Dear Mr. President:

         I write to respond to your recent comments to the Republican Jewish Coalition identifying Prime Minister Netanyahu as “your Prime Minister”. 

         These words might have been said purposefully or they might have been an unintended slip of the tongue. Whichever they were, they demand a response. 

         Let me tell you something about myself to provide context. 

         I am an observant Jew, a rabbi, who was born and raised in this country. I am a proud American and cherish the freedoms that this nation has offered me. While I am deeply concerned about the proliferation of anti-Semitic actions and rhetoric in the United States, I continue to feel safe here to express my Jewish identity through my actions and words.

         I love and support the State of Israel. I have visited Israel 13 times, the majority of those visits came while leading groups on trips. I have brought dozens of people to Israel to explore the land and develop a connection with its people. 

         While I identify myself firmly on the left side of the political spectrum regarding Israel and while I do express criticism concerning the actions and policies of the Israeli government, I love the State and believe it is essential to the future of our people and to the world. I am frustrated and angry at policies that I believe run counter to the values of Jewish ethics but I recognize that since I neither live in Israel nor vote in its elections, I must defer to those who do to make decisions for its future. 

         I tear up a bit when I hear Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem. I am filled with pride when I see the flag of the state and consider how far Israel has come in 70 years of existence. 

         But, let there be no mistake. My flag has stars and stripes and the Star Spangled Banner touches the deepest place in my heart.  

         The Prime Minister of the State of Israel, no matter who he or she may be, whether I agree or disagree with his or her policies, whether I respect him or her as an individual is NOT my Prime Minister. I owe that person no allegiance. 

         On the contrary, the President of the United States, whether I agree or disagree with his or her policies and whether I respect him or her as an individual is my President. It is to this nation that I owe my principal loyalty. I do care deeply about Israel but I am an American. 

         You have clearly been appealing to American Jews to recognize in your policies and actions relating to Israel, a reason to support your re-election in 2020. 

         While I can argue that your policies may not be in Israel’s best interest in the long run, that is not the issue I choose to address here. 

         Rather, here is the important point. 

         I will definitely consider a candidate’s position on Israel when I decide whom to support in 2020. 

         But, there are other issues that will affect my vote. 

         My vote will also be based on a candidate’s and party’s positions on health care, immigration policy, gun violence, tax policies, environmental concerns and civil rights for minorities of all types, to name a few. I will also consider whom I feel represents the United States best in the world community. These domestic issues are what motivate me as an American as I consider the future of my country. 

         Your statement about “your Prime Minister” angered me and I fear its ramifications. I am an American, a Jewish American whose loyalty to and status in this country should never be questioned or doubted.

         HA LACHMA ANYA: WELCOME TO THE SEDER

         One of the first pieces of liturgy in the Seder is the paragraph entitled Ha Lachma Anya. It is traditional to hold up a piece of matza and say: “Ha Lachma Anya”, This is the bread of affliction or of poverty. 

         The paragraph serves as a reminder of why we gather at the Seder. The Seder is supposed to begin with the sad part of our history in Egypt and proceed to the redemptive episode of the Exodus. By holding up the Matza and saying these words, we are reminded that Matza, unleavened bread, served both as the bread eaten in Egypt and the bread eaten on the night of the Exodus. It is both the bread of affliction and the bread of freedom and here it is referred to as the former, a proper way to begin the telling of the story. 

         The fact that the same “bread” was eaten both before and after redemption teaches us that freedom is not necessarily reflected in a change in our physical lives but rather on spiritual, emotional terms. Our people might have eaten the same bread after the Exodus as during slavery but the bread tasted different. It tasted of freedom. 

         We are also reminded by the instruction to hold up the Matza that the Seder was designed to be a learning experience. It is an educational exercise first and foremost, to be aimed at the youngest child who can understand what is happening. While serious text study, discussion, debate is certainly appropriate for the Seder, the main objective of the evening is to explain the significance of the Exodus to the youngest children present and thus, the “show and tell” aspect of Ha Lachma Anya becomes particularly important.  

         It is interesting to note a variant reading of this paragraph noted by the Dubner Maggid. He pointed out that during times of freedom and security, the opening phrase would be Ki-ha Lachma Anya: “Similar to this was the bread of affliction”. 

         This seems to reflect the fact that while we can imagine ourselves as having been slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, it is impossible for anyone who has not had this experience to imagine what it really was like. Thus, the commentary seems to suggest that we should take a step back from feeling like we can truly identify with the experience of affliction and oppression. This is an interesting thought to consider throughout the Seder. Can we really say: “we look at ourselves as if we were redeemed from slavery”? Could we really imagine what that would feel like?

The paragraph Ha Lachma also serves to welcome all to the Seder. Let all who are hungry come and eat! Let all who in need of companionship celebrate the Pesach Seder!

         These words reflect an important aspect of this section of text. Ha Lachma Anya is written in Aramaic, not in Hebrew. It is assumed that this is because Aramaic was the vernacular of the time and if the invitation of welcome is to be sincere, it needs to be understood by the person who hears it in order to be an effective and sincere invitation. 

         So, when we say these words, we should be sure to say them in English. In fact, a nice thing to do at the Seder is to have everyone gathered express that invitation in any language they can speak. 

         The invitation brings up an obvious question. What could it possible mean to say these words at the Seder when the only people who could hear it are those gathered around the table already?

In this context, it is appropriate to consider this statement from the Talmudic tractate of Ta’anit. There, we read that Rav Huna would open up his door before he sat down to eat and say (these very words): “Let all who are hungry come and eat”.

         The tradition of saying them at the Seder comes back from the time when, presumably, people would actually open the door at this point in the Seder and welcome anyone in. We can assume that over the centuries, it became unwise under many circumstances to open the door in this way so we say it with the door closed. 

         However, knowing that we will say these words at the Seder inspires us to be proactive in insuring before the holiday that whoever desires to be at a Seder will be invited to one or given the necessary resources to have one in their home. It is difficult to imagine saying these words with sincerity if we have not taken the steps to insure that all who wish to be are sitting at a Seder on Pesach night. 

         Finally, since the Seder should also be an opportunity for a bit of levity, I want to share with you my favorite commentary on this section.  

         The commentator Abarbanel explained that the Ha Lachma was said in Aramaic for the reason that I presented above. But, before he expresses this idea, he mentions that there were some who believed that it was said in Aramaic so that evil spirits wouldn’t pay attention to the invitation since they don’t understand Aramaic.

         Abarbanel’s answer to this is classic. He says that for this to be true, you would first have to assume there are such things as evil spirits. Then you have to accept the fact that they don’t understand Aramaic. Finally, you have to assume they are so polite that they would not invade our Pesach Seder without an invitation. 

         I love his refutation of this tradition regarding evil spirits. . Among other things, it reminds us that sometimes the simplest explanations are the most accurate. 

         Hag Sameach! 

Three years ago, I delivered a sermon on Kol Nidre night on the subject of compassion. 

         I was in favor of it. 

         In the course of that sermon, I referred to a perspective on human evolution presented by the author Karen Armstrong in her book Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life. Before I shared the theory, I issued a disclaimer. I said that it didn’t matter to me whether the theory was universally accepted as plausible. I stressed that even as a myth it was valuable. 

         The theory was that “in the deepest recess of their minds, men and women are indeed ruthlessly selfish. The egotism is rooted in the “old brain” which was bequeathed to us by the reptiles that struggled out of the primal slime some 500 million years ago, creatures which were motivated by feeding, fighting, fleeing and reproduction.” Armstrong claimed that “over the millennia, human beings also evolved a new brain, the neocortex, home of the reasoning powers that enable us to reflect on the world and on ourselves and to stand back from instinctive, primitive, passions.”

I embrace that theory, scientifically defensible or not, because it speaks to me of the development of the human being. I love the idea that over time, perhaps we might say, inspired by the giving of the Torah, we learned how critical it is for us to reach out to our fellow human being with compassion and kindness. I love the theory because it teaches us that despite what we see around us in terribly troubled times, there is part of the human brain, which if allowed to be in control, can help us all survive together.  

This morning, I want to share with you another theory which I will be careful to frame in the same way. Even if it is viewed only a myth, it is so valuable in helping us understand something critical about ourselves as human beings, and specifically as Jews.

         For many years, I participated in a dialogue group of faith leaders and life scientists at the University of Michigan. During the last year, the group focused largely on issues of genetics. Of the many issues that were raised, the one that was most fascinating to me was the area entitled epigenetics. 

Epigenetics is the study of changes in organisms caused by modification of gene expression rather than alteration of the genetic code itself. This process allows for inherited characteristics which are not reflected in the human genome itself but rather in the processes surrounding the genes that can “turn on or turn off” a gene. 

This is very intriguing and the aspect of this field of study that fascinates me and is in fact the subject of debate is the question of whether certain emotional aspects of our lives can be passed down in this way. Specifically of interest to me is the question of whether forms of trauma can be passed down from one generation to the next. Independent of education, environment or any other identifiable factors, can a person’s emotional or psychological makeup be affected internally by traumatic experiences of ancestors? Is a person, in a way, programmed to respond to certain situations by the experiences of ancestors?

         I find this theory completely plausible but do not have the expertise to claim it is absolutely true from a scientific standpoint. But, I would argue that if only as myth, it is absolutely true for us as Jews.

         There is a Talmudic expression Ma’aseh Avot Siman L’banim,“the actions of our ancestors are a sign for the descendants”. This can be understood in so many ways but certainly one way is the idea that we are imprinted with the experiences of our ancestors. 

While we teach our children about the traumas of the past, perhaps as Jews, we would feel them internally without the teaching. Metaphorically, they are part of our DNA.

         There can be no question that we are feeling the trauma of the past more directly with the increase of anti-Semitism in recent months and years. There can be no question that reading and hearing about hatred directed at Jews is awakening or re-awakening in all of us fear and dread that comes from a place deep within us. Even those of us who have never experienced anti-Semitism directly instinctively feel as if we have been here before as we have internalized the stories we have heard from slavery in Egypt to the inquisition to pogroms and to the Shoah. But, we don’t have to have heard those stories to feel this. There is something in our kishkes as Jews which relate to this reality as it is so much a part of who we have been and who we are. It is that deeply ingrained within us.

         This morning, as we prepare for the holiday of Pesach, I want to share one thought with you. In the Torah we read that a person was obligated to say to his child: “I am observing these rituals because of what God did for me when I left Egypt”. Whether these words were intended to be said by every later generation of Jews or not, we do say them at the Seder as the rebuttal to the rebellious child. We claim that we were personally freed from Egypt.

         And, the Haggadah teaches that b’chal dor vador hayav adam lirot et atzmo ke-ilu hu yatza mimitzraim: in every generation a person must look at him or herself as if he or she personally left Egypt. 

         While we do also say avadim hayyinu, we were slaves; the most dramatic sentences in the Seder to connect us with the past do not connect us with the experience of having been slaves but rather with the experience of redemption. This is what we are to remember. We left Egypt. We were redeemed.

         And so, I would argue that if there is something in our gut which tells us that Jews have always been persecuted and hated, the Haggadah commands us to remember that we have also been imprinted with the hope for redemption. 

         While it may be in our genes as Jews to know that we will suffer from persecution, it is also in our DNA to believe in compassion, to hope for redemption and not to give in to the desperation and certainty that it will always be like this. 

         There will no doubt be much talk at Seder tables around the world this year about the dangers that confront us as Jews. This is an undeniable reflection of our history and where we see ourselves today. 

But, we must remember that the purpose of the Seder and our ultimate purpose as Jews is to remember that redemption, salvation, is part of our history as well and when we seek to respond from our hearts and souls as Jews, we must always believe that the future will be better.

We can’t ignore what is happening around us.

But, our tradition has obligated us also to commit ourselves to looking beyond those troubles and recognizing in our past history the reality of redemption.          

For eternal hope, tikva, is part of our DNA as well. 

         Now that Purim has passed, it is time to turn our attention to Pesach and to consider once again the most important and fascinating of our Jewish rituals: the Pesach Seder. 

         In the next few weeks, I want to share some thoughts on different aspects of the Seder. I hope that you will take the time to consider these ideas and how they can impact your holiday observance. 

        One of the highlights of the Seder for many is the recitation of the four questions. The source for the asking of questions at the Seder is found in the Mishna, in which we read that after the second cup of wine has been poured, the child “asks his father”. The Mishna then proceeds to say that if the child does not have the ability to ask, the parent teaches the questions: Mah Nishtana Halayla Hazeh Meekol Halaylot… Shebechal Halaylot…

         It is not clear whether these specific questions must be asked at each Seder or if these are the specific questions the parent teaches a child who can’t ask on his or her own. But, one way or the other, the Mishna gives a set of four questions to be asked. 

         It is important to note that the four questions of the Mishna are actually different from our four questions. One difference is minor: the fourth question in the Mishna which corresponds with our third question mentions that on all other nights “we only dip once” while at the Seder we dip twice. Our text reads:  “we don’t dip even once”. This apparently reflects the fact that one dipping as a first course was more common at the time of the Mishna than in subsequent eras.

But, the more significant difference is found in the third question in the Mishna. This question states that on all other nights we prepare meat in many different ways but  “tonight we eat only roasted meat”. This refers to the Pesach sacrifice which, according to the Torah, must be roasted. After the destruction of the Temple and the cessation of sacrifices, this question became irrelevant, as there was no longer a requirement to eat only roasted meat. So, the question was dropped from the ritual.

         However, perhaps in an effort to insure that four questions be asked (to fit in with four cups of wine and the four children of the Seder) a fourth question was added in later years referring to the fact that we recline during the Seder: “On all other nights we eat either sitting or reclining, tonight we recline.”

         The idea of reclining at the Seder presumably has its origins in the tradition of reclining during banquets in the Greek and Roman world. Assuming some aspects of the Seder are related to the philosophical symposia of the Greek world, it is not surprising that our ancestors reclined during the ritual. In later generations, this tradition remained a part of the Seder even after it was no longer familiar in other settings. Therefore, it became a reasonable subject for a child to ask in the context of “how this night is different from all other nights”.

         The word for reclining is misubin and it is generally taught that reclining is an expression of freedom and of the comfort that the redemption from slavery allowed our ancestors. Today, the leader and many participants symbolically recline by leaning on a pillow during the Seder.

         Clearly, this is what the word misubinmeans in the context of the four questions. But, there is a beautiful commentary on the word which I believe can make a significant difference in how we conduct our Seder while we recline.

         There are some who relate the word “misubin” to the Hebrew word “misaviv” which means “around” or “in a circle”. These commentators proceed to teach that at the Seder table, we should sit in a circle. 

         Think about how important this is. 

A circle is defined as the set of points which are equidistant from a specific point. At the Seder, the central point should be where the leader sits and the Seder plate is placed. Thus, if the Seder plate is placed in the middle of the table, sitting in a circle insures that each individual at the Seder is equidistant from this central point so that all feel equally a part of the ritual.

         In our day, many are accustomed to setting up long Seder tables (often with a “kids table” off to the side). In this configuration, the leader usually sits at the head of the table and some sit further away from the leader than others. 

         This is absolutely contrary to the spirit of the Seder. The Seder should be a shared experience. Each and every individual, including those who might be relegated to the periphery for whatever reason, must be part of the conversation and must be recognized as an equal. 

         Not everyone can have a circular table but I offer two suggestions to those who would like to follow this advice. 

         First, especially if you have young children at your Seder, you might try getting up from the table and sitting around in  a circle (maybe even on the floor as if around a campfire) for Maggid: the storytelling part of the Seder. This may be unusual but it might make for an unforgettable evening for the youngest in the family. 

         But, if you prefer to sit at the table for the entire Seder, at the very least be sure that the leader of the table is not at one end or the other. Place the leader closer to the middle of the table where the Seder plate is so that no one feels superfluous. Everyone then becomes part of the action and attention and no one feels too distant. This is a night to be shared equally among all Seder participants and no one should feel less a part of the discussion and ritual. 

         Kulanu Misubin.

         We all recline.

         But, it’s particularly important at the Seder that we recline in a circle. 

This morning, the New York Times ran an obituary for Jacqueline Steiner who, along with Bess Lomax Hawes wrote an unforgettable song in 1949. The song has become so popular throughout the US and throughout the world that it is hard to believe that it actually had its beginning as a campaign song for a political candidate.

         According to the Times story, the candidate was named Walter A. O’Brien who ran on a platform which included opposing a fare increase on the Boston transit system. That proposal included a small fare which one would pay to get off the subway or trolley car. So, in order to dramatize the burdensome nature- and stupidity- of this system, Steiner and Hawes wrote a song for his campaign about a poor guy named Charlie who paid to get on but didn’t have the extra nickel to get off the train. 

         And so, the legend of Charlie of the M.T.A. was born. 

         The candidate lost and the song disappeared until the Kingston Trio revitalized it in 1959. They decided to change the name of the candidate to “George O’Brien” especially since Walter O’Brien was, according to the Times article, deemed to be a communist and was blacklisted. But, the other lyrics remained the same and the legend grew as the song hit Number 1.

         As the article points out, it is so much ingrained in Boston culture that the “T”, as the Boston transit system is now called, chose “CharlieCard” as the name for the automated fare card needed to ride the subway. Today, if you go to Boston and travel on the “T”, you have to buy a CharlieCard. Brilliant. 

         The song is so much fun and you can hear it here if you don’t know it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7Jw_v3F_Q0

         Whenver I hear the song, I think of so many hours I spent on the M.T.A. and later the “T” going to Boston Latin School each school day and on trips to Brookline or downtown. I’m not going to claim that it was perfect then or that it is now. Those who have the ride the T today, I’m sure, can tell horror stories as can be told about any transit system. But, for now, I’m filled with nostalgia as I think of the “streetcars” on the Boston College line which I rode so often as they dipped into the subway at Kenmore Square right near Fenway Park and continued into the center of downtown. 

         And, we did have to pay to get off the train. 

         The system eventually changed but, when I was kid, you had to pay a higher fare- on the honor system, I guess- if you entered the train above ground and intended to get off in the subway than the fare you would pay if you planned to get off before the subway. 

         And, on the way “outbound” from the subway, you would pay a quarter to get on and then had to pay a dime to get off above ground. 

         It was a crazy system and it made no sense and that’s exactly what the song is about. 

         Of course, the Times raised the obvious question that arises when someone hears the song for the first (or hundredth) time. If, as the song goes, Charlie’s wife could hand him a sandwich each day through the open window as the train rumbles through the station, why didn’t she hand him a nickel to get off the train? It is one of the eternal questions which continues to defy an answer. 

         I love subways and make it a point when visiting a new city which has a subway to ride even if just for the experience. I spent many hours in New York riding the subways especially with friends who shared my interest when they visited from out of town. I love looking at subway maps and am fascinated with a website called nycsubway.org which has pictures and descriptions of subways throughout the world. 

         But, beyond my love of other subways is the nostalgia I feel as I remember the sharp turn as the green line rumbles out of Boylston Street station, the great view of the Charles River as the car approaches Science Park and the memory of standing outside waiting for the streetcar to come to take me to school on cold winter mornings (when we couldn’t convince my mother to drive us). 

         As I wrote, I’m sure that if you have to ride it every day, the T can be horribly frustrating, expensive and not very worthy of nostalgic reveries. But, for this born and bred Bostonian, it is the stuff of fond, warm memories.

         Good luck Charlie! Meanwhile, enjoy the ride!

TEST

         Last month, after I had been reminded of one of my favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone, I decided to watch all of the episodes in order while I exercised at home in the morning. I have been making good progress and am more than halfway through the first season. 

         This morning, I had the opportunity to watch an episode  called: The Monsters are Due on Maple Street.

         The story begins relatively simply. The residents of Maple Street hear a mysterious noise and see a flash of light. As they gather to try to figure out the source of the noise and flash, they find that the power is out, cars won’t start and the phone system is not working. 

         Immediately, they start to speculate what could have caused these problems and, naturally, they link them to the noise they have heard. Then, one young boy, basing his theory on a story he had read in a comic book claims that not only was the noise and the flash an alien spacecraft but that the aliens had obviously planted an advance party in the neighborhood. He claims that someone on the street must be an alien and that they had to find out who it was.

         What follows (spoiler alert) is predictable. Different people are identified as being aliens and baseless accusations are thrown back and forth. Eventually, the situation boils over as people are shot and killed and the neighborhood completely disintegrates into chaos.

         As the story closes, we see two aliens on a hill overlooking the town. They talk about the best way to defeat human beings: take away some of their conveniences, plant a seed of doubt in their minds about their neighbors and watch the chaos that erupts and the destruction that follows. 

         This episode, shown for the first time in 1960, was most likely a reaction to the baseless accusations that typified the “red scare” of the 40s and 50s. But, as I watched it today, I was left with the stark realization that we are all potentially living on Maple Street. 

          We have heard the false accusations all too often over the past two years. We hear about the enemies across the border trying to infiltrate our nation: the rapists, murderers and gang members that make up the majority of those trying to enter our nation. We hear about the Muslims in our communities and our government who are trying to undermine our wholesome values. We hear about the members of the LGBTQ community who are determined to corrupt our young people. We hear about those who disagree with the administration as being unpatriotic.

         And it goes on and on. 

         The language of division, fear, suspicion and hatred which our current administration and others use so freely is horrendous and offensive. The use of racist and xenophobic language intended to instill fear in our nation is a disgrace. 

         And it goes on and on.

         While it does seem that it has had the desired effect among some as they turn against their neighbors across the street or across the border in an attempt to protect themselves, it seems that more and more Americans are seeing this language and this fear-mongering for what it is and are uniting to stand against those who tell us that the monsters are among us or around the corner. 

         The Monsters are Due on Maple Street was produced in 1960. One would have hoped we would have grown wiser since then. Hopefully, we have grown wiser and will make our voices heard more loudly and clearly as the days go along.  

I have written several pieces over the years which describe coincidences which may not really be coincidences. Those pieces usually are focused on issues relating to the “afterlife” and my evolving conviction that some unusual events can in fact be viewed a window into contact with those who have died.

But, some coincidences are just coincidences.

The other day, I received an email from a good friend telling me about a podcast he had discovered called The Twilight Zone Podcast. He knew of my interest in the classic TV series because, years ago, I had replied to his Facebook posting in which he referred  somewhat subtly to the Twilight Zone episode: “A Stop at Willoughby”, one of my favorites.

The coincidence here was that just last Shabbat in speaking from the bima about my trip to the border in Texas, I had ad-libbed a reference to the Twilight Zone. I mentioned that the most stressful part of the trip for me was that the airline had cancelled my return flight because they claimed I hadn’t taken the second leg of the incoming flight to El Paso and, as a result, my return reservation was cancelled automatically.

The fact that I was standing in El Paso talking to the ticket agent and that my luggage still had the bar code which showed I had picked it up in El Paso didn’t seem to convince him. He steadfastly claimed I was not on the flight. I knew that I was but couldn’t  convince him.

I mentioned to the congregation that it was at that moment that I thought Rod Serling was going to come out from behind the counter and, in that haunting voice, start the introduction to this week’s episode: Picture a man who knows where he was…”

The congregation responded with the laughter I had hoped for before we got to the more serious matters at hand and by the way, the airline eventually agreed that in fact I was on the flight.

My friend hadn’t heard my sermon and the posted text does not include the reference to the show. Still, it was after all, just a coincidence that he would write to me two days later about the Twilight Zone.

But, his email brought me to the Podcast which is fascinating and gave me a new idea for what to watch on TV while I exercise in the early morning. I have the entire series on DVD so, this morning I started at Season 1 Episode 1 entitled “Where Is Everybody” and plan to watch them all in order.

The Twilight Zone is a masterpiece and I know I speak for many fans when I say that I can quote lines over and over again from my favorite episodes and truly am amazed at how they have remained so clear over the years.

The episode that my friend referred to: “A Stop at Willoughby” is one of my favorites and I actually did have a reference to it in the early drafts of my book: “The Long Way Around”, a reference which I decided to omit in the final draft.

In a description of a trip I had taken through the South many years ago when our kids were very young and life was extremely hectic, I wrote of my drive through the small town of Belcher, Louisiana early on a December morning. The town was beautiful in the early light: a woman walked her dog through the leaf filled streets and a little girl waved to me sweetly as she waited for the school bus.

I was so taken by the surrealistic quiet of the town, a throwback it seemed to an earlier, more relaxed time that I was tempted to park the car and stay there a while longer. Then, I remembered “A Stop at Willoughby” and just kept driving.

As they say in Hebrew hamayveen yaveen, those who understand will understand. I will not post any spoilers in this piece. If you haven’t seen the episode, you can find it online and then you will understand as well.

One Twilight Zone episode did find its way into the final draft of the book, the episode called: To Serve Man. Again, I will offer no spoilers (although I did spoil it in the book), but I have always seen that episode as a anti-religious polemic which, while I disagree with the premise, is absolutely fascinating in its attempt to discourage us from trusting mysterious books brought from the sky.

Last night, I listened to the host of the podcast talk about another of my favorite episodes: Five Characters in Search of an Exit. It is an absolutely engrossing story which ends, as the host discussed, with an appropriately mysterious ending. We understand who the people in the story are. But, so much is left unexplained, open to our imagination and our thought.

Just as an aside, there is an old episode of the children’s show Arthur, which actually featured a slyly written tribute to this classic episode. I remember watching that Arthur episode for the first time with our kids when they were young and screaming with delight when I saw the scene. I scared the daylights out of both of them and the dog as well. Such is the power of good TV.

And there are so many others that I will never forget including the one that really terrified me the first time I saw it as a young boy: “Twenty-Two”. (I swear there is a subtle reference to “Twenty-Two” in an episode of another favorite: “Fawlty Towers” but I can’t prove it.)

For me, the magic of the Twilight Zone is that many of the episodes leave us with deep, unanswered questions at the same time as it opens up to us the possibilities in our existence that we might never consider or take seriously.

I am beginning to make some progress on an idea for a second book which I won’t discuss in detail now but part of the book would involve a wonderful commentary on the siddur by the 13^thcentury commentator, the Ramban, Nachamanides.

Nachmanides comments on the verse from Psalms which we say before beginning the silent amida: “God, open my lips and my mouth shall speak your praise”. He notes that the word for “lips”, sfatai comes from the same root as the word for the bank of a river.He says, in essence, that we should ask God to help us go beyond the finite boundaries that we have accepted and be willing to explore new possibilities.

This is what the Twilight Zone did and continues to do. It is an inspiring work that encourages us to open our minds to ideas we might dare not consider.

I’ll keep you informed of my progress as I begin a daily watching of this fantastic show. And, if you have a favorite episode, I encourage you to let me and everyone else know by replying to this posting.

It was, after all, only a coincidence… Right?