sanctioned by G-d or their Messiah, and is the "Treife Medina" [Hebrew = the Non-Kosher State]
I can promise you that if they lived in any other country on the planet, this behaviour would not take place, as Rabbinic literature and halacha mandates that Jews respect the law of the land in which they live. Unless of course they live in the only Jewish State...hmm.
Once these boys return to their yeshiva studies, they will learn that they are better than everyone else because they dress like 18th century Polish nobility - the same class who stole Jewish property and historically randomly massacred Jews - and that is fine to pick up a smoking habit to inhibit their natural sexual drives. The Torah states that you are forbidden to do anything to yourself or others that directly leads to physical damage or death, but I suppose that smoking doesn't count. I blame society, but I blame the parents even more, for not making better choices for their children.
The Chareidi community consistently complains that they are misunderstood and misrepresented, but how can any rational human being think otherwise? How can the Ultra-Orthodox claim that they represent G-d's and the Torah's true intent?
This heathen thinks otherwise.
Showing posts with label Chiropractic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chiropractic. Show all posts
Friday, August 28, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Harry, On the Mend
Last week, there was a period of several hours when my cat, Harry "The Highlander", acted in a manner most uncharacteristic to his normal behaviour. It passed, and I forgot about it until this past Thursday, when he stopped eating and drinking, did not want to go outside at all and rejected T-U-N-A. Chiropractic adjustments seemed to have no effect, though it had in the past. The tuna clinched it, and I took him to the vet after there was no evidence of using the litter box, after 24 hours.
Dr. Tzvi, the vet, ran a battery of tests, took blood and gave Harry an IV drip to deal with his dehydration. Every half hour or so, Dr. Tzvi would check our the lifeless lump that used to be my very active cat, look at his blood test results, shake his head and say to me, "This is not good at all," and yet refused to elaborate. When I would ask for details or try to understand the worst case scenario - having been raised in the Jewish/Polish mother model -the vet would refuse to explain until all data came in. But I was not supposed to freak out, of course.
The short version of the story: "most probably" a parasitic infection that is causing severe anemia and break-down of his red blood cells. If I had not brought him in for a check-up, he "probably" would have died over the weekend. Then he casually mentioned cancer and FIV as alternative diagnoses, if no improvement appeared within four days.
The good news: the very same day, after receiving the IV plus anti-biotics and steroids to avoid RBC break-down, Harry started to get ornery, used the litter box and tried to eat food. Today, one day later, he is more active and asking to go outside. Which he can't, until his 21 day course of anti-biotics is completed.
When I told my mother about the stress this caused, she did not hide her true feelings; there is some part of her that fears that I am falling into the Crazy Cat Lady stereotype, and that having a cat means I will die alone and single. Her immediate response to my sadness was, "Oh well, your cat is dying. Pets die you know..." Thanks for the sympathy and support, Mom; surprising all the more so because she grew up all her life with cats as pets.
The aspect of this episode that continues to bother me concerns the clinical approach (as expert and professional as I could want) towards my feelings and fears. Never mind the fact that I am the one paying the veterinarian's bill, all 600 NIS of it, but that fact that pets (as with children) reflect the environment created by their owner and in the home. Like any other doctor, he could use some improvement in his bed-side manner towards the human in this equation.
I always mock the American pet owners who take their dog or cat to an animal shrink, when their house mate misbehaves by peeing on the carpet or destroying furniture. It is ultimately therapy for the owner, as animals cannot speak English (duh) and they simply react to the atmosphere around them.
Oh, and I think that I would subscribe to a pet care HMO in Israel, if such a thing existed.
Dr. Tzvi, the vet, ran a battery of tests, took blood and gave Harry an IV drip to deal with his dehydration. Every half hour or so, Dr. Tzvi would check our the lifeless lump that used to be my very active cat, look at his blood test results, shake his head and say to me, "This is not good at all," and yet refused to elaborate. When I would ask for details or try to understand the worst case scenario - having been raised in the Jewish/Polish mother model -the vet would refuse to explain until all data came in. But I was not supposed to freak out, of course.
The short version of the story: "most probably" a parasitic infection that is causing severe anemia and break-down of his red blood cells. If I had not brought him in for a check-up, he "probably" would have died over the weekend. Then he casually mentioned cancer and FIV as alternative diagnoses, if no improvement appeared within four days.
The good news: the very same day, after receiving the IV plus anti-biotics and steroids to avoid RBC break-down, Harry started to get ornery, used the litter box and tried to eat food. Today, one day later, he is more active and asking to go outside. Which he can't, until his 21 day course of anti-biotics is completed.
When I told my mother about the stress this caused, she did not hide her true feelings; there is some part of her that fears that I am falling into the Crazy Cat Lady stereotype, and that having a cat means I will die alone and single. Her immediate response to my sadness was, "Oh well, your cat is dying. Pets die you know..." Thanks for the sympathy and support, Mom; surprising all the more so because she grew up all her life with cats as pets.
The aspect of this episode that continues to bother me concerns the clinical approach (as expert and professional as I could want) towards my feelings and fears. Never mind the fact that I am the one paying the veterinarian's bill, all 600 NIS of it, but that fact that pets (as with children) reflect the environment created by their owner and in the home. Like any other doctor, he could use some improvement in his bed-side manner towards the human in this equation.
I always mock the American pet owners who take their dog or cat to an animal shrink, when their house mate misbehaves by peeing on the carpet or destroying furniture. It is ultimately therapy for the owner, as animals cannot speak English (duh) and they simply react to the atmosphere around them.
Oh, and I think that I would subscribe to a pet care HMO in Israel, if such a thing existed.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Joshua (Jesh) Leeder, Z"L
After a year of neurological symptoms, my uncle was misdiagnosed by several doctors, who told him he had a "bad case of Lyme Disease." When it was too late, they realized (what I and my father, 'mere Chiropractors,' had realized long ago) that Jesh had ALS, Lou Gehrig's Disease, a severe attack on the neurological pathways which mostly affects men in their 40's through early 60's, and has no cure.
One year ago, Jesh fell into a coma, and the doctors, ignoring his DNR request, put him on life support. Of course, upon consultation with the Rabbi, it was decided that even though my uncle had vehemently refused extreme measures, NOW that he was on life support, he could not be taken off, according to the halacha as they see it.
In denial, his wife (and their 13 children) decided that it was still a simple case of Tick Fever, and that if they took him home to be surrounded by his family and friends, he would wake up one morning as if this all never happened.
Two days ago, my uncle Jesh Leeder, died. And the Rabbis, who before were willing to ignore his pain and suffering and personal wishes, felt that now that the body was just a shell, he should be buried immediately, without even waiting for some members of the family to arrive for the funeral.
Jesh was a man who lived by his convictions, a modest, talented and spiritual man, and his loss will be felt by many.
The implications of his death scare me more, in a selfish human way. In the last year, my father has lost both his older sister (one year older) and now his older brother (older by two years). I am not ready to G-d Forbid sit shiva.
I am hoping that my father has inherited his father's genes, a man who lived a somewhat active life for 25 years after a severe stroke. My grandfather was a stubborn genius: a surgeon, a Rabbi and Scholar, a Sofer (ritual Jewish ancient Hebrew script), and a Shochet (ritual Jewish slaughter expert for Kosher meat). He saved Uncle Jesh's hand from amputation as a child, by essentially inventing micro-surgery and personally supervising the rehabilitation process. My grandfather also disciplined his children in ways that today would alarm social services and would be considered child abuse.
My grandfather died when he was ready, and not a minute sooner, at the age of 84.
I wish my father a long life of health, happiness and success, may he, as his father before him, live to see his great-grandchildren.
One year ago, Jesh fell into a coma, and the doctors, ignoring his DNR request, put him on life support. Of course, upon consultation with the Rabbi, it was decided that even though my uncle had vehemently refused extreme measures, NOW that he was on life support, he could not be taken off, according to the halacha as they see it.
In denial, his wife (and their 13 children) decided that it was still a simple case of Tick Fever, and that if they took him home to be surrounded by his family and friends, he would wake up one morning as if this all never happened.
Two days ago, my uncle Jesh Leeder, died. And the Rabbis, who before were willing to ignore his pain and suffering and personal wishes, felt that now that the body was just a shell, he should be buried immediately, without even waiting for some members of the family to arrive for the funeral.
Jesh was a man who lived by his convictions, a modest, talented and spiritual man, and his loss will be felt by many.
The implications of his death scare me more, in a selfish human way. In the last year, my father has lost both his older sister (one year older) and now his older brother (older by two years). I am not ready to G-d Forbid sit shiva.
I am hoping that my father has inherited his father's genes, a man who lived a somewhat active life for 25 years after a severe stroke. My grandfather was a stubborn genius: a surgeon, a Rabbi and Scholar, a Sofer (ritual Jewish ancient Hebrew script), and a Shochet (ritual Jewish slaughter expert for Kosher meat). He saved Uncle Jesh's hand from amputation as a child, by essentially inventing micro-surgery and personally supervising the rehabilitation process. My grandfather also disciplined his children in ways that today would alarm social services and would be considered child abuse.
My grandfather died when he was ready, and not a minute sooner, at the age of 84.
I wish my father a long life of health, happiness and success, may he, as his father before him, live to see his great-grandchildren.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Ignorance is Not Bliss, It's Psycosis (Chiropractic)
In the past three days, I have been getting hate emails from a gentleman (using the term loosely) who feels that my profession of Chiropractic is, and I quote:
"Quackery"
"There is proof on the world wide web for anything, including Chiropractic, Holocaust deniers, alien invasions and government conspiracies."
"You have no right to treat children."
"What crap, that Chiropractic strengthens the function of the body and the immunity system."
And my personal favorite;
"BTW, you are not a real doctor."
I am thinking that in a previous life, a Chiropractor ran over this man's dog. He doesn't need me, he needs a shrink, and fast, and he had better stay on his meds.
This kind of talk, especially given the vast amount of information available on the net, went out of style in the 1950's and 60's, when Chiropractic was against the law in many states in America. Today, by contrast, national and international legislation puts a Chiropractor on the same level as an MD, a Psychiatrist, and a Dentist.
Here are the facts: A Doctor of Chiropractic is a specialist in the spine and nervous system, a Doctor, if you will, of Human Performance. The spinal cord and its nerves act as the central computer for the body; when something (discs, muscles, stress, nutrition, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, and many other factors) causes interference on the flow of information from the brain to the body, your body will experience dysfunction, both emotional and physical. My job is to clear the traffic jam, so the body can behave at its highest level, and self-correct when needed.
In the case of children, in the first 7-8 years, their neurological pathways grow and change monumentally, every day. Chiropractic treatment in the early years will help avoid common problems later on, experienced now by the Couch Potato Generation, including ADD/ADHD, scoliosis, headaches and disc problem, among others.
Chiropractic, like any other profession, has its limits as well, and that is why I enjoy an excellent relationship with various medical practitioners; we inter-refer on a regular basis.
That being said, you want to avoid colds this Winter? Get your family, young and old, to a local Chiropractor. (Contact me for referrals in your area.)
"Quackery"
"There is proof on the world wide web for anything, including Chiropractic, Holocaust deniers, alien invasions and government conspiracies."
"You have no right to treat children."
"What crap, that Chiropractic strengthens the function of the body and the immunity system."
And my personal favorite;
"BTW, you are not a real doctor."
I am thinking that in a previous life, a Chiropractor ran over this man's dog. He doesn't need me, he needs a shrink, and fast, and he had better stay on his meds.
This kind of talk, especially given the vast amount of information available on the net, went out of style in the 1950's and 60's, when Chiropractic was against the law in many states in America. Today, by contrast, national and international legislation puts a Chiropractor on the same level as an MD, a Psychiatrist, and a Dentist.
Here are the facts: A Doctor of Chiropractic is a specialist in the spine and nervous system, a Doctor, if you will, of Human Performance. The spinal cord and its nerves act as the central computer for the body; when something (discs, muscles, stress, nutrition, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, and many other factors) causes interference on the flow of information from the brain to the body, your body will experience dysfunction, both emotional and physical. My job is to clear the traffic jam, so the body can behave at its highest level, and self-correct when needed.
In the case of children, in the first 7-8 years, their neurological pathways grow and change monumentally, every day. Chiropractic treatment in the early years will help avoid common problems later on, experienced now by the Couch Potato Generation, including ADD/ADHD, scoliosis, headaches and disc problem, among others.
Chiropractic, like any other profession, has its limits as well, and that is why I enjoy an excellent relationship with various medical practitioners; we inter-refer on a regular basis.
That being said, you want to avoid colds this Winter? Get your family, young and old, to a local Chiropractor. (Contact me for referrals in your area.)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Human Whack-A-Mole
This morning, in the women's dressing room at the pool, I overheard a conversation between two Anglo-Saxon women, both teachers. One woman said to the other, that she was disconcerted because her students always did their homework, and that some even asked for extra work during the summer vacation. These teenagers apparently did not talk back, and did not attack her physically. This woman closed the thought by saying that maybe she ought to return to her former school, where she felt uncomfortable and threatened, so she would feel more "challenged" and less "bored."
It is an accepted expectation that Israeli school children of all ages will be at the very least unmotivated and at the worst, violent.
After my swim, and before starting my Chiropractic day, I sat outside in a lounge chair, trying to soak up some Vitamin D. During the summer the pool is packed with day camps, and as far as I am concerned, they accept too many children and have too little supervision.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a five-year old boy was raising and lowering a rod-shaped swimming flotation device, whipping the area below him. It took me a second look to realize that he was not hitting the sidewalk, but rather two other boys, who lay on the ground cowering as they got hit in the head, over and over again.
I waited for the counsellor to break up the fight, I waited for the life guards to intervene, and no adult who witnessed the event stepped in. Finally, after three minutes - and violating my own rules -I walked over and grabbed the float away from the boy, and said in a firm voice (in Hebrew), "No. This is not acceptable play."
It disturbs me that the other responsible adults left it to a stranger to protect these young children from one of their peers. It disturbs me that a five-year old boy wore a sadistic smile on his face as he abused his friends, even as I took his weapon away. It disturbs me that the other children seemed to enjoy the bullying.
There is a fine line between the attitude of "boys will be boys" and "enough is enough." I believe that bullies become abusive teenagers and adults simply because the adults in their life do not set proper limits.
This can be applied equally to children in Israeli society, as well as to our Arab neighbors and enemies. The reason they continue to blow us up, kidnap us and bomb us, is because we Israelis and particularly our criminal PM Ehud Olmert does not reasonably strike back when attacked. We do not set limits and assert the right to defend ourselves. The more they terrorize us, the more we try to placate them, showing them that there are no consequences to their bad behaviour.
We had better learn this Zero-Tolerance lesson soon, before our children - no matter how well behaved - do not have a place to call home.
It is an accepted expectation that Israeli school children of all ages will be at the very least unmotivated and at the worst, violent.
After my swim, and before starting my Chiropractic day, I sat outside in a lounge chair, trying to soak up some Vitamin D. During the summer the pool is packed with day camps, and as far as I am concerned, they accept too many children and have too little supervision.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a five-year old boy was raising and lowering a rod-shaped swimming flotation device, whipping the area below him. It took me a second look to realize that he was not hitting the sidewalk, but rather two other boys, who lay on the ground cowering as they got hit in the head, over and over again.
I waited for the counsellor to break up the fight, I waited for the life guards to intervene, and no adult who witnessed the event stepped in. Finally, after three minutes - and violating my own rules -I walked over and grabbed the float away from the boy, and said in a firm voice (in Hebrew), "No. This is not acceptable play."
It disturbs me that the other responsible adults left it to a stranger to protect these young children from one of their peers. It disturbs me that a five-year old boy wore a sadistic smile on his face as he abused his friends, even as I took his weapon away. It disturbs me that the other children seemed to enjoy the bullying.
There is a fine line between the attitude of "boys will be boys" and "enough is enough." I believe that bullies become abusive teenagers and adults simply because the adults in their life do not set proper limits.
This can be applied equally to children in Israeli society, as well as to our Arab neighbors and enemies. The reason they continue to blow us up, kidnap us and bomb us, is because we Israelis and particularly our criminal PM Ehud Olmert does not reasonably strike back when attacked. We do not set limits and assert the right to defend ourselves. The more they terrorize us, the more we try to placate them, showing them that there are no consequences to their bad behaviour.
We had better learn this Zero-Tolerance lesson soon, before our children - no matter how well behaved - do not have a place to call home.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Hopalong Harry
Some time when I was at Pessach seder (19/4/08), Harry managed to fracture his shoulder. The doctors cannot figure out why almost a month later, Harry is still limping around, refusing to use his right front arm/leg.
I know why. My eldest feline Harry has become what is known in medical terms as a "Malingerer", a faker vying for sympathy and attention. I have observed the following behaviours: when I am with him and clearly watching him, he gets a sad expression in his eyes and limps along, hoppity hop. When he does not know that I am watching him, he uses all four legs, and has only a mild limp, which I notice because I am a Chiropractor.
The fracture was small, and I believe that by next week I will feel confident enough to allow him to go outside again, which thankfully will relieve me of litter box duty.
My brother laughs at this story, saying that it has nothing to do with feline or human, except for the fact that Harry is a man, and knows how to work the woman in his life.
I know why. My eldest feline Harry has become what is known in medical terms as a "Malingerer", a faker vying for sympathy and attention. I have observed the following behaviours: when I am with him and clearly watching him, he gets a sad expression in his eyes and limps along, hoppity hop. When he does not know that I am watching him, he uses all four legs, and has only a mild limp, which I notice because I am a Chiropractor.
The fracture was small, and I believe that by next week I will feel confident enough to allow him to go outside again, which thankfully will relieve me of litter box duty.
My brother laughs at this story, saying that it has nothing to do with feline or human, except for the fact that Harry is a man, and knows how to work the woman in his life.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Chiropractic is Not for Everyone
This morning I bumped into an old college friend, who told me that she had tried a Chiropractor in Tel Aviv, and that he had "ruined" her back and made her weak, and that the only solution has been dancing. Dance and self-care have brought her back to health, and she has nothing but contempt for my profession.
I explained to her that every Chiropractor, even those who studied in the same class and in the same school, brings their personality to the treatment and the approach to care. A particular method of a particular professional may not have worked for her, and I am sorry for her negative experience, but she cannot use this one incident to judge all of us.
Consider this:
Over 200,000 people die in hospitals each year, because of medical negligence and error.
Drug side-effects often make a condition worse, in an average of 1 in 500 cases.
Chiropractic can cause "damage" (muscle tension, pain) in 1 in 8,000,000 cases.
Those are pretty good odds, and it's all natural.
I explained to her that every Chiropractor, even those who studied in the same class and in the same school, brings their personality to the treatment and the approach to care. A particular method of a particular professional may not have worked for her, and I am sorry for her negative experience, but she cannot use this one incident to judge all of us.
Consider this:
Over 200,000 people die in hospitals each year, because of medical negligence and error.
Drug side-effects often make a condition worse, in an average of 1 in 500 cases.
Chiropractic can cause "damage" (muscle tension, pain) in 1 in 8,000,000 cases.
Those are pretty good odds, and it's all natural.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Saving the Planet...One Plastic Bag at a Time
(Another installment of Life in Israel)
A Chiropractic colleague of mine recently explained to me that his yardstick for choosing friends is the following: "I don't like people who litter." I exclaimed that surely there must be a higher moral or social characteristic that defines a worthwhile person, and he had me think about his definition. In fact, the people I choose to call friends, those I respect and admire and enjoy their company, do not randomly distribute garbage on the streets; and those whom I dislike are generally disrespectful to others, and to the Earth.
Israel began implementing two policies this week, plans that are meant to assist in the fight for Gaea's survival. The first incorporates a penalty against older less maintained vehicles whose fuel emissions don't meet modern standards, and add to the pollution in larger cities. But they haven't decided how they will enforce the new law, and so it becomes part of a running list of "laws without teeth."
The second initiative addresses the issue of plastic versus paper, and paradoxically, supermarkets are now charging clients extra if they choose to use recycled paper bags, rather than for the use of non-biodegradable plastic bags. Most clients will not want to pay for the privilege of being eco-conscious, and so the planet will suffer.
Bravo for the backwards politics of a nation that could do so much better for itself and the environment, and falls vastly short.
A Chiropractic colleague of mine recently explained to me that his yardstick for choosing friends is the following: "I don't like people who litter." I exclaimed that surely there must be a higher moral or social characteristic that defines a worthwhile person, and he had me think about his definition. In fact, the people I choose to call friends, those I respect and admire and enjoy their company, do not randomly distribute garbage on the streets; and those whom I dislike are generally disrespectful to others, and to the Earth.
Israel began implementing two policies this week, plans that are meant to assist in the fight for Gaea's survival. The first incorporates a penalty against older less maintained vehicles whose fuel emissions don't meet modern standards, and add to the pollution in larger cities. But they haven't decided how they will enforce the new law, and so it becomes part of a running list of "laws without teeth."
The second initiative addresses the issue of plastic versus paper, and paradoxically, supermarkets are now charging clients extra if they choose to use recycled paper bags, rather than for the use of non-biodegradable plastic bags. Most clients will not want to pay for the privilege of being eco-conscious, and so the planet will suffer.
Bravo for the backwards politics of a nation that could do so much better for itself and the environment, and falls vastly short.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Harry "The Highlander", Chiropractic Cat
By Harry "The Highlander," with some scientific input from his Human
Although I have not officially graduated from Chiropractic school, I consider myself somewhat of an expert. I have extensively observed my Human taking care of clients. Starting when I was one month old, I would sit on the patients' hands to keep them warm, and even now, I can tell when a visitor is having a bad day and needs PT (Purr Therapy).
Like any new parent, the first time I had a cold, my mother called the veterinarian, and asked how to resolve this health issue. I was sneezing and lethargic, and my eyes were gunky and gross. Our doctor prescribes to a holistic approach to feline care, and told Mom to wait a few days, and clean out my eyes on a regular basis; he did not immediately believe that we should leap to the drug route. The prognosis was two or three days of suffering, "Even cats can get a cold," the doctor said.
Chiropractic, based upon a holistic neurological view of the body, believes that the brain and central nervous system have an innate mechanism for correction in times of physical and emotional stress. The spine (the so-called central computer chip) controls all functions of the body, with the nerves starting from the head and continuing all the way into the tail. That's why my tail reacts immediately to our mood by standing upright (happy, secure), swishing back and forth (curious or slightly insecure), or thumping loudly (extremely annoyed). If there is interference in that essential flow of information, a human or feline will get ill.
Inspired by one of her mentors, whose specialty involves re-aligning the spines of race horses, Mom thought, "If I can help humans every day with my treatment, why not try it on Harry?"
Thankfully it worked, and within a half a day, I returned to my active healthy self, forgoing drugs and the trauma of an office visit. It doesn't work every time, and Mom respects and cooperates with conventional medicine, but I prefer the holistic approach.
[The Chiropractor/Human taking dictation adds: Once a client brought his hyperactive dog to the office, and after one session the dog was so much better behaved, a different animal. I have often treated pets with Chiropractic, they respond well. Last year, when Harry sprained his hip from a mis-timed jump and had to be immobile for a week, Chiropractic treatment helped speed his recovery.]
Although I have not officially graduated from Chiropractic school, I consider myself somewhat of an expert. I have extensively observed my Human taking care of clients. Starting when I was one month old, I would sit on the patients' hands to keep them warm, and even now, I can tell when a visitor is having a bad day and needs PT (Purr Therapy).
Like any new parent, the first time I had a cold, my mother called the veterinarian, and asked how to resolve this health issue. I was sneezing and lethargic, and my eyes were gunky and gross. Our doctor prescribes to a holistic approach to feline care, and told Mom to wait a few days, and clean out my eyes on a regular basis; he did not immediately believe that we should leap to the drug route. The prognosis was two or three days of suffering, "Even cats can get a cold," the doctor said.
Chiropractic, based upon a holistic neurological view of the body, believes that the brain and central nervous system have an innate mechanism for correction in times of physical and emotional stress. The spine (the so-called central computer chip) controls all functions of the body, with the nerves starting from the head and continuing all the way into the tail. That's why my tail reacts immediately to our mood by standing upright (happy, secure), swishing back and forth (curious or slightly insecure), or thumping loudly (extremely annoyed). If there is interference in that essential flow of information, a human or feline will get ill.
Inspired by one of her mentors, whose specialty involves re-aligning the spines of race horses, Mom thought, "If I can help humans every day with my treatment, why not try it on Harry?"
Thankfully it worked, and within a half a day, I returned to my active healthy self, forgoing drugs and the trauma of an office visit. It doesn't work every time, and Mom respects and cooperates with conventional medicine, but I prefer the holistic approach.
[The Chiropractor/Human taking dictation adds: Once a client brought his hyperactive dog to the office, and after one session the dog was so much better behaved, a different animal. I have often treated pets with Chiropractic, they respond well. Last year, when Harry sprained his hip from a mis-timed jump and had to be immobile for a week, Chiropractic treatment helped speed his recovery.]
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Truest Lesson of Thanksgiving
With the Annapolis Conference four days away, Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert unveiled his timid and uninspired strategy: Israel must change, because "keeping the Status Quo endangers Israel."
Wrong, so wrong. It is the mindset of "reasonable Western thought" that endangers not only Israel in its struggle for existence with the Palestinians, but any country on the planet which faces the threat of Muslim terrorism. The Arabs do not respect kindness or negotiation or unilateral withdrawal, they take advantage of it. As soon as an enemy - political or physical - exposes a weakness, they will jump in and attack without hesitation. The Arabs in the region, and the Palestinians in specific, must be dealt with swiftly and offensively, otherwise Israel in fact does not stand a chance of celebrating its 70th birthday.
Ask the Native American dwellers how they felt, as the Pilgrim's nautical SUV pulled up to Plymouth Rock, and were extended the hand of peace and assistance. The celebration of Thanksgiving commemorates the medical, cultural and territorial devastation of a community and a people, the original tenants of the Americas. Those who survived were either sold into slavery, put on show or left to die a lonely and painful death, bearing witness to the disappearance of their ancient life. At least Pocahontas got a Disney movie out of the deal.
During my Chiropractic internship, I had the privilege of working with the First Nation/ Ojibwe community, and learned first hand about their unemployment and their addictions, and their Elder's vain attempts to maintain some of the ceremony and legacy of their ancestors.
As a Jew and as an Israeli, I don't want to be next in line because of our weak-minded leadership. One Holocaust was enough, thank you.
Wrong, so wrong. It is the mindset of "reasonable Western thought" that endangers not only Israel in its struggle for existence with the Palestinians, but any country on the planet which faces the threat of Muslim terrorism. The Arabs do not respect kindness or negotiation or unilateral withdrawal, they take advantage of it. As soon as an enemy - political or physical - exposes a weakness, they will jump in and attack without hesitation. The Arabs in the region, and the Palestinians in specific, must be dealt with swiftly and offensively, otherwise Israel in fact does not stand a chance of celebrating its 70th birthday.
Ask the Native American dwellers how they felt, as the Pilgrim's nautical SUV pulled up to Plymouth Rock, and were extended the hand of peace and assistance. The celebration of Thanksgiving commemorates the medical, cultural and territorial devastation of a community and a people, the original tenants of the Americas. Those who survived were either sold into slavery, put on show or left to die a lonely and painful death, bearing witness to the disappearance of their ancient life. At least Pocahontas got a Disney movie out of the deal.
During my Chiropractic internship, I had the privilege of working with the First Nation/ Ojibwe community, and learned first hand about their unemployment and their addictions, and their Elder's vain attempts to maintain some of the ceremony and legacy of their ancestors.
As a Jew and as an Israeli, I don't want to be next in line because of our weak-minded leadership. One Holocaust was enough, thank you.
Monday, October 29, 2007
DNR, Unless it Benefits the Party
The topic of DNR requests ("Do not resuscitate") and Living Wills became the topic of a heated discussion today, in the Women's locker room at the pool. Many Israelis do not even have a will which would protect their family, as was unfortunately the case with the 11-year old boy who lost his entire family in a car accident last month. Many women in the locker room today did not know with whom to consult regarding a will or the specific issue of the DNR, but most agreed that they would like to control their health care, and their death, as much as is possible.
Ariel Sharon, the former Prime Minister and current vegetable, has been kept in stasis for approximately the last two years, since he had his second more deadly stroke around the time of the elections. Initially, he was kept alive to give voters the impression that the party he founded, Kadima, would eventually return as their leader and as the political leader of the Israeli people. It made it easier to vote for Kadima, knowing that Ehud Olmert would be a temporary caretaker for the Lion of Judah.
Sharon then needed to be kept alive for the first 100-days, after the elections, so Olmert could technically solidify his power and create alliances, according to the Kadima charter. Now and again, the Sharon family leaks the condition of the former PM to the press, to keep the hope alive. Apparently, Sharon enjoys being sat in front of the television, along with all the medical gear keeping him alive, and particularly enjoys programs on National Geographic. He is, in Orwellian speak, "stable."
Those who may have disagreed with Ariel Sharon's politics would still applaud him for the energy and dedication that he exhibited for Israel in all his years of involvement in the army and then in party politics. He was a vital, stubborn man. By keeping him alive, it shows a total lack of respect for the legacy of his life, and the dignity of the human body.
Dignity of course can be variously defined by medical doctors, family members, Rabbinic authorities and philosophers. A cannibal might define respect of the human form by saving the brains for last; I wouldn't know, I have not been invited to their parties. Walt Disney felt it was totally dignified to sever his head from his body and put the housing for his brain in cryo-stasis, so that someday his consciousness and collective memories may be transplanted into a new vessel. The actor who played Mr. Scott (the engineer of Star Trek fame) had his remains launched into space.
I say that a person most definitely should make his/her wishes regarding their death - in both natural and unexpected cases - clear to their family. Each person deserves the right to say when they have had a proper (albeit relative) quality of life. If you do not want to be hooked up to machines that breathe, eat and go to the bathroom for you, let your loved ones know.
I have a will, not because I am actively planning my death, and not because I must provide for guardianship of children. I have a will, which includes a DNR, because I have already been shot at once and almost died, and I live in a country where deaths from terrorism and war are overshadowed by deaths from traffic accidents.
I may not have much to say, but I believe that it is important to make my wishes known. I need to make sure that my patients, and my cats, get place with caring people.
Ariel Sharon, the former Prime Minister and current vegetable, has been kept in stasis for approximately the last two years, since he had his second more deadly stroke around the time of the elections. Initially, he was kept alive to give voters the impression that the party he founded, Kadima, would eventually return as their leader and as the political leader of the Israeli people. It made it easier to vote for Kadima, knowing that Ehud Olmert would be a temporary caretaker for the Lion of Judah.
Sharon then needed to be kept alive for the first 100-days, after the elections, so Olmert could technically solidify his power and create alliances, according to the Kadima charter. Now and again, the Sharon family leaks the condition of the former PM to the press, to keep the hope alive. Apparently, Sharon enjoys being sat in front of the television, along with all the medical gear keeping him alive, and particularly enjoys programs on National Geographic. He is, in Orwellian speak, "stable."
Those who may have disagreed with Ariel Sharon's politics would still applaud him for the energy and dedication that he exhibited for Israel in all his years of involvement in the army and then in party politics. He was a vital, stubborn man. By keeping him alive, it shows a total lack of respect for the legacy of his life, and the dignity of the human body.
Dignity of course can be variously defined by medical doctors, family members, Rabbinic authorities and philosophers. A cannibal might define respect of the human form by saving the brains for last; I wouldn't know, I have not been invited to their parties. Walt Disney felt it was totally dignified to sever his head from his body and put the housing for his brain in cryo-stasis, so that someday his consciousness and collective memories may be transplanted into a new vessel. The actor who played Mr. Scott (the engineer of Star Trek fame) had his remains launched into space.
I say that a person most definitely should make his/her wishes regarding their death - in both natural and unexpected cases - clear to their family. Each person deserves the right to say when they have had a proper (albeit relative) quality of life. If you do not want to be hooked up to machines that breathe, eat and go to the bathroom for you, let your loved ones know.
I have a will, not because I am actively planning my death, and not because I must provide for guardianship of children. I have a will, which includes a DNR, because I have already been shot at once and almost died, and I live in a country where deaths from terrorism and war are overshadowed by deaths from traffic accidents.
I may not have much to say, but I believe that it is important to make my wishes known. I need to make sure that my patients, and my cats, get place with caring people.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tall People
A song called "Short People" came onto the radio this morning, and I paid attention to the words, and the chorus in particular disturbed me: "Short people got no reason to live." I don't think a folk song should be advocating suicide, just because someone is height challenged.
I also challenge the world to consider the detriment of being tall. Only a tall woman can relate to the following painful memories of childhood:
1. Wanting to shop at the same stores where all the other girls buy their clothing.
2. Wanting to buy your first pair of high heels, and realizing that none of the cool stores carry a size 11 or 12 women's, and having to go to the Ugly Shoe Store for Old Ladies to buy some hideous Orthopaedic pair of "comfortable shoes."
3. Never being "cute."
4. Going to a bowling birthday party and being told in front of all your friends that they don't have your size in a women's shoe, you will have to wear one of the men's bowling shoes. (Like you don't feel awful enough already in a bowling shoe...)
5. Maintaining poor posture and slouching to the height of the group, so that you can feel like you are at eye-level.
5. Having limited dating options, or actually dating someone who is at least a head shorter than you, and seeing your reflection as a couple in the mirror for the first time, and feeling like you are Shrek and he is Princess Fiona, when she is not an ogre.
One of my grandmothers had a size 12 shoe, quite rare for a woman of that generation, and unlike today, there were zero options to walk into a normal store and buy normal fashionable foot ware. My other grandmother bought me a book called The Tallest Girl in the Class, a story about this girl in the fourth grade felt like an outsider and a freak, until she was picked to play the Christmas tree in the pageant, because she was the tallest person in the class. The children's book does not specify if she needed therapy later in life.
In elementary school, because I towered over both the girls and the boys, I was chosen to play Mordechai in the Purim musical, which we performed in front of the whole school. In retrospect, I would like to question the intelligence and sensitivity of putting a shy tall girl in a beard. My best friend at the time, Karen Zomick, got to play Queen Esther, because she was petite and "cute."
Today as an adult, I appreciate the many ways in which I am outside the box, my height being only one factor through which I stand out in the crowd. Tall people have stature and authority; my three brothers each stand over six feet. If I were thin enough, I could be a super-model. Quite content with my body and my build, I have no desire to lose a few inches, I will lose an inch and a half from my spinal discs as I get older anyway (as all humans do over time).
Maybe I ought to sue my elementary school for my not being married, because they caused gender confusion and set back my self-confidence. Anyone want to take on the case?
I also challenge the world to consider the detriment of being tall. Only a tall woman can relate to the following painful memories of childhood:
1. Wanting to shop at the same stores where all the other girls buy their clothing.
2. Wanting to buy your first pair of high heels, and realizing that none of the cool stores carry a size 11 or 12 women's, and having to go to the Ugly Shoe Store for Old Ladies to buy some hideous Orthopaedic pair of "comfortable shoes."
3. Never being "cute."
4. Going to a bowling birthday party and being told in front of all your friends that they don't have your size in a women's shoe, you will have to wear one of the men's bowling shoes. (Like you don't feel awful enough already in a bowling shoe...)
5. Maintaining poor posture and slouching to the height of the group, so that you can feel like you are at eye-level.
5. Having limited dating options, or actually dating someone who is at least a head shorter than you, and seeing your reflection as a couple in the mirror for the first time, and feeling like you are Shrek and he is Princess Fiona, when she is not an ogre.
One of my grandmothers had a size 12 shoe, quite rare for a woman of that generation, and unlike today, there were zero options to walk into a normal store and buy normal fashionable foot ware. My other grandmother bought me a book called The Tallest Girl in the Class, a story about this girl in the fourth grade felt like an outsider and a freak, until she was picked to play the Christmas tree in the pageant, because she was the tallest person in the class. The children's book does not specify if she needed therapy later in life.
In elementary school, because I towered over both the girls and the boys, I was chosen to play Mordechai in the Purim musical, which we performed in front of the whole school. In retrospect, I would like to question the intelligence and sensitivity of putting a shy tall girl in a beard. My best friend at the time, Karen Zomick, got to play Queen Esther, because she was petite and "cute."
Today as an adult, I appreciate the many ways in which I am outside the box, my height being only one factor through which I stand out in the crowd. Tall people have stature and authority; my three brothers each stand over six feet. If I were thin enough, I could be a super-model. Quite content with my body and my build, I have no desire to lose a few inches, I will lose an inch and a half from my spinal discs as I get older anyway (as all humans do over time).
Maybe I ought to sue my elementary school for my not being married, because they caused gender confusion and set back my self-confidence. Anyone want to take on the case?
Friday, October 19, 2007
The Art of Apology
Regardless of race, religion and country, I believe that humans can be divided into two basic groups: those who know how to say "I'm sorry," and those for whom ego or mild psychosis prevents them from ever admitting they are wrong.
I grew up in a house where I observed both extremes of that behaviour, and I try to emulate my father's example of generally taking responsibility and apologizing in a timely manner, ie. not three days later when the argument has festered into a septic sensitive sore. This week was a test of that commitment.
Earlier in the week, I was standing in the copy shop preparing some documents for work. An elderly woman came up to me and asked "Are you done yet," when I clearly was not. Most days I would either ignore the silly question, or respond firmly and yet kindly. That day, I turned around, sneered at her, and said, "Does it look like I am done?" (I plead insomnia, I had slept less than three hours the night before.) She was both offended and intimidated, and it was only after I left the store that I felt badly about my exaggerated and belligerent behaviour. I considered going back and apologizing to this woman, but did not, and instead let myself feel guilty about it for several hours.
Sometimes you need to know when to swallow ego and the need to be right. Two days ago, a patient - obviously in pain - called to see if she could schedule an emergency appointment. I was unable to create an opening, and suggested that she see someone else while I placed her name on a Waiting List, or try palliative measures for two days and receive treatment today (Friday). We tentatively scheduled, and I assured her that as soon as there was a cancellation, I would contact her.
Yesterday, she called to remind me that she was in pain, that she would like to get an appointment as soon as possible, and to make sure that I remembered her state of suffering.
I apologized for her perception that I had been anything but accommodating and understanding, but that I truly would have seen her sooner if I could have. She hung up sounding sad and angry.
For several hours afterwards - while cooking, while swimming, while running errands - I obsessed, not about potentially losing a patient, but knowing that I had in fact done everything within the natural limit, and knowing that she was sitting at home moping about this. My perceptive house cleaner pointed out that if I was mulling over the relatively minor event to this extent, surely she was suffering as well, and I ought to call her to clear the air.
Which I did; I called her and in as kind a tone as I could muster, explained that I truly tried to see her when she had initially called, but that there are only so many hours in the day. I proceeded by emphasizing that my actions were not to be taken personally in any way, that I wish to continue to help her in the future, and I don't want "bad feelings" driving a wedge between us.
She thanked me for calling back, and I thanked her for listening. After hanging up the phone, while there was still a part of me that felt that I was compromising myself for the Greater Peace, I felt like I had faced and dealt with the consequences of the words that came out of my mouth.
And now that I have spilled all this out to you, dear reader, the obsessing ends.
I grew up in a house where I observed both extremes of that behaviour, and I try to emulate my father's example of generally taking responsibility and apologizing in a timely manner, ie. not three days later when the argument has festered into a septic sensitive sore. This week was a test of that commitment.
Earlier in the week, I was standing in the copy shop preparing some documents for work. An elderly woman came up to me and asked "Are you done yet," when I clearly was not. Most days I would either ignore the silly question, or respond firmly and yet kindly. That day, I turned around, sneered at her, and said, "Does it look like I am done?" (I plead insomnia, I had slept less than three hours the night before.) She was both offended and intimidated, and it was only after I left the store that I felt badly about my exaggerated and belligerent behaviour. I considered going back and apologizing to this woman, but did not, and instead let myself feel guilty about it for several hours.
Sometimes you need to know when to swallow ego and the need to be right. Two days ago, a patient - obviously in pain - called to see if she could schedule an emergency appointment. I was unable to create an opening, and suggested that she see someone else while I placed her name on a Waiting List, or try palliative measures for two days and receive treatment today (Friday). We tentatively scheduled, and I assured her that as soon as there was a cancellation, I would contact her.
Yesterday, she called to remind me that she was in pain, that she would like to get an appointment as soon as possible, and to make sure that I remembered her state of suffering.
I apologized for her perception that I had been anything but accommodating and understanding, but that I truly would have seen her sooner if I could have. She hung up sounding sad and angry.
For several hours afterwards - while cooking, while swimming, while running errands - I obsessed, not about potentially losing a patient, but knowing that I had in fact done everything within the natural limit, and knowing that she was sitting at home moping about this. My perceptive house cleaner pointed out that if I was mulling over the relatively minor event to this extent, surely she was suffering as well, and I ought to call her to clear the air.
Which I did; I called her and in as kind a tone as I could muster, explained that I truly tried to see her when she had initially called, but that there are only so many hours in the day. I proceeded by emphasizing that my actions were not to be taken personally in any way, that I wish to continue to help her in the future, and I don't want "bad feelings" driving a wedge between us.
She thanked me for calling back, and I thanked her for listening. After hanging up the phone, while there was still a part of me that felt that I was compromising myself for the Greater Peace, I felt like I had faced and dealt with the consequences of the words that came out of my mouth.
And now that I have spilled all this out to you, dear reader, the obsessing ends.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Rebecca Danzig Keller, In Memoriam
Last Thursday was the eighth anniversary (Yartzeit) of my grandmother's death, a woman who very much impacted my life and with whom I was quite close growing up. My mother (her eldest daughter) had suggested that we children and grandchildren do something "meaningful" to mark the day, to honor her memory.
Not coincidentally, the Universe gave me a slow Chiropractic work day, and I was able to look through letters and journal entries from the time immediately before and after her death, which in turn gave me a burst of almost overwhelming creative energy, which I used to channel into photography and creative writing.
The day of her funeral, eight years ago, I wrote the following in my journal:
"There is a whole life in this house, from large details like her car to small details like her basement office organization, her color coordinated towels, her books. How does one dismantle a life? How does one distribute and incorporate it? Everyone keeps saying that her legacy is us, her grandchildren, we are the proof that she did something worthwhile, that each of us carries her within us. Why can't she be here to see it, I feel like everyone has a time, and this was not hers.
What will people say about me when I die? What will be my legacy?"
In speaking to a friend today, a woman aware of my issues at being single and childless in my late 30's, she challenged me with that exact question: What is my legacy? Can I say that I am an inherently worthwhile and important person, regardless of the standards imposed by society or by my family? Why do I exist?
For now, I have a sufficiently unconvincing answer, with the only fact on the ground being that I EXIST. I would even venture to say that I exist for a reason, and that I have faith that the Universe and its Higher Powers generally knows what it is doing. But I cannot answer the "Why," and it terrifies me, because I am afraid that if I explore these answers and possibilities, I will not like what I find. Perhaps it will come to me in a dream.
I do, however, have an opinion on the subject, and it starts with the classic philosophical question, if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? And actually, my answer to that is a definitive NO; hearing, like the other five senses humanity has been programmed with as part of their genetic package, is dependent upon relative perception. While the sound and the loss of a tree in the middle of a random forest will most definitely impact the Greater Universe - in keeping with the principles of Chaos Theory - if it has not been perceived by another, it gets lost.
To apply that theory on a micro level, I assert that I am in fact a worthwhile person, deserving of love and being in a loving relationship, and I assert that I value my own company. Ultimately, I wonder if I count, if I leave no trail behind me when I die, genetic or otherwise; if there was never one person in my life who loved me unconditionally, who wanted to be my husband and raise a child with me not out of obligation, but out of eagerness and interest and a desire to grow old with me. Surely, the heavens will cry when I leave this Earth, and somewhere in the cosmos there will be a ripple, but will any human miss me or remember me?
As a child, fame and global recognition represented my idea of meaning and legacy in life, I would not be considered a success until I had been featured on the front page of the New York Times for saving humanity, or until at least one of my works of art was hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. That template has dramatically shifted, I do not need nor want to save the world. Right now I want and need intimacy, physical and emotional, the knowledge that for at least one person on this planet, I am their first and most precious priority. You can argue that it means that I don't love myself 100%, or that I err in using an external measure of my worth, but I am human living in a society of other humans. Robinson Caruso had it much easier.
I don't know how to express or explain that feeling of total acceptance, except to say that I received that affirmation from my grandmother, and that is a large part of the reason why I miss her.
I close with a Celtic sonnet that someone read to my family when they visited the shiva house, eight years ago, and I dedicate this poem to my grandmother, and to myself, that I may have a long, fulfilling and happy life, and will have left it a better place for my being there.
Grieve not
Nor speak of me with tears
But laugh and talk of me
As though I were beside you.
I loved you so
"Twas Heaven here with you.
Not coincidentally, the Universe gave me a slow Chiropractic work day, and I was able to look through letters and journal entries from the time immediately before and after her death, which in turn gave me a burst of almost overwhelming creative energy, which I used to channel into photography and creative writing.
The day of her funeral, eight years ago, I wrote the following in my journal:
"There is a whole life in this house, from large details like her car to small details like her basement office organization, her color coordinated towels, her books. How does one dismantle a life? How does one distribute and incorporate it? Everyone keeps saying that her legacy is us, her grandchildren, we are the proof that she did something worthwhile, that each of us carries her within us. Why can't she be here to see it, I feel like everyone has a time, and this was not hers.
What will people say about me when I die? What will be my legacy?"
In speaking to a friend today, a woman aware of my issues at being single and childless in my late 30's, she challenged me with that exact question: What is my legacy? Can I say that I am an inherently worthwhile and important person, regardless of the standards imposed by society or by my family? Why do I exist?
For now, I have a sufficiently unconvincing answer, with the only fact on the ground being that I EXIST. I would even venture to say that I exist for a reason, and that I have faith that the Universe and its Higher Powers generally knows what it is doing. But I cannot answer the "Why," and it terrifies me, because I am afraid that if I explore these answers and possibilities, I will not like what I find. Perhaps it will come to me in a dream.
I do, however, have an opinion on the subject, and it starts with the classic philosophical question, if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? And actually, my answer to that is a definitive NO; hearing, like the other five senses humanity has been programmed with as part of their genetic package, is dependent upon relative perception. While the sound and the loss of a tree in the middle of a random forest will most definitely impact the Greater Universe - in keeping with the principles of Chaos Theory - if it has not been perceived by another, it gets lost.
To apply that theory on a micro level, I assert that I am in fact a worthwhile person, deserving of love and being in a loving relationship, and I assert that I value my own company. Ultimately, I wonder if I count, if I leave no trail behind me when I die, genetic or otherwise; if there was never one person in my life who loved me unconditionally, who wanted to be my husband and raise a child with me not out of obligation, but out of eagerness and interest and a desire to grow old with me. Surely, the heavens will cry when I leave this Earth, and somewhere in the cosmos there will be a ripple, but will any human miss me or remember me?
As a child, fame and global recognition represented my idea of meaning and legacy in life, I would not be considered a success until I had been featured on the front page of the New York Times for saving humanity, or until at least one of my works of art was hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. That template has dramatically shifted, I do not need nor want to save the world. Right now I want and need intimacy, physical and emotional, the knowledge that for at least one person on this planet, I am their first and most precious priority. You can argue that it means that I don't love myself 100%, or that I err in using an external measure of my worth, but I am human living in a society of other humans. Robinson Caruso had it much easier.
I don't know how to express or explain that feeling of total acceptance, except to say that I received that affirmation from my grandmother, and that is a large part of the reason why I miss her.
I close with a Celtic sonnet that someone read to my family when they visited the shiva house, eight years ago, and I dedicate this poem to my grandmother, and to myself, that I may have a long, fulfilling and happy life, and will have left it a better place for my being there.
Grieve not
Nor speak of me with tears
But laugh and talk of me
As though I were beside you.
I loved you so
"Twas Heaven here with you.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
And the Award for...
the World's Worst Patient is: Me! (I'd like to thank my immune system for breaking down...)
Last Thursday I felt a small irritation in my throat, and assumed it was allergies, as the transition season has arrived and I expect to suffer a little. The next day I woke up and I was congested and could not breath, and every time I blew my nose my sinuses made this bizarre creaking sound. I also became unusually clumsy, dropping things, and cutting my finger when I was cooking, and so decided that i might even be ill, above and beyond the dust in the air and the pollen count.
With the combination of good genes and Chiropractic care, I get ill very infrequently, and it can take several days before I listen to my body and rest. Always grateful when people offer to assist, I cannot help but wonder why, since I spend the entire time groaning and making my caretaker's life miserable. (I suppose it is a good thing that I am single and alone, I generally end up complaining to myself.)
I start with homeopathic remedies, and when that does not control the symptoms, I switch to the conventional fare of syrups and medicines. I have officially announced and acknowledged that I am ill when I agree to drink tea. An arm must be falling off for me to arrange a visit to the GP.
A doctor is not supposed to be ill, and sometimes my clients will seen surprised if I sneeze or blow my nose; it makes me human just like them, and it shatters the illusion that those of us in the profession of servicing human beings somehow live above the rules of nature. I see this realization as a positive step toward resetting the professional and personal boundaries in the office.
My eldest cat, Harry, has a similar love/hate relationship with his veterinarian. He will allow himself to be placed in the carrier cage, and does not complain in the car on the way to the vet's office. At the initial stages of the treatment, he submits his body to examination. But when he randomly decides that he has sufficiently amused us humans with his obedience, the doctor or his assistant may very well lose a finger or two. I am convinced that Harry is "red flagged" in their computer as a small dangerous tiger, and that they would love to automatically drug him at the beginning of the visit, if only to preserve their limbs. When we leave the office, Harry wears a Cheshire Cat grin on his face, knowing he has taken control of the situation, and that we got kicked out as quickly as possible.
Like feline, like owner.
I canceled my Pilates class today at the last minute because I remembered from my medical training (aha!) that when a person ill, the body needs to rest, and not use up its resources with rigorous exercise. I will take a shower instead, change out of the pajamas I have been living in for the last 48 hours, and prepare myself for treating patients later today, because unfortunately, my little head cold cannot get in the way of my work.
I will try not to sneeze on anyone.
Last Thursday I felt a small irritation in my throat, and assumed it was allergies, as the transition season has arrived and I expect to suffer a little. The next day I woke up and I was congested and could not breath, and every time I blew my nose my sinuses made this bizarre creaking sound. I also became unusually clumsy, dropping things, and cutting my finger when I was cooking, and so decided that i might even be ill, above and beyond the dust in the air and the pollen count.
With the combination of good genes and Chiropractic care, I get ill very infrequently, and it can take several days before I listen to my body and rest. Always grateful when people offer to assist, I cannot help but wonder why, since I spend the entire time groaning and making my caretaker's life miserable. (I suppose it is a good thing that I am single and alone, I generally end up complaining to myself.)
I start with homeopathic remedies, and when that does not control the symptoms, I switch to the conventional fare of syrups and medicines. I have officially announced and acknowledged that I am ill when I agree to drink tea. An arm must be falling off for me to arrange a visit to the GP.
A doctor is not supposed to be ill, and sometimes my clients will seen surprised if I sneeze or blow my nose; it makes me human just like them, and it shatters the illusion that those of us in the profession of servicing human beings somehow live above the rules of nature. I see this realization as a positive step toward resetting the professional and personal boundaries in the office.
My eldest cat, Harry, has a similar love/hate relationship with his veterinarian. He will allow himself to be placed in the carrier cage, and does not complain in the car on the way to the vet's office. At the initial stages of the treatment, he submits his body to examination. But when he randomly decides that he has sufficiently amused us humans with his obedience, the doctor or his assistant may very well lose a finger or two. I am convinced that Harry is "red flagged" in their computer as a small dangerous tiger, and that they would love to automatically drug him at the beginning of the visit, if only to preserve their limbs. When we leave the office, Harry wears a Cheshire Cat grin on his face, knowing he has taken control of the situation, and that we got kicked out as quickly as possible.
Like feline, like owner.
I canceled my Pilates class today at the last minute because I remembered from my medical training (aha!) that when a person ill, the body needs to rest, and not use up its resources with rigorous exercise. I will take a shower instead, change out of the pajamas I have been living in for the last 48 hours, and prepare myself for treating patients later today, because unfortunately, my little head cold cannot get in the way of my work.
I will try not to sneeze on anyone.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Rabbis, Reiki, Idol Worship and Wall Street
Or: "Sea Monkeys Invade New York, Possessed Wigs Attack Unsuspecting Heads"
I received today from a colleague an online article about an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi named Yitzchak Fanger, who had previously held the titles of Reiki Master and Buddhist Priest. The article describes his vision quest to India after the army - a typical journey for many non-religious Israelis - where he discovered spirituality and religion (someone else's religion), and after a series of non-coincidental miraculous events, returned to religious Judaism and Israel and to his family.
I am of course pleased for him that he has found satisfaction with his life and has reconciled with his upbringing, but have issue with his rejection of his Reiki training. He tells the story of his million dollar Reiki clinic, and how one day a group of Ultra Orthodox women wished to study with him, and insisted upon a "Certificate of Kashrut" (The Rabbi Stamp of Approval) before they could begin the class. He went to his local Rabbinic Authority, and this supposed community leader told Fanger that not only would he not issue any Certificate of Approval, but that Mr. Fanger must close his clinic immediately - the source of income for him and his entire family - because the teachings and techniques of Reiki were based in Idol Worship.
The now born-again Rabbi Fanger complied immediately, and concludes his interview by saying that he now has six children who are worth more than any of the money he made as a Reiki Master helping clients, and that his life as an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi gives him everything he needs. (Because now someone else is footing the bill...)
I performed half of my Chiropractic internship with the Ojibwe/First Nation (that's American Indians to the politically incorrect), and they told me a story about the four original peoples who were placed on this planet by a Higher Power: the White, the Yellow, the Black and the Red. Each was given a heritage of healing which specifically addressed the energies and the history of their color, so to speak, and only recently have the medicines and their techniques become mixed.
I have always operated under the credo taught to me by one of my first mentors in Chiropractic School, "more tools for the toolbox": the more I study and the more techniques I gather into my consciousness and daily routine, the more I can help each person who comes into my office. When I work on a patient, I use up to eight different systems, both Western and Eastern, thus providing a more complete and effective treatment that last longer than traditional care. I don't need a Rabbi, untrained in medicine and in the real world, to tell me what I can and cannot provide for my clients, especially since he would probably tell me to stop treating men, as they insist that it is improper for a woman to be alone with a man and touch him. Never mind that I am a doctor, a professional, and never mind that my father, also a Chiropractor, takes care of the wife of the Bostonner Rebbe, and her husband doesn't seem to have a problem with them being alone in a room for treatment.
Several years ago, a group of Rabbis in America declared that natural hair wigs - worn extensively by Ultra Orthodox women and costing up to $3000 a pop - could not be worn because some of the hair came from Indian women, who practice Idol Worship in their own religion, thus their hair was tainted and impure. All over the world, a flurry of wig burnings ensued, with families who cannot afford to feed and clothe their children burning these items of Evil, and buying synthetic wigs in their place. The Jewish wig merchants with their Certificates of Kashrut certainly did well on that venture.
Until the Rabbis recanted and decided that if anyone had not yet burned their wigs, they need not. And to fill the void and to fill certain merchant's pockets, they instead declared that the water in New York was contaminated with microscopic lobster derivative bugs, and that all proper Jews must immediately buy a high end water filter system (from a proper Jewish vendor, of course) to eliminate the dreaded impurity. Upon which Ultra Orthodox seminaries, largely supported by external donations so the men can sit and learn all day while their wives work several jobs, installed the best systems possible, and happily their Talmudic students are no longer infected by micro-organisms that only their spiritual and religious mentors can see.
To quote Alanis Morisette, "It's all about the money." (It's all about the dumb, dumb dumbe de dumb.)
Religion does indeed fill the need of controlling the masses, and the rich historical heritage of despots, cult leaders and con men can be proud of the application of their theories among the Ultra Orthodox.
I received today from a colleague an online article about an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi named Yitzchak Fanger, who had previously held the titles of Reiki Master and Buddhist Priest. The article describes his vision quest to India after the army - a typical journey for many non-religious Israelis - where he discovered spirituality and religion (someone else's religion), and after a series of non-coincidental miraculous events, returned to religious Judaism and Israel and to his family.
I am of course pleased for him that he has found satisfaction with his life and has reconciled with his upbringing, but have issue with his rejection of his Reiki training. He tells the story of his million dollar Reiki clinic, and how one day a group of Ultra Orthodox women wished to study with him, and insisted upon a "Certificate of Kashrut" (The Rabbi Stamp of Approval) before they could begin the class. He went to his local Rabbinic Authority, and this supposed community leader told Fanger that not only would he not issue any Certificate of Approval, but that Mr. Fanger must close his clinic immediately - the source of income for him and his entire family - because the teachings and techniques of Reiki were based in Idol Worship.
The now born-again Rabbi Fanger complied immediately, and concludes his interview by saying that he now has six children who are worth more than any of the money he made as a Reiki Master helping clients, and that his life as an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi gives him everything he needs. (Because now someone else is footing the bill...)
I performed half of my Chiropractic internship with the Ojibwe/First Nation (that's American Indians to the politically incorrect), and they told me a story about the four original peoples who were placed on this planet by a Higher Power: the White, the Yellow, the Black and the Red. Each was given a heritage of healing which specifically addressed the energies and the history of their color, so to speak, and only recently have the medicines and their techniques become mixed.
I have always operated under the credo taught to me by one of my first mentors in Chiropractic School, "more tools for the toolbox": the more I study and the more techniques I gather into my consciousness and daily routine, the more I can help each person who comes into my office. When I work on a patient, I use up to eight different systems, both Western and Eastern, thus providing a more complete and effective treatment that last longer than traditional care. I don't need a Rabbi, untrained in medicine and in the real world, to tell me what I can and cannot provide for my clients, especially since he would probably tell me to stop treating men, as they insist that it is improper for a woman to be alone with a man and touch him. Never mind that I am a doctor, a professional, and never mind that my father, also a Chiropractor, takes care of the wife of the Bostonner Rebbe, and her husband doesn't seem to have a problem with them being alone in a room for treatment.
Several years ago, a group of Rabbis in America declared that natural hair wigs - worn extensively by Ultra Orthodox women and costing up to $3000 a pop - could not be worn because some of the hair came from Indian women, who practice Idol Worship in their own religion, thus their hair was tainted and impure. All over the world, a flurry of wig burnings ensued, with families who cannot afford to feed and clothe their children burning these items of Evil, and buying synthetic wigs in their place. The Jewish wig merchants with their Certificates of Kashrut certainly did well on that venture.
Until the Rabbis recanted and decided that if anyone had not yet burned their wigs, they need not. And to fill the void and to fill certain merchant's pockets, they instead declared that the water in New York was contaminated with microscopic lobster derivative bugs, and that all proper Jews must immediately buy a high end water filter system (from a proper Jewish vendor, of course) to eliminate the dreaded impurity. Upon which Ultra Orthodox seminaries, largely supported by external donations so the men can sit and learn all day while their wives work several jobs, installed the best systems possible, and happily their Talmudic students are no longer infected by micro-organisms that only their spiritual and religious mentors can see.
To quote Alanis Morisette, "It's all about the money." (It's all about the dumb, dumb dumbe de dumb.)
Religion does indeed fill the need of controlling the masses, and the rich historical heritage of despots, cult leaders and con men can be proud of the application of their theories among the Ultra Orthodox.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Checking In on the Old Country
Money is the hot topic in the paper today, the slide of the dollar, how it affects the European Union, how it affects the billionaires on the 2007 Forbes List.
According to the International Herald Tribune, the euro traded above $1.40 for the first time, and the Canadian dollar climbed back to parity with the US dollar for the first time in 30 years. The dollar is worth less than ever before in this age of flexible exchange rates, and it has declined faster under George W. than under any president since the end of the gold standard in 1971.
And show some sympathy for the 82 US billionaires, who did not make the cut on the Forbes roundup of the 400 richest Americans: the price for inclusion (because of the weakening of the dollar) rose from One billion to $1.3 billion dollars, and most of the newbies on the list made their fortunes from the Internet, or Wall Street.
My parents, like many other Americans, started living the inflated lifestyle - along with its many expenses - in the 1980's, during the Reagan boom. Lots of PI (personal injury) cases, and lots of generous insurance policies that paid for Chiropractic patients to come as often as they wanted. Today, my parents work three times as hard as they used to, have to fill out three times as many forms as they used to, and get paid a third of what they used to receive. Yet the accumulated debt and commitments remain, like the repairs and expansion done to the kitchen in the last year, like the expansion of one of their Chiropractic offices, and like my youngest brother's private college tuition.
Speaking of college, Columbia University (my Alma mater, class of 1991) has resisted pressure to cancel a speaking engagement on campus by Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, a surprising move given CU President Lee Bollinger's recent initiative to confront the British boycott of Israeli academic institutions and its esteemed professors. In my time at Columbia, there were certainly several controversial visitors - most notably Louis Farrakhan - but a basic respect of all communities (Jewish, black, Islamic, etc) within the community existed. A Holocaust denier (Ahmadinejad) who has publicly and internationally declared open war upon the Zionist entity and Jews everywhere, a President who boasts of the development of a nuclear program and his intentions to use it, a Muslim who plans on visiting Ground Zero for the purpose of rejoicing in the death of the ugly Americans and spitting on the graves of those who died; he should not be allowed on the campus, never mind into the country.
The last time I visited the US, I felt a certain cloud of paranoia and fatigue; people working too hard and earning less, not spending enough time with their families and without the assurance of safety and dominance that the Americans once enjoyed. Since the start of George Bush's presidency, the United States has lost its respect and footing not only within its borders but with its former international allies. No one wants to align themselves with a currency that pulls the rest of the markets down into a spiral, or with an administration that sends soldiers to die in not one but two losing arenas (Afghanistan and Iraq). Just because we believe Democracy is a model worth adapting and striving toward, does not mean that the template works in the Middle East. I don't recall the Iraqi people applying to become one of the "enlightened."
All that remains is rich fodder that Bush continually provides for the late night talk show hosts, and for the Democrats to whomp anyone the Republicans put up for candidacy in the next American Presidential election.
Yes, in some ways Israel behaves like a Third World Country, Lord knows I would like to be paying less taxes and I would like to see some direct representation and accountability of the Prime Minister and the members of the Knesset toward its citizens. But I enjoy a good quality of life, I am able to see my patients without the bureaucracy of insurance filing and I set my own hours.
I have automatic health coverage, and some day when I have children, their education will be heavily subsidized from nursery through university. As for the long lists of shopping I used to do in the States, most of what I need I can find here in Israel, and for about the same price as I would pay if I had gone to CVS. Finally, there is a sense here of one extended family that I have not felt anywhere else in the world.
For now, America may be a nice place to visit, but I would not want to live there.
According to the International Herald Tribune, the euro traded above $1.40 for the first time, and the Canadian dollar climbed back to parity with the US dollar for the first time in 30 years. The dollar is worth less than ever before in this age of flexible exchange rates, and it has declined faster under George W. than under any president since the end of the gold standard in 1971.
And show some sympathy for the 82 US billionaires, who did not make the cut on the Forbes roundup of the 400 richest Americans: the price for inclusion (because of the weakening of the dollar) rose from One billion to $1.3 billion dollars, and most of the newbies on the list made their fortunes from the Internet, or Wall Street.
My parents, like many other Americans, started living the inflated lifestyle - along with its many expenses - in the 1980's, during the Reagan boom. Lots of PI (personal injury) cases, and lots of generous insurance policies that paid for Chiropractic patients to come as often as they wanted. Today, my parents work three times as hard as they used to, have to fill out three times as many forms as they used to, and get paid a third of what they used to receive. Yet the accumulated debt and commitments remain, like the repairs and expansion done to the kitchen in the last year, like the expansion of one of their Chiropractic offices, and like my youngest brother's private college tuition.
Speaking of college, Columbia University (my Alma mater, class of 1991) has resisted pressure to cancel a speaking engagement on campus by Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, a surprising move given CU President Lee Bollinger's recent initiative to confront the British boycott of Israeli academic institutions and its esteemed professors. In my time at Columbia, there were certainly several controversial visitors - most notably Louis Farrakhan - but a basic respect of all communities (Jewish, black, Islamic, etc) within the community existed. A Holocaust denier (Ahmadinejad) who has publicly and internationally declared open war upon the Zionist entity and Jews everywhere, a President who boasts of the development of a nuclear program and his intentions to use it, a Muslim who plans on visiting Ground Zero for the purpose of rejoicing in the death of the ugly Americans and spitting on the graves of those who died; he should not be allowed on the campus, never mind into the country.
The last time I visited the US, I felt a certain cloud of paranoia and fatigue; people working too hard and earning less, not spending enough time with their families and without the assurance of safety and dominance that the Americans once enjoyed. Since the start of George Bush's presidency, the United States has lost its respect and footing not only within its borders but with its former international allies. No one wants to align themselves with a currency that pulls the rest of the markets down into a spiral, or with an administration that sends soldiers to die in not one but two losing arenas (Afghanistan and Iraq). Just because we believe Democracy is a model worth adapting and striving toward, does not mean that the template works in the Middle East. I don't recall the Iraqi people applying to become one of the "enlightened."
All that remains is rich fodder that Bush continually provides for the late night talk show hosts, and for the Democrats to whomp anyone the Republicans put up for candidacy in the next American Presidential election.
Yes, in some ways Israel behaves like a Third World Country, Lord knows I would like to be paying less taxes and I would like to see some direct representation and accountability of the Prime Minister and the members of the Knesset toward its citizens. But I enjoy a good quality of life, I am able to see my patients without the bureaucracy of insurance filing and I set my own hours.
I have automatic health coverage, and some day when I have children, their education will be heavily subsidized from nursery through university. As for the long lists of shopping I used to do in the States, most of what I need I can find here in Israel, and for about the same price as I would pay if I had gone to CVS. Finally, there is a sense here of one extended family that I have not felt anywhere else in the world.
For now, America may be a nice place to visit, but I would not want to live there.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Civilized Anti-Semitism
Anyone who has watched the movie "Borat" will acknowledge that within its humor lies the deeper lesson which Sasha Baron Cohen wishes to portray: inside every civilized American is an anti-Semite, just waiting to get society's permission to express his/her true beliefs, those beliefs they share with their bar buddies or their families, those statements that are not politically correct to be heard by the general public.
I love to travel, and as much as I enjoy seeing new places, I look forward even more to meeting people of a different culture and background, and finding that common ground in a brief discussion, or over a cup of coffee. When I used to take the Shuttle between New York and Boston in college, I would often find myself in conversation with the passenger next to me, sharing life stories and exposing skeletons in closets; I have that kind of face and give off that kind of energy, I suppose, the billboard that says, "tell me your stories, I will listen."
For today, I want to focus on several incidents that were less pleasurable, and reminded me that wherever I go in the world, there is someone who hates me or misunderstands me simply because I was born into the Jewish nation, and live in the Jewish homeland. It stands as an important lesson for all of us, that in this enlightened and civilized age, old hatred runs deep.
In my first week at Chiropractic school (1993), during orientation, one man in particular repeatedly approached me, not to speak to me but to gaze at my forehead. After several uncomfortable moments, I asked him why he stared at me so intently, and he answered simply, "I am looking for your horns." He had grown up on a farm in the middle of Canada, and had never met a Jew before, and could not understand why I did not resemble Satan. I patiently explained the origin of the myth of the horns, quoting to him the passage in the Old Testament that described Moses' ray of lights, beaming from his face after he had his encounter with G-d and received the Ten Commandments. I also explained that the modern reference derives itself from the sculpture of Moses in Rome, the artist could not have free standing marble rays of light, and so attached them to the most likely and easiest area, the forehead. This fellow student ended up becoming a close friend, we worked as volunteers in an Ojibwe/First Nation (Indians, for the politically incorrect) clinic together, and all it took was a bit of education.
I won two tickets to Switzerland from a chocolate contest, and my friend and I went to that stunning country for one week (2001). On the train in Grindelwald, we presented our tickets and passports to one of the conductors; he looked at our two passports - One Israeli and One American, but issued in Jerusalem - nodded his head and as he walked off, clicked his heals together and did the "Sieg Heil" motion with his arm. I reacted immediately, and said to my friend, "He just Hitlered us!" But she did not see it and we dismissed it at the time.
Later, my friend and I were in Zurich on an English tour of Chagall windows in a Protestant Church. Of the five windows, four had completely Old Testament content, and only one window portrayed Jesus in any way. The guide said at one point, "And here we see the Jewish window, called so because it is dominated by the Jewish color, yellow." Not wanting to display immediate belligerence, I raised my hand and asked politely, "Though I am not aware of any official Jewish color, wouldn't you think the colors would be blue and white, the colors of the Israeli flag?" She replied that I knew nothing about art, and that the Jewish color was most definitively yellow.
Inspired by one of my all time favorite movies, "Field of Dreams," I stood up, called her a "Nazi Cow," and for the sake of the rest of the group, explained that the Nazi's assigned yellow stars to the Jews, before they exterminated them; and that the Swiss ought to know, because they got rich during WWII by stealing the Jews' money. And that I in fact had a degree in art and art history. No one in the tour group seemed shocked or surprised, and I thought at the time that a few people were thinking what I dared to speak aloud.
In Istanbul (1998), on a tour of a Sultan's palace, the Turkish guide made several minor anti-Semitic statements. My friend Ami, unable to hold herself back, asked the guide about the Turks' role in the Crusades, and about their occupation of the land we now call Israel; the man answered that he had no idea what she was talking about, and that she ought to go back and study her history.
This past week in Jordan (2007), Ali the Petra guide kept speaking about the Nabateans and the Fertile Crescent, mentioning every country along the ancient Spice Route except Israel. Ed, the American Jew from Philadelphia sitting next to me inquired Ali about this omission after it appeared several times, and Ali answered that technically, Israel did not exist then. Neither did Jordan, technically, but never mind.
History is told by those who survive it, and contrary to the belief proliferated by the Nazis, the facts do not change if you tell the lie enough times. Anti-Semitism, alive and well in our lifetime and only growing stronger, cannot be tolerated. We must all be on guard to protect our heritage and our history, and to not misconstrue the facts to suit political purposes.
I love to travel, and as much as I enjoy seeing new places, I look forward even more to meeting people of a different culture and background, and finding that common ground in a brief discussion, or over a cup of coffee. When I used to take the Shuttle between New York and Boston in college, I would often find myself in conversation with the passenger next to me, sharing life stories and exposing skeletons in closets; I have that kind of face and give off that kind of energy, I suppose, the billboard that says, "tell me your stories, I will listen."
For today, I want to focus on several incidents that were less pleasurable, and reminded me that wherever I go in the world, there is someone who hates me or misunderstands me simply because I was born into the Jewish nation, and live in the Jewish homeland. It stands as an important lesson for all of us, that in this enlightened and civilized age, old hatred runs deep.
In my first week at Chiropractic school (1993), during orientation, one man in particular repeatedly approached me, not to speak to me but to gaze at my forehead. After several uncomfortable moments, I asked him why he stared at me so intently, and he answered simply, "I am looking for your horns." He had grown up on a farm in the middle of Canada, and had never met a Jew before, and could not understand why I did not resemble Satan. I patiently explained the origin of the myth of the horns, quoting to him the passage in the Old Testament that described Moses' ray of lights, beaming from his face after he had his encounter with G-d and received the Ten Commandments. I also explained that the modern reference derives itself from the sculpture of Moses in Rome, the artist could not have free standing marble rays of light, and so attached them to the most likely and easiest area, the forehead. This fellow student ended up becoming a close friend, we worked as volunteers in an Ojibwe/First Nation (Indians, for the politically incorrect) clinic together, and all it took was a bit of education.
I won two tickets to Switzerland from a chocolate contest, and my friend and I went to that stunning country for one week (2001). On the train in Grindelwald, we presented our tickets and passports to one of the conductors; he looked at our two passports - One Israeli and One American, but issued in Jerusalem - nodded his head and as he walked off, clicked his heals together and did the "Sieg Heil" motion with his arm. I reacted immediately, and said to my friend, "He just Hitlered us!" But she did not see it and we dismissed it at the time.
Later, my friend and I were in Zurich on an English tour of Chagall windows in a Protestant Church. Of the five windows, four had completely Old Testament content, and only one window portrayed Jesus in any way. The guide said at one point, "And here we see the Jewish window, called so because it is dominated by the Jewish color, yellow." Not wanting to display immediate belligerence, I raised my hand and asked politely, "Though I am not aware of any official Jewish color, wouldn't you think the colors would be blue and white, the colors of the Israeli flag?" She replied that I knew nothing about art, and that the Jewish color was most definitively yellow.
Inspired by one of my all time favorite movies, "Field of Dreams," I stood up, called her a "Nazi Cow," and for the sake of the rest of the group, explained that the Nazi's assigned yellow stars to the Jews, before they exterminated them; and that the Swiss ought to know, because they got rich during WWII by stealing the Jews' money. And that I in fact had a degree in art and art history. No one in the tour group seemed shocked or surprised, and I thought at the time that a few people were thinking what I dared to speak aloud.
In Istanbul (1998), on a tour of a Sultan's palace, the Turkish guide made several minor anti-Semitic statements. My friend Ami, unable to hold herself back, asked the guide about the Turks' role in the Crusades, and about their occupation of the land we now call Israel; the man answered that he had no idea what she was talking about, and that she ought to go back and study her history.
This past week in Jordan (2007), Ali the Petra guide kept speaking about the Nabateans and the Fertile Crescent, mentioning every country along the ancient Spice Route except Israel. Ed, the American Jew from Philadelphia sitting next to me inquired Ali about this omission after it appeared several times, and Ali answered that technically, Israel did not exist then. Neither did Jordan, technically, but never mind.
History is told by those who survive it, and contrary to the belief proliferated by the Nazis, the facts do not change if you tell the lie enough times. Anti-Semitism, alive and well in our lifetime and only growing stronger, cannot be tolerated. We must all be on guard to protect our heritage and our history, and to not misconstrue the facts to suit political purposes.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wadi Rum (Day Two)
A Story from the Koran: Muhamed ascended to chat with G-d, to ask the Ultimate Almighty Being how the new religion of Islam should be structured. They spoke, and on the way down, Muhamed bumped into the other prophets, Moses, Jesus and Father Abraham. This auspicious group asked Muhamed, "Nu, so what does your new religion have in store for its people?" Muhamed answered, "They must pray 50 times a day."
The other prophets immediately told Muhamed to return and negotiate that stipulation, that no normal human would stick with that kind of demand, that they would get nothing done. And so Muhamed returned with the more reasonable number of five times a day.
(Of course, Muhamed could have mentioned in the Koran that the Muezzin should not start at 4:30 in the morning in a five star hotel called the Taybet Zemen, where certain non Muslim guest are trying to sleep...)
Other things I learned from Ali2 about the Koran and Muhamed:
1. A woman experiencing her "Monthly Secret" [whispered the way people talk about cancer] does not do Ramadan, does not pray, cannot even touch a copy of the Koran. Nor do most woman in most situations, they pretty much get a free pass from the fasting. A man can buy Ramadan points by giving charity to poor people, or by organizing a prayer group.
2. Muslims do not use toilet paper, they must wash out their bodies on the inside with water every time, and they must wash their hands a special way afterwards. They also must shower immediately after having sex.
3. They can have up to four wives, but must treat each wife with "fairness." Which means that a husband must juggle his household with "White Lies." (Ali2's words, not mine) and give all his wives the same gifts.
4. The Koran has answers to every problem that has occurred and that will occur. The text covers physics and space and genetics, and solved the baby switching problem in the US during the Reagan presidencies.
5. Gosh Darnit, why haven't we all converted to Islam? It's such a terrific religion and it respects everyone!
All issues of Ali2's [another guide, also named Ali] proselytising aside, I spent a wonderful day in the Wadi Rum Desert Basin. The color of the sand, the crystal clear blue of the sky, the overwhelming natural beauty of the rock formations, ancient stone carving from the Nabatean and Stone age. We saw it, we walked it, we jeeped it, we built a fire in a cave and had a simple Middle Eastern lunch. When we ran out of specific places to see along the ancient Spice Route, we went on a dune buggy adventure in his 4 x 4, a mini roller coaster ride.
Ali2 also shared ancient Bedouin desert cures and survival skills. We had many discussions throughout the day, including topics of Middle East politics, which I elicited on purpose. He slipped once and called my homeland "Palestine," but otherwise remained quite respectful and open to the idea of peace. He doesn't like Hezbollah any more than I do, they are in his words, "animals."
My guide is quite an interesting man: wife(teacher), five children aged 18-3 years old, degree in Chemistry, served in the UN army in war torn Yugoslavia for a year. The man barely sipped water the entire day in the heat of the desert, instead at every brief stop he lit up a cigarette. Ali said he is planning on using the period of Ramada to quit for good. At least he did not smoke at all near me or in the jeep, though he only used the AC at the end of the day trip, arghh. We did some mounting climbing, me in my hiking sneakers and him in flip-flops, he is definitely part mountain goat.
Funny story, we were at a location called the bridge, a huge natural archway carved out of the stone by water during the flood season, and one of Ali's friends came over to say hello. Ali said (in Arabic) that I was a doctor, and this man shows me his ankle, full of burns. Ali explained to me that this man sprained his ankle, and the Bedouin way of treating sprains and fractures is to rub a special concoction of olive oil on the area, and then burn it. I told Ali to explain to his friend that not only am I a doctor who specializes in this area, but that I myself experienced a bad sprain a month ago, and that he should have done rehab and ultra sound instead. I end up giving a medical consult to a random Arab in the middle of the Wadi.
Moral of the Story: You can't escape your destiny, not in a foreign country where you don't speak the language, even on vacation.
Another Moral of the Story: Can I now write off this Petra trip as a Chiropractic business expense?
Photos cannot capture the sandstorms I witnessed on this trip. The phenomenon seem to appear out of nowhere and to be moved and motivated by nothing visible, except perhaps a will and magic of their own. On the drive to Acquba at the end of the day, a sandstorm literally crossed the highway, writhing in various smoky forms, but with purpose. I commented to Ali that it reminds me of the story of the genie, emerging from its bottle. Which started a whole new discussion about the Koran's view of angels, genies, spirits and the like. Each nation has good genies and bad genies, that speak the mother tongue of their chosen country. And a genie will only hurt you if you hurt them, kind of like killer sharks. Good to know, next time you throw a stone into the air, or a piece of garbage on the ground, you could be pissing off a genie.
Never mind Ali2, the point is that all aspects of nature have a soul of their own, and I absolutely learned and experienced proof of that in the past two days.
The return to Acquba and the border crossing were easy and uneventful; I have to compliment the tour company, I had an escort from beginning to end, right back to the door of the hotel in Eilat where I slept overnight. When I arrived at the hotel, a small kitten immediately gravitated toward me, sat on my (sweaty) lap, and purred itself to sleep; yet more reinforcement that I cannot truly escape my identity and destiny.
Final thought question: Why does Ali2 - Arab parents, born and bred in Jordan - speak English with an Irish brogue? And why can neither Ali properly pronounce the word, "investment"?
(End of Part II)
The other prophets immediately told Muhamed to return and negotiate that stipulation, that no normal human would stick with that kind of demand, that they would get nothing done. And so Muhamed returned with the more reasonable number of five times a day.
(Of course, Muhamed could have mentioned in the Koran that the Muezzin should not start at 4:30 in the morning in a five star hotel called the Taybet Zemen, where certain non Muslim guest are trying to sleep...)
Other things I learned from Ali2 about the Koran and Muhamed:
1. A woman experiencing her "Monthly Secret" [whispered the way people talk about cancer] does not do Ramadan, does not pray, cannot even touch a copy of the Koran. Nor do most woman in most situations, they pretty much get a free pass from the fasting. A man can buy Ramadan points by giving charity to poor people, or by organizing a prayer group.
2. Muslims do not use toilet paper, they must wash out their bodies on the inside with water every time, and they must wash their hands a special way afterwards. They also must shower immediately after having sex.
3. They can have up to four wives, but must treat each wife with "fairness." Which means that a husband must juggle his household with "White Lies." (Ali2's words, not mine) and give all his wives the same gifts.
4. The Koran has answers to every problem that has occurred and that will occur. The text covers physics and space and genetics, and solved the baby switching problem in the US during the Reagan presidencies.
5. Gosh Darnit, why haven't we all converted to Islam? It's such a terrific religion and it respects everyone!
All issues of Ali2's [another guide, also named Ali] proselytising aside, I spent a wonderful day in the Wadi Rum Desert Basin. The color of the sand, the crystal clear blue of the sky, the overwhelming natural beauty of the rock formations, ancient stone carving from the Nabatean and Stone age. We saw it, we walked it, we jeeped it, we built a fire in a cave and had a simple Middle Eastern lunch. When we ran out of specific places to see along the ancient Spice Route, we went on a dune buggy adventure in his 4 x 4, a mini roller coaster ride.
Ali2 also shared ancient Bedouin desert cures and survival skills. We had many discussions throughout the day, including topics of Middle East politics, which I elicited on purpose. He slipped once and called my homeland "Palestine," but otherwise remained quite respectful and open to the idea of peace. He doesn't like Hezbollah any more than I do, they are in his words, "animals."
My guide is quite an interesting man: wife(teacher), five children aged 18-3 years old, degree in Chemistry, served in the UN army in war torn Yugoslavia for a year. The man barely sipped water the entire day in the heat of the desert, instead at every brief stop he lit up a cigarette. Ali said he is planning on using the period of Ramada to quit for good. At least he did not smoke at all near me or in the jeep, though he only used the AC at the end of the day trip, arghh. We did some mounting climbing, me in my hiking sneakers and him in flip-flops, he is definitely part mountain goat.
Funny story, we were at a location called the bridge, a huge natural archway carved out of the stone by water during the flood season, and one of Ali's friends came over to say hello. Ali said (in Arabic) that I was a doctor, and this man shows me his ankle, full of burns. Ali explained to me that this man sprained his ankle, and the Bedouin way of treating sprains and fractures is to rub a special concoction of olive oil on the area, and then burn it. I told Ali to explain to his friend that not only am I a doctor who specializes in this area, but that I myself experienced a bad sprain a month ago, and that he should have done rehab and ultra sound instead. I end up giving a medical consult to a random Arab in the middle of the Wadi.
Moral of the Story: You can't escape your destiny, not in a foreign country where you don't speak the language, even on vacation.
Another Moral of the Story: Can I now write off this Petra trip as a Chiropractic business expense?
Photos cannot capture the sandstorms I witnessed on this trip. The phenomenon seem to appear out of nowhere and to be moved and motivated by nothing visible, except perhaps a will and magic of their own. On the drive to Acquba at the end of the day, a sandstorm literally crossed the highway, writhing in various smoky forms, but with purpose. I commented to Ali that it reminds me of the story of the genie, emerging from its bottle. Which started a whole new discussion about the Koran's view of angels, genies, spirits and the like. Each nation has good genies and bad genies, that speak the mother tongue of their chosen country. And a genie will only hurt you if you hurt them, kind of like killer sharks. Good to know, next time you throw a stone into the air, or a piece of garbage on the ground, you could be pissing off a genie.
Never mind Ali2, the point is that all aspects of nature have a soul of their own, and I absolutely learned and experienced proof of that in the past two days.
The return to Acquba and the border crossing were easy and uneventful; I have to compliment the tour company, I had an escort from beginning to end, right back to the door of the hotel in Eilat where I slept overnight. When I arrived at the hotel, a small kitten immediately gravitated toward me, sat on my (sweaty) lap, and purred itself to sleep; yet more reinforcement that I cannot truly escape my identity and destiny.
Final thought question: Why does Ali2 - Arab parents, born and bred in Jordan - speak English with an Irish brogue? And why can neither Ali properly pronounce the word, "investment"?
(End of Part II)
Monday, August 13, 2007
Ode to Felines
I come to praise the domesticated cat, not to throw a cup of water over his head. (Shakespeare)
If you have the opportunity to put your ear to the stomach of a purring cat, I highly recommend that you do so. That rumbling, content sound is the energy of the Universe, at peace.
I have had cats in the house since childhood - Oreo and Harold, of blessed memory, and Kitty, who disappeared to parts unknown with her boyfriend - and when I imagined my life as a "grown-up," there was never a question that felines would comprise a central part of that picture. A bit over five years ago, my friend Nili took in an intelligent, verbal, pregnant cat, who then gave birth to five healthy kittens; Nili was willing to keep the mother, but could not keep the litter, and I inherited the alpha male of her kittens, whom I named Harry after my previous cat.
(I am a good Ashkenazi Jew, naming children after lost and beloved relatives. My grandmother named the orginal animal Harold after a human professor and friend at Brown University.)
Harry, a tiger striped British Tabby with piercing green eyes, started out as a house cat, until he accidentally fell off the balcony from the third floor and discovered the garden and an entire territory over which he could rule. But I am his human mother since the age of one month, I donned the "Gloves of Malice" to teach him to fight; he still "milks" me as a massage, grooms himself while sitting next to me, speaks to me on a regular basis and sometimes gets so happy to see me, he drools. Those who dislike cats, claiming that they are a selfish and unfriendly bunch, have not been owned by them, and have not felt the unconditional love and sense of purpose that flows generously and continuously.
While Harry resents the home office, because it takes away attention that he should be receiving, he will often come into the treatment room and warm a patient's stomach, because he instinctively feels that cat therapy will only enhance the results for this particular Chiropractic client.
Before Harry had his small surgery, he had a brief window to flex his fatherhood muscles and helped conceive a kitten who looks eerily like him, and shares the same birthmark on the inside of his mouth. This kitten lived on the street for almost a year, and I found him one evening, run over by a car, his tail literally flattened (like in the cartoons) and his hip broken. Having no intention other than to save him - or have the vet put him out of his misery - I rushed him to an emergency veterinary clinic, where he received orthopaedic surgery, and had his tail removed. Two weeks later, after coaxing from the vet ("Who else will take in a cat with no tail?"), Sarel joined the family.
Sarel has never gotten over the insecurity of living on the street, and so he has destroyed several pieces of quality furniture, and must sample any food being eaten or prepared. He camps out in my suitcase when I pull it out to pack -to prevent me from leaving, of course - and gets asthma when he nervous and feeling confined. Just the rustling of a plastic bag sends him into a panic attack. Because he lived on the street, he is the more friendly of the two, and has brought the complication of street cats into my life: Sarel adopted a gold-eyed ginger tiger striped street kitten from birth, now a fully grown cat. While this cat is afraid of me, he eagerly accepts food from me and has begun to come closer to me when I leave the house, much like the taming of the fox in The Little Prince. This cat has also found a way to sneak into the house at night and eat their higher quality food, and I have been forced to find creative solutions to keep him out.
Before you call me a Crazy Cat Lady, or tell me that it is my fault if I have indeed fed cats on the street, allow me to explain why I have chosen to regularly leave piles of street cat food where they congregate: after Hurricane Katarina, and after giving money to agencies to help the human victims, I still felt that I could not connect or relate to the tragedy on an individual level. Then I passed by a soaked, bedraggled, and starving cat, and decided that my continuing charity would be distributing street cat food to the Jerusalem feline population, and performing an occasional cat rescue, knowing that I make a difference in their existence on a daily basis.
I do not expect a thank you card from these animals, watching them dig into the food satisfies and gladdens me in ways that I did not think possible. On an otherwise uneventful birthday last year, one of the cats - I had fed her regularly and she disappeared after she gave birth to her litter- presented her almost independent kittens to me, lining them up like the Von Trapp children in The Sound of Music. All five kittens stood politely in a row, while she meowed the equivalent of "this is the Human who will feed you and will take care of you now." The scene moved me to tears.
A cat lover will tell you that animals have a clear sense of the human who will hurt them, and the human who is sympathetic to the cause, an honorary feline. I seem to be broadcasting that billboard, because anywhere I go, in any city in Israel or in the United States, an injured cat will ask me for help, a hungry cat will ask me for food, and a bored cat will ask me for some petting and attention. I take pride in the knowledge that the Universe has blessed me like this, and will continue to enjoy this demi-cat designation.
Don't worry Mom, I do not see pets as a substitute for children and family, and I hope that some day, when I have my own human children, my cats will protect them as their own, as part of the family.
[Check out the "Cats, about Cats, People and Everything in Between" Exhibit at the Eretz Israel Museum in Tel Aviv, through December 31, 2007.]
If you have the opportunity to put your ear to the stomach of a purring cat, I highly recommend that you do so. That rumbling, content sound is the energy of the Universe, at peace.
I have had cats in the house since childhood - Oreo and Harold, of blessed memory, and Kitty, who disappeared to parts unknown with her boyfriend - and when I imagined my life as a "grown-up," there was never a question that felines would comprise a central part of that picture. A bit over five years ago, my friend Nili took in an intelligent, verbal, pregnant cat, who then gave birth to five healthy kittens; Nili was willing to keep the mother, but could not keep the litter, and I inherited the alpha male of her kittens, whom I named Harry after my previous cat.
(I am a good Ashkenazi Jew, naming children after lost and beloved relatives. My grandmother named the orginal animal Harold after a human professor and friend at Brown University.)
Harry, a tiger striped British Tabby with piercing green eyes, started out as a house cat, until he accidentally fell off the balcony from the third floor and discovered the garden and an entire territory over which he could rule. But I am his human mother since the age of one month, I donned the "Gloves of Malice" to teach him to fight; he still "milks" me as a massage, grooms himself while sitting next to me, speaks to me on a regular basis and sometimes gets so happy to see me, he drools. Those who dislike cats, claiming that they are a selfish and unfriendly bunch, have not been owned by them, and have not felt the unconditional love and sense of purpose that flows generously and continuously.
While Harry resents the home office, because it takes away attention that he should be receiving, he will often come into the treatment room and warm a patient's stomach, because he instinctively feels that cat therapy will only enhance the results for this particular Chiropractic client.
Before Harry had his small surgery, he had a brief window to flex his fatherhood muscles and helped conceive a kitten who looks eerily like him, and shares the same birthmark on the inside of his mouth. This kitten lived on the street for almost a year, and I found him one evening, run over by a car, his tail literally flattened (like in the cartoons) and his hip broken. Having no intention other than to save him - or have the vet put him out of his misery - I rushed him to an emergency veterinary clinic, where he received orthopaedic surgery, and had his tail removed. Two weeks later, after coaxing from the vet ("Who else will take in a cat with no tail?"), Sarel joined the family.
Sarel has never gotten over the insecurity of living on the street, and so he has destroyed several pieces of quality furniture, and must sample any food being eaten or prepared. He camps out in my suitcase when I pull it out to pack -to prevent me from leaving, of course - and gets asthma when he nervous and feeling confined. Just the rustling of a plastic bag sends him into a panic attack. Because he lived on the street, he is the more friendly of the two, and has brought the complication of street cats into my life: Sarel adopted a gold-eyed ginger tiger striped street kitten from birth, now a fully grown cat. While this cat is afraid of me, he eagerly accepts food from me and has begun to come closer to me when I leave the house, much like the taming of the fox in The Little Prince. This cat has also found a way to sneak into the house at night and eat their higher quality food, and I have been forced to find creative solutions to keep him out.
Before you call me a Crazy Cat Lady, or tell me that it is my fault if I have indeed fed cats on the street, allow me to explain why I have chosen to regularly leave piles of street cat food where they congregate: after Hurricane Katarina, and after giving money to agencies to help the human victims, I still felt that I could not connect or relate to the tragedy on an individual level. Then I passed by a soaked, bedraggled, and starving cat, and decided that my continuing charity would be distributing street cat food to the Jerusalem feline population, and performing an occasional cat rescue, knowing that I make a difference in their existence on a daily basis.
I do not expect a thank you card from these animals, watching them dig into the food satisfies and gladdens me in ways that I did not think possible. On an otherwise uneventful birthday last year, one of the cats - I had fed her regularly and she disappeared after she gave birth to her litter- presented her almost independent kittens to me, lining them up like the Von Trapp children in The Sound of Music. All five kittens stood politely in a row, while she meowed the equivalent of "this is the Human who will feed you and will take care of you now." The scene moved me to tears.
A cat lover will tell you that animals have a clear sense of the human who will hurt them, and the human who is sympathetic to the cause, an honorary feline. I seem to be broadcasting that billboard, because anywhere I go, in any city in Israel or in the United States, an injured cat will ask me for help, a hungry cat will ask me for food, and a bored cat will ask me for some petting and attention. I take pride in the knowledge that the Universe has blessed me like this, and will continue to enjoy this demi-cat designation.
Don't worry Mom, I do not see pets as a substitute for children and family, and I hope that some day, when I have my own human children, my cats will protect them as their own, as part of the family.
[Check out the "Cats, about Cats, People and Everything in Between" Exhibit at the Eretz Israel Museum in Tel Aviv, through December 31, 2007.]
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