Thursday, June 30, 2005

Really Me This Time

As many of you already know, we were suspended from our online service because someone who shall reamin nameless never got around to paying the bill. Yes, Leez, the same people who called us every hour on the hour on Shavuos and left recorded messages on our machine. Right, we didn't pay those people.

So we got a time-out. But here's the kicker... Our e-mail is connected to our DSL, so we were also suspended from that. That means no college group project e-mail, no advertising business e-mail, and no Lands End Overstock e-mail. Also, no 700 pictures from my Dad's trip to Israel.

But now we are back up, and I am here with you.

What amuses me the most about this who Air Time-Her time fiasco is that this is actuall the first time I even saw it. Air knows me so well, he can actually channel me in his writing. Also, he's a great liar. That was all him. The switchover, the sink story, the poem. But it was as if I was writing it. Amazing.

Some comments about my "new" blog:
  • Please visit often, although I do not have the plethora of time on my hands that Air enjoys at work, so I will not post as often
  • Please comment, so I know who you are, and that you are reading
  • Please notice that my spelling of "their", "there", and "they're" will always be correct
  • Although my writing skills can never match my Dear One's, please bear with me

By the way, a mention to RPG - I cannot believe you can actually say that it was me!

To Air - I am so glad to see so many people siding with me on that key thing (MCPs notwithstanding)

To Leez - Thanks for alreting me to this whole thing in the first place!

The Real Sink Story

First off, hello again. Genius forgot to pay the phone bill so I have been sitting at home for two days without Internet. And unable to post my first post here. Anyway, here goes nothing.

Reformed Party Girl, or RPG for this post
Mistold the sink story, On this Blog which I host
So here is the real story, and my apologies please
It isn’t at all tasteful, and don’t take a lesson from me, Leez.

Two boys from Beis had a room at the Lev
They invited RPG and I for Shabbat, thought they were brave
But we couldn’t let their parents know we were there
So for meals we had to find our own fare

We went to Machne Yehudah and bought ourselves eats
And there was plenty of alcohol we brought in as treats
And while the boys were eating Friday night with their folks
We were sitting and drinking and telling jokes.

And as happens to girls who have too much to drink
I went to the bathroom, and walked past the sink
I sat on the toilet and went tinkle tinkle
When RPG walked in, she too had to sprinkle

But I wasn’t moving from my spot on the pot
She asked me to move, and I said I think not.
So RPG pulled down her pants, dropped her butt in the sink
Gave a look at me, and then gave me a wink.

Then we were laughing hysterically because she really did pee
Now twelve years later on the blog she says it was me
I wish we had pictures but it was Friday night
You’ll have to take my word for it, it was quite a sight

RPG, what is next, what will you put on my plate
Are you going to claim that all those guys, I did date?

If you want to see RPG's version of events, see the previous post's comments.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Guess who took over

Dear Air Time Readers,

As you know, Air Time has walked away. But he left his password on the desk, and now the blog is all mine.

Welcome to Her Time.


On A Break

Maybe you’ve noticed and let it slide; maybe you’ve been ignoring it. Or maybe you are so deep into this blog that you are in denial about it.

The bottom line is Air Time is on the decline. The stories don’t have any zip to them, and they aren’t fun to read. Or write. Which is really the problem here.

Some people blog for therapy. Other’s have a political agenda or a voice that they want to get out. Me, I just like to write, and I haven’t been happy with the quality of my posts lately.

So I am taking a break from this blog. It may only last a week; it may be goodbye. My guess is Air Time will return in some format in the not too distant future. I am keeping this blog up, and if and when I return, you’ll see Air Time pop up on jrants.

If you’ve been following Air Time since the first Air Time was sent out in 1997, this should be a familiar pattern by now.

Create Air Time. Get lots of readers. Get them totally hooked on Air Time. Call it quits. If I had a therapist I am sure she would have something to say about that.

There is one more Air Time stage, the part where I miss it and need to write again. Because each time I kill Air Time, there is a part of me that misses writing it which I am sure is far stronger than the loss you feel from not reading it. And that is what keeps Air Time going.

This is the fourth coming of Air Time. The first was a weekly email that went out to friends, and lasted about two years. The second was basically a replay of the first coming, and lasted about six months.

That was followed by Air Time the Magazine, which was a 4-8 page magazine style email that came out about once a month, and lasted a little over a year.

Then came this blog. Dudi convinced me to write it, and it has been fun reliving some of the good old days with you all. It has been especially nice hearing from people with whom I had lost contact years ago.

Air Time has always been about stories, so I will leave you with one for the road.

It is 12th grade, in Toronto, and I am in Rabbi Mayerfeld’s shuir. Seven years after her sixth child, my mom has one more. My baby sister. The night I go home to meet her is the same night Saddam Hussein starts raining Scuds on Israel.

When I return to Toronto, Rabbi Mayerfeld asks me how my trip was, and what my sister’s name is. She is my sixth sibling, my parent’s seventh child, and I tell Rabbi Mayerfeld that her name is Batsheva.

Bassheva, he corrected me. Her name is Bassheva. No, I tell him. Her name is Batsheva.

Does she spell her name with a “Tes” or a “Suf” he asks. I am pretty pissed that the rabbi is making such a big deal about how we spell her name, so I tell him I have no idea, and maybe they are spelling it with a “Tes.”

Rabbi Mayerfeld walks away, leaving me wonder how someone who is so knowledgeable in Gemara can be so inconsiderate and narrowminded in real life.

Before I go, I just wanted to thank everyone who comes here, comments here, emails me and particpates in this blog.

One long-running fight

For the past ten years, my wife and I have had three fights. One of them she has asked me not to write about, one of them you would have to be there to decide who was right and who was wrong, but the third one is worth discussing.

It is Thanksgiving, 1994. The Lions have already beaten the Bills, and Aviva and I decide to go to Naoh's Ark for Thanksgiving dinner.

When we get to the restaurant, the Packers - Cowboys game is on, a game that has playoff implications in the NFC Central (This is before the realignment). I need to hear the score before we go inside.

Aviva, I should point out, is the driver. It is her car, in her city, in her state.

I tell her to wait a second before turning the car off, so i can ehar the score of the game. She gets out of the car, leaves the keys in the ignition, and hits the autolock button on the door.

A minute later, I hear the score, get out of the car, and close the door.

The keys are still in the ignition.

She was the driver. She left the keys in the ignition. She hit the door lock button.

It is an open and shut case. She is to blame.

But to hear her tell it, she blames me. Because I wanted to listen the radio, she puts the blame for locking the keys in the car on me.

Despite the fact that I never touched the keys. Didn't put them in the ignition. Didn't turn on or off the car. Didn't lock the door.

We still argue about whose fault it was, and I am confident that those of you thoughtful, intelligent people who read this can assess blame where it belongs; squarely on her shoulders.

Monday, June 27, 2005


what do you think of the orange.

Nachal Arugot

Nachal Arugot is a nice hike. It takes a few hours, and the payoff is a waterfall at the end, which falls intro a pool of water. Located about an hour from Jerusalem, it was a place we would go during vacation, or on occasion, during yeshiva, when we needed a break from the books.

On this day, I am there with Dovi and Shimmy, two fellow Mercaz guys. I have not known Dovi for long, but he is the first person I have met who loves learning, absolutely loves learning, and then leaves yeshiva to hang out with whatever girls he can get a hold of. And believe me, their are plenty of girls he gets a hold of.

On this day, though, we are hiking though, and there aren't any girls around. It is sunny and hot, and no one is bothering wearing a shirt as we climb over rocks, and through tree-lined streams.

Finally, we are in a clearing. A few hundred feet away above us, there is a group of girls on top of a ridge. A single high-pitched voice breaks the natural silence, coming from the top of the ridge.

"Are you Dovi?"

We never were able to find out who she was, but needless to say, Dovi's stature shot up in our eyes.

Helping Out - An Air Time Ad

Air Time is committed to helping Jewish organizations through whatever means possible. And so it is that we extend to Towards Tradition this handy order form.

As you might be aware, Jack Abramoff is being investigated by the senate for defrauding Indian tribes.

During the senate hearing, they tried to establish a pattern of deception, and introduced this email exchange between Abramhoff and Rabbi Daniel Lapin, founder and director of Towards Tradition.

This comes frmo the Washington Post.

"I hate to ask you for your help with something so silly but I've been nominated for membership in the Cosmos Club, which is a very distinguished club in Washington, DC, comprised of Nobel Prize winners, etc.," Abramoff wrote. "Problem for me is that most prospective members have received awards and I have received none. I was wondering if you thought it possible that I could put that I have received an award from Toward Tradition with a sufficiently academic title, perhaps something like Scholar of Talmudic Studies?"
There were titters in the audience as Sen. Byron L. Dorgan (D-N.D.) read aloud the e-mail, then outright laughter as he continued reading: "Indeed, it would be even better if it were possible that I received these in years past, if you know what I mean."
The rabbi, conservative radio host Daniel Lapin, gave his blessing. "I just need to know what needs to be produced," he wrote. "Letters? Plaques?"
It doesn’t seem to be that big a deal, until you read about the mission of Towards Tradition, which is to “advance our nation toward the traditional Judeo-Christian values that defined America’s creation and became the blueprint for her greatness. We believe that only a new alliance of concerned citizens can re-identify and dramatically strengthen the core values necessary for America to maintain that greatness and moral leadership.”


This is a guy who pledges to fight for a moral America, but is willing to provide a big donor with some hardware to help him get into a prestigious club. Pretty sad, although Rabbi Lapin claimed to be kidding around.

Skating Back to the 80s

Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame blasted through the roller rink. Bon Jovi was there, along with Boy George and Belinda Carlisle and all that 80s roller skating music.

We were at our friends surprise 30th birthday party yesterday afternoon, and the music was taking everyone back. That, and the people who chose roller skates over blades.

We had a great time, the music taking me back to my first rock music memories. Days in Detroit, when Rock Music was so assur that even Shlock Rock’s rock parodies were considered devil music.

Looking back, it was pretty funny. On the one hand, we had the rabbis telling us that listening to rock music was a violation of all the principles of Judaism, while members of the class were busy compiling lists of all the rock bands that they could name.

But back to the party. Being that it was from 4:30-6:30, they invited everyone’s kids as well. Usually I don’t like to bring kids to a party, but this one worked. My oldest 2 had a blast skating and eating pizza. My littlest even put some skates on, although she didn’t like skating that much. She also didn’t like when her mother and I abandoned her at our table and went off to skate ourselves.

So if you are thinking of having a roller skating party, I recommend it. Make sure you don’t forget the 80s music.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Mirty Magazine Cover fixed

Bentching Club

We are in Yeshiva Gedola. It is ninth grade. It is breakfast time. We have to eat breakfast in Yeshiva because we are in Yeshiva beginning at 7:30 Shachris. There is no milk, though, because the Cholov Yisrael shipment didn’t arrive on time, and the regular milk that we bought at the gas station across the street has been taken away by the lunatics who are afraid we are "traifing" up the yeshiva dishes.

There are about fifteen minutes until shuir starts, and we have a choice to make. It is actually a choice we have to make every day. Do we want to go to the gym and play basketball, or bentch first, and then go and play basketball.

We look around the table. No one really wants to Bentch today, so we create Bentching Club. Every morning we will ask around the table if anyone wants to do Bentching Club. We are in ninth grade and already worn out and sick of Yeshiva. Most of our class sits at this table for breakfast. Almost every day, the class votes No to Bentching Club.

Informational Park

Just kidding.



If A Notebook Could Talk...

Years ago, in Skokie, I looked at a beaten up notebook of mine, and wrote a note from my notebook to myself. Essentially, it was the notebook bitching about the abuse it had been taking. The wire was bent and the pages were torn out. There was doodling and scribbling and notes and pictures all over every remaining page in the notebook. The notebook railed against the abuse notebooks had been taking for years, being written on and discarded and forced to spend time in dark places with little air.

If you had read it, you would probably laugh.

I was thinking about it because I was wondering when the last time I wrote in a notebook was. Not work notes jotted on a scratch pad or yellow notepad, but real writing on a real notebook.

One with white blank pages waiting to filled with idea and stories and gibberish. With a cover and wire binding and pages that weren't perforated so that the page didn't look like it came from a notebook.

It would probably sound something like this.

Hey. You. You out there. You forgot all about me. I used to be one of your best friends. You carried me in your book bag and took me out whenever you had something important to write down. Remember, it's me, Notebook.

Look, I know that you have that fancy Mac, and you type all your important information into her. But what about me? What am I supposed to do? Am I just supposed to wait here until there is another three day blackout for you to acknowledge me?

Look at yourself. You used to hold those smooth pens in your hands, and write in your almost legible script. Now, you use your fingers to type onto a computer. You think that's writing? That's nothing.

There is only one way to really write. Grab a pen, sit at a desk or table, and write away.

Because you're killing me, man, just killing me. You know how many notebooks are out of work because of people like you. We used to grow forests so we could cut down trees and make paper. There are forests that are overgrown because no one has bothered to chop trees down for notebooks. Those forests cause fires, fires that you are responsible for. You and your computer friends.

You know I am being outsourced. They are taking all the notebooks and sending us to Africa or some other third world country. You gotta do something. Can you imagine me in an African desert? The heat will kill me and make my beautiful red cover fade. You gotta do something. Get rid of that computer. Today. And start abusing me again.

I miss it.

Excuse Me Overdose

I have a coworker who overdoes the Excuse me. Whenever we pass each other in the aisles between cubes (I really work in Dilbert’s world) he says excuse me, despite the fact that there is ample room for us to pass each other without moving an iota.

It is a completely unwarranted excuse me.

And if he is overusing his excuse me’s when he comes to a situation where it really is appropriate, it doesn’t mean as much, because he throws them around so easily.

So here is an Excuse Me primer for everyone, so that excuse me is not overused.

If you are walking and break up a group of people who are talking in an aisleway, you should say excuse me

If you are walking and someone has to move out of your way, you should say excuse me.

If someone is standing in your way and you need them to move, you should say excuse me.

If you round a corner and almost bump into someone, you should say excuse me.

If you round a corner and bump into someone and knock them on the ground, try not to laugh at them, and say I’m sorry. Excuse me is not going to cut it here.

If you fart or burp loudly enough for someone else to hear, you should say excuse me, but you should not say it any louder than the fart or burp, because that will just let more people know that you have committed wind sin.

If you are standing somewhere and someone else wants to walk past you requiring you to move, you do not need to say excuse me. That is the other party’s excuse me responsibility.

This has been an Air Time Public Service Announcement

More Mercaz

Here is one of the foundation classes you can take while attending.

Descriptions and credit recommendations

Bible 101 - Studies in the Pentateuch (B101)
Location: Mercaz HaTorah, Talpiot, Jerusalem, Israel.
Length: 50 hours (40 weeks).
Dates: August 1991 - Present.
Objectives: Recognize the gamut of Biblical exegesis and its components; compare different commentaries and approaches to the Biblical text; master the literary genres of the Biblical text; apply the ethical and philosophical implications of the Biblical text to contemporary living.
Instruction: A year-long study of the five books of Moses (Pentateuch) guided by classical commentaries. Topics covered include Creation, early man, the Deluge, Noachide history and code, the early history of the Patriarchs, Redemption and the Decalogue, Leviticus, concepts of holiness, holiday cycle, historical elements of the sojourn in the desert, Deuteronomy, historical narrative, and legal and judicial institutions.
Credit recommendation: In the lower division baccalaureate/associate degree category, 3 semester hours in Judaic Studies, Near Eastern Studies, or Religion (4/94) (5/99 revalidation) (7/01 revalidation).


For those of you who were wondering about Mercaz, here is information from their registrar's office.

Since its inception in 1970, Mercaz HaTorah has distinguished itself as an institution fostering scholarship and promoting creativity and research. As a postsecondary institute for Judaic and Talmudic Studies, Mercaz HaTorah provides its students with a rigorous, structured program of intellectual studies to develop skills in textual study, and a methodology for enhanced knowledge of classical source materials.

Students accepted to Mercaz HaTorah are drawn from all over the world, particularly the U.S., and are selected based on their academic merit, growth potential, and personal commitment to scholarship and Jewish ethics. Mercaz HaTorah endeavors to develop within its students a high level of understanding of and appreciation for the wisdom and philosophy embodied in traditional Jewish scholarship. It trains students in the application of critical and discriminating thought and action, and prepares them to assume positions as informed, knowledgeable and committed Rabinic and lay leaders.


Mercaz HaTorah places the study of the Babylonian Talmud at the core of its curriculum. The vast body of subsequent post-Talmudic literature elucidates the more difficult and complex Talmudic passages and concepts. It also organizes and codifies practical and applicable laws, and derives traditional formulations and frameworks for solutions to future Halachic issues. Thus, to gain proficiency in the reading of the Talmudic text, students acquire comprehension of the issues and concepts elucidated in each folio, and develop an ability to analyze textual materials throughout the Talmudic tractates. These goals are realized through concurrent mastery of classical commentaries such as Rashi, Tosafot, Ramban, Rashba, and Ritva, in addition to Medieval codifiers including Rambam, Ran, Rosh, and Rif.

To facilitate the student’s Talmudic progress, Mercaz HaTorah has adopted the following learning pattern: each academic term highlights a Talmudic tractate (or its segments) which is uniformly studied by the entire student body. The variations in study levels depend upon the year of study the student is in and whether the course constitutes a survey or an intensive study of the tractate. In each year, study proceeds according to a set progression.

During the first year, students acquire proficiency in the Hebraic and Aramaic readings, in the structure and style of Talmudic argumentation, as well as the explication of the interpretive and legal posits of the classical texts and their commentaries.

Second year students acquire mastery of textual readings. The complexities of the Talmudic style, the articulation of the argumentative process, and the elicitation of conclusive decisions from these texts are explored in depth. Similar concentration and inferential deductions are applied to the classical commentaries. Lectures focus on the deductive process, as students are encouraged to probe and challenge pat interpretations of comparative textual contradictions.

Students who attain the third year advanced level of Talmudic research and analysis hone their analytic skills in understanding the novella of the Rishonim and the methods of cataloging their diverse Halachic approaches. Study of the Maimonidean Code of Law as a quasi-legally binding discipline is introduced by the process of gleaning the Rambam’s interpretative stances in the Talmud from premises evident in his Halachic decisions. Classic Maimonidean commentators are also examined. Similarly, the interpretive works of prominent Achronim are employed in understan­ding the legal and theoretical posits of the Rishonim. In addition, the diverse approaches of leading 19th and 20th century Talmudic analysts receive prominent attention.

Source of official student records: Registrar, Mercaz HaTorah, 17 Bet Ha’Arava, Talpiot, Jerusalem, 93389, Israel.

The Pistons and My Middlest

Six games and three quarters into this thing, and nothing had been decided. Tied at 57, the next 12 minutes would determine the Piston’s place in history. This is what Piston fans wanted. This was the scenario we thought we could win.

This was the time for Billups and the Wallaces and Rip and Tayshaun to step to thefore.

But last night it was the Spurs who answered the final bell. With three pointers and tenacious defense, they shut the Pistons down on their way to winning the Championship.

This was a heavyweight title fight. Jab Jab Jab. Step back. And then, the knockout blow.

Game seven was different at my house. For one, my oldest went to a friends house to sleep over and watch the game, so we didn’t have him jumping all over the room, pumping his fists and swinging his arms.

For two, my middlest decided to stay up and watch the game. He knows the names, he hears them all the time, but at 5 years old, he doesn’t quite have the grasp of sports yet.

He watched quietly, asking for popcorn and chocolate milk as he read the score off the bottom of the screen.

“Which color are the Piston’s?” he asked, and when they took the lead, as he read the scoreboard on the bottom of the screen, he would excitedly shout that the Piston’s were winning.

He tried to stay up the whole game, but when he was left alone for a few minutes during halftime, he fell asleep on the couch.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

The Best Reality TV is on Tonight

You wouldn’t know it from reading this blog, but I Hate the NBA. Capital H. Hate. It’s not the cornrows or the body art. It’s the NBA work ethic. I stopped watching the Pistons in the mid 90s. They were terrible, and brought in Doug Collins to coach the team. In one season, the team went from a loser franchise that couldn’t win 30 games in a season to a respectable 50-win team. And the players rebelled. Collins worked them too hard, and they didn’t like hard practices and pushing themselves, despite the millions of dollars that they are paid.

Collins was fired, and I turned off the Pistons and the NBA.

But I have been watching the Pistons for the past three seasons. They have defined the word Team in the NBA. They are gritty and gutsy and refuse to lose. They have reached this point, Game 7, one way; through hard work and determination and an unwillingness to cede anything, regardless of the obstacles in their way.

Turn on your TV tonight, and you will see a basketball team playing defense, protecting the basketball and refusing to give one inch on the court. There is a price you need to pay to be a champion, and this team is willing to pay that price. Every day. Since training camp opened last fall.

And the pay off is tonight.

At least she thinks its funny

When I started working here, about three months ago, I was introduced to all the people in our department, including Debra, an attractive, blond-haired woman, who is the head of the whole department.

I pass by Debra pretty frequently, and she often times will say hello, and usually I say hi or Hi Debra. And that is pretty much it.

This other woman in our department came by and needed something done immediately. I had soem time, and put together something really quickly, and passed it along to the secretary who gave it to the woman, who I have seen around, but did not know by name.

Yesterday Debra came over and asked me to reformat the project i did and send it to Carol, which I did. In the email to Carol, I told her Debra asked me to email this to her, just so that she knows why I am sending it to her.

It turns out, Carol is Debra. Debra is other woman. Carol got a kick out of my email, that I thought that she was Debra, but very nicely told me that I got it wrong. Debra was the woman who originally asked for the project to be created, and she, Carol, needed it to get it into a powerpoint presentation.

Mirty 12, come on down

You're the next Air Time magazine cover girl.

Make sure you visit Mirty's place, where the self-proclaimed fairy blogmother writes about her religious journey, her new family and being jewish in Texas. Her posts are thoughtful and well-written.

Oh, and Mirty, your Spurs are going down in a blaze of glory tonight.

Happy Birthday

My almost nine year old is nine today, so I guess he is no longer almost nine. All kids are special, but your first child is the most special in some ways. He is the child that turned my wife and me into parents.

Aside from that, he is a special kid. Not damaged special, extraordinary special. He is popular and smart, a combination that does not always go together. The boys and girls in his class turn to him for help, and pick him quickly in when they choose teams at gym and recess.

He plays hockey, baseball and, for the past few weeks, he has started shooting hoops. He has a weekly nighttime chavrusa with his grandfather, and they have finished three Masechtas of Mishnayos.

He memorizes the backs of baseball cards and is a voracious reader. Oh, and he was one of his class’ leaders in Midot Tovot awards this past year. And he loves fart jokes and burping on demand.

He loves leading the shul in Anuim Z’Merot, and his clear voice can be heard throughout the shul. Did I mention he plays the piano, and figures out music just by listening to it.

This morning he was glowing when we woke him up with Happy Birthday and gave him a Chauncy Billups jersey. A jersey I am sure he will be wearing through the day and late into tonight as we watch game 7.

But most importantly, he is a good kid. One we are really proud of.

Hockey Is Back

A New Season

We started a new hockey season last night. After getting rid of Andre, we added two new players, both younger. Tzadok has played with us before, but wasn’t available at the beginning of last season. Too bad we didn’t have him before. He scored four goals and we won 12-8. We didn’t play well defensively, but we played a really bad team. IT is going to be a lot tougher to make the playoffs this season. The top four teams make it, and three of the teams in the league this season killed us last season. We are definitely going to need to win every winnable game and maybe steal an unwinnable one if we are going to get to the post season for the second season in a row.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005


We have been in Israel for months. We are bored, and probably a bit homesick. Not really homesick, just missing some of the things from home. Hillel and Ezriel and I, along with some Brits and a few other people are walking through Supersol, a grocery in the middle of Jerusalem.

I don’t know who the genius was who thought of it, but what if we bought corn. Corn on the cob. A whole bunch of corn on the cob and brought it back to the dorm and cooked it on a hot plate and ate corn. That would be like home, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?

So we did it. We bought Corn. And we brought it to the dorm and cooked it somehow.

But I don’t know what we were thinking.

Did the Mishna Brurah kill Local Customs?

I read a comment to that effect the other day on some blog, and I can’t remember where, otherwise I would post this there.

I asked my Chavrusa at the Kollel about this last night, and he had a very interesting answer.

When Jews lived in Pre-WWII Europe, every community had a rav who would Paskin Shaalos for them. Most Jews were fairly uneducated, and Halachos were passed on from one generation to the next. So if you lived in France you would follow the minhagim of France; German Jews had their own Mesorah dating back 1,000 years.

When the Chofetz Chaim wrote the Mishna Brurah, he went through all the opinions of the rishonim and achronim that he could get his hands on, and determined what made the most sense to him. (This apparently goes on in the Beur Halacha section. I don’t know, for sure, I am taking my Chavrusa’s word on it.) That is, he chose the opinion that had the least difficulties with it.

There were other communities that disagreed with the Chofetz Chaim, and followed their minhagim, which they had been practicing for generations.

Two things happened to change that, though. WWII, where much of the passing down from Father to Son was destroyed, and the explosion of Yeshiva education. For the first time ever, average jews were going to Yeshiva and learning the Mishna Brurah. They would stay in Yeshiva for a few years, and pick up the Minhagim of their Roshei Yeshivas. When they would return home, and their father would say this is the Halacha, the sons would disagree. The sons knew more than their fathers; they went to yeshiva. The yeshiva generation asked itself who is right, my unlearned father who never went to Yeshiva, or me, who learned from a Rosh Yeshiva and saw the Halacha in a sefer.

As a side point, my chavrusa said if someone lived in Germany in 1200, and moved to Spain to live there, they would be expected to take on Spanish minhagim, even if those minhagim were not as strict as those practiced in Germany (such as eating Kitnios on Pesach) or if one moved to Holland, where they only wait an hour between milk and meat, one would be expected to switch minhagim.

Today, though, Minhag HaMakom is pretty much lost.

Killing me slowly

Two years ago we had a disagreement with our cable company, and cancelled cable. Maybe I am jumping too far ahead.

A long time ago we didn’t have cable. We just had regular TV, which had terrible reception. But we survived, mostly by wearing out our VCR. But at some point, maybe when we were expecting our middlest, we got cable.

It was only supposed to be temporary, but we liked it and kept it. Suddenly, we could watch TV without seeing static all over the screen. We got rid of the rabbit ears, which seemed to help a bit, and were pleased with our cable picture.

When we moved into our house we got the digital box. Instead of 60 or 70 channels, we haad hundreds of channels, with PPV movies and a ton of movie stations as well. Missed a show we liked. Just watch it on the left coast feed. Our TV watching experience was first rate.

Then we got into a fight with the cable company, and cancelled cable. I returned the magical digital cable box, and all the channels and feeds that came with it, and tried to prepare myself for life without cable.

But that is when the miracle of this story takes place.

I plugged the cable wire into the back of the TV, just to see if it would improve the picture. It did more than improve the picture. It gave us our cable back. We were down to 60 channels, but how often did we watch Spanish MTV anyway. We clicked on 5, hoping against hope that HBO would be there. It was. We were still in the movies. Then we checked 22. Cinemax was coming in strong. There would be no porn deprivation for us either.

We had cable for free, but we lived in fear that the cable would be taken away. In fact, I called the cable company to reconnect that cable a few days after canceling. The fear of losing it was too much to bear. The cable company said there would be a $35 reconnect fee.

Reconnect, I said. We don’t need it reconnected. The cable is still coming in. All you have to do is start billing us again.

But they were unreasonable, and would not waive the bogus reconnect fee. So we told them to forget it. We would take our cable chances.

Two years later we are still getting free cable, but things are starting to change. Two weeks ago Cinemax disappeared. Then, last week, HBO was gone too.

Are they on to us? My brother, who has a cable modem and plugged the cable into his TV to discover that he had cable TV as well was recently disconnected, with a note saying he could sign up for cable if he wanted to have the TV portion of it.

For now, we are still getting our channels, less the premium channels. But what if the cable police come and take it away? What if we come home to find that there is no ESPN or Fox Sports Net inside our TV.

It will be a sad day indeed.

Last Night

It was a Double Header last night for my oldest, in his first game of the season. He is in the older league now, where the kids pitch instead of the coaches. Last season, coaches tried to get you to hit the ball. They lobbed slow, soft pitches in for hitters to hit. This year, 9 and 10 year old kids are trying their hardest to get their opponents out.

They have nice jerseys, not the one's sponsored by local shops, but jerseys with team names across the chest. My oldest plays for the Tigers. Game one was against the Dodgers. Both pitchers threw hard, and the kids had a total of three foul balls between the two teams. Final score, 0-0.

But game 2 got interesting. We played against the Reds. They were louder and chanted a lot. But we got the early lead, a 1-0 lead. Holding onto a 1-0 lead is difficult in any sport, and soon our Tigers were losing 3-1.

It was the last inning. We were the visiting team, and so we were up first. In this league, the game ends at 8:55, regardless of the inning, so the kids knew it was their last chance.

Bases were loaded with one out, when my son steps to the plate. He crushed the ball down the line. He says it is farther than he ever hit a ball before. Two runs come in, and the game is tied. My son eventually comes around to score, and the team goes on to win, 6-3.

Little League Mom’s Prayer

Dear God

I know that you’re really busy in Iraq
Watching the war and fighting back
But in between the explosions and machine gun’s pop pop
Can you take a quick look at the kid playing shortstop

See, his pants are so fresh and his jersey so clean
I spent the last few hours at the washing machine
Don’t let them get dirty, I can’t clean them any more
And his face was so clean when he walked out that door.

When he stands at the place, guide the pitches you see
I don’t want him getting hit, from his head to his knee
See, I knew I could count on you to take care of it all
Oh and one more thing, help my kid crush the ball.

Little League Dad's Prayer

Dear God

I know that you’re really busy in Iraq
Watching the war and fighting back
But in between the explosions and machine gun’s pop pop
Can you take a quick look at the kid playing shortstop

See, while terrorists are exploding all over the place
My kid has been getting on his game face
He put on his Uniform at five A.M.
And he’s been talking all day that he’s kill get them

So when the ground balls go has way
Help him make that great play
Grant him the arm to make the throw
Make that huge smile grow

And when he stands at the plate by the bat in his hands
Let him block out all the dads and moms in the stands
And let him give that ball a long dirty ride
Down the third base line, they aren’t playing him on that side.

And dear God, most importantly, I’m pleading with you
If the team has to lose, and sometimes they do
And it’s a kid who screws up and lets the team down
Please, God, don’t make my kid that clown.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

An Interesting Night

My oldest has been allowed to watch Detroit team championship games for years. And before you go ahead and mock, he has been alive for three Stanley Cups and NBA Championship. Plus, he has watched Game 5 from the 84 World Series on ESPN Classic.

But unless you count week five of the regular NFL season, he has never seen a home team be eliminated from the playoffs.

Sure, the Wings and Pistons have been knocked out of the playoffs, but not with him watching.

In "My Losing Season," Pat Conroy wrote that people learn more from losing seasons than they do from winning ones.

I hope he doesn't learn that lesson tonight.


It is already late July, and my son's little league team doesn't have their first game until tonight. Which is OK, except that this is the most disorganized league we have seen since he stopped playing JCC Roller Hockey.

Last season he was in the Oak Park league. It wasn't the best run league in the world, but at least they new what they ewre doing, the games were played, and the kids had a good time.

This summer he is in the Detroit Police Athletic League, and they suck.

It took weeks before they got us any information about his team. They haven't received their uniforms yet, but they are getting them tonight before the game starts.

Now, it seems, since they are so far behind, they have scheduled their first two games tonight, as a double header.

I like watching the kids play ball, but two games in one night is too much.

Bullying March of the Living

It is Yom Haatzmaut. It is the first time I am celebrating the holiday. It is the first time I have ever heard of the holiday. It is Mercaz in the spring, and whatever hold the Yeshiva has had on us is slipping.

There are four or five of us out that night, and we are on Ben Yehudah, Boomer be damned. We have missed enough trying to hide from him, and besides, the perception in the office is that he is no longer as needed as he was earlier in the year.

Yehudah is there. So are others, but I can’t remember who they are. It is pure madness on Ben Yehudah. Tons of people have filled the street with shaving cream and bopping hammers. Everyone is feeling the euphoria of the street party.

March of the Living has arrived in Israel as well for Yom Haatzmaut. They are another group that I have never heard of before, but they are all wearing their blue jackets with their March of the Living logo on the back.

They do not know it. But their jacket has turned into our target.

We watch as March of the Living people run up to one another and jump and scream and hug.

We find one, and surround her. Are you from March of the Living, we ask, knowing full well that she is wearing the jacket and is part of the group. Her eyes light up. Yes, she says excitedly.

We scream March of the living as we cover her in shaving cream and bop her on the head with our hammers. We leave her alone, and move on to the next girl in a blue jacket. We are having a great time, when we are bopping one girl on the head and she looks up and I realize that she is my cousin. Step cousin actually. My grandmother married her grandfather a few years earlier, so we are not really related at all. But I do recognize her. We go and catch up and hang out and then it is back outside to the madness.

I am back with my friends and we are in a shaving cream fight with some girls and then there is the obligatory post-fight picture pose.

We are a motley looking bunch, with Sefirah beards and being a mess from the evening’s activities.

Who comes here?

ReformedPartyGirl asked me which of our friends come to Air Time. The truth is I have no idea. I know some of the people who come by, but it seems that there are more who stop by and I don't know.

So...if you are someone I went to Yeshiva with or know from around, and you come to Air Time post a comment with your name (first name, last initial should be enough) or send me an email to first initial last name at bcbsm dot com.

Oh, and let me know how you found Air Time.


A woman from another department who I have met once or twice needed to talk to the guy in the cubicle next to mine.

And yes, I work in Dilbert’s world, except my boss in not a pointy-haired dimwit.

Anyway, I turned around just to see who it was, and she said hello to me. Being a member of the human race, I said hello back.

But she would not let the conversation die.

My sister and her family are in Israel now, she told me. On some group that will have three busloads of people from Columbus.

Oh, that’s great, I tell her, not really sure why she is telling me this.

But the conversation is not over. Apparently her niece had the opportunity to have her Bat Mitzvah in Israel as well, but chose not to, so she could have a big party.

Still, this coworker said, the niece got to go to Israel anyway.

That’s nice, I tell her, as I think to myself why is she telling me this. Why is it that coworkers who have any connection to Judaism always try to show me how religious and connected to Israel they are? Sure, they don’t keep all those crazy things like shabbos and kosher, but hey, they did once attended temple and had a bar mitzvah.


January 26, 1992. It is Super bowl Sunday, the most sacred day in American sports. A day dedicated to the celebration of football and beer and beer commercials featuring Beer Bottles playing for the Beer championship.

It will be early Monday morning, Israel time, when the game finally gets underway. The Washington Redskins, who demolished my Detroit Lions the game before are playing the Buffalo Bills.

We have seen a few games, on tape, during the season, on Monday nights at Casper’s, a sports bar located in Jerusalem. But the Super Bowl will be shown live on a big screen in the party room at a Jerusalem hotel. Tickets are hard to come by, but we have managed to get our hands on a few. We are going to the game.

The rumors started late in the day. Anyone caught at the game will be kicked out of Mercaz. Boomer will be there. There will be no second chances. There will be no appeal. Just pack your bags. And leave.

Was it the late hour, the fear of it being a scene, or just an attempt to unAmericanize American students that caused the threats? Who knows, but all of the sudden, no one was willing to take that risk. Because no one wants to call home and tell their parents that they were kicked out of Yeshiva for going to watch a football game when they were told they would be kicked out if they went.

The Redskins went on to beat the Bills that night, 37-24.

Boomer got to watch the game. Friends from other Yeshivas confirmed that he was there. The Mercaz guys who went to Netanya to watch it at someone’s grandmother’s house saw it as well.

You need to pick your fights, and this was not the right fight to pick. We skipped night seder that night and, two hours before the game, went to the hotel, and sold our tickets. Then we went out to a movie.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Better Use of Time

There are busy days at work. And their are slower days. There is a certain cadence to the workflow, and today it is ebbing.

But there must be something better to do than blogging.

I just wish I knew what it was.

Prince of Tides

It is Pesach vacation, and I have come back from Eilat to fins Gila furious. It is an emergency situation, one that calls for being the best possible boyfriend. Not only do I like her and want to continue going out with her, but Dudi and I are supposed to spend Pesach seders at her Aunts house in Ramot. If I blow this, we may need to find another seder.

We decide to go to Tel Aviv for the day. Not the beach, though. She is mad, but I apologize, am charming, and win her back. We are walking around Tel Aviv and Prince of Tides is playing. I am not interested, but she is in the middle of the book, and wants to see the movie. We see the movie and I am bored. I don’t get it. She is disappointed, because the movie changes a lot of things from the book.

You may laugh at this now, but almost fifteen years later Prince of Tides has become one of my favorite books, and Pat Conroy is my favorite author. His depiction of the South, his mastery of the written word and his ability to use language and create mosaics where you can almost smell the South Carolina marshes are unparalleled.

The boy of fifteen years ago would never touch that book, the man today keeps the book near his bed, and flips through it frequently when he needs to be inspired by the beauty of language.

We talk about the movie, though, and I try to seem interested. Dudi and I are no longer in danger of finding a new Pesach Seder. We spend the rest of the day wlaking through Dizengoff, finding a place to eat, and walking some more.

Toward the end of the day, we walk along the boardwalk next to the beach. We stop to watch the waves. I don’t know this is a pivotal moment in the relationship. I think we are just watching waves. I think that I will never understand why women like these kinds of movies. I think that I am glad I still have a girlfriend.

She, too is watching the waves come up. She pulls her hand away and is crying. She has learned in seminary that as each wave come to the shore, it is trying to destroy the world. It is only through the Mitzvot of the Jewish people that the waves fall back. Maybe we are doing the wrong thing, she says. Maybe holding hands and watching movies on the couch is not the right way to conduct ourselves.

When you are a guy, and you are watching the ocean and thinking about how nice a day it is and you are confronted with the Shomer Negiah God talk, there is really only one rational course of action.

Quick Survey

If I expanded the magazine cover to more than just a cover, and made it about a 4-8 page magazine:

A) Would you read it?

B) What would you expect to see in it i.e. original content (and written by whom), highlights from other blogs, interviews with bloggers, etc?


Would you likelihood of reading the magazine be impacted if there was advertising in the issue?

The Ride Home

It is 7:15. Two hours before tip off. Game 5 is looming. Correction. Critical Game 5 is looming. If the Piston's can continue their home court domination, if they can follow up game three and four's total humiliation, they will be on the cusp of repeating as champions.

We are leaving Marky's, in Toronto. We are four hours away from home. And if you can add, it means we won't be home until after 11. Which would put us late in the third quarter. Then again, if you factor in driving with kids, and stopping and the "Marky's Need To Stop a Few Extra Times on the Way Home" factor, we may not get home until after midnight. After the game ends.

My oldest has been watching as much as he can from these playoffs. He spends time shooting baskets and dreaming of Chauncey and Tayshaun and the Wallaces and of course, Rip. He fires shots from all over the court, and of course, in his mind, always hits the big shot. I can see him shooting, and when I watch him, I am also watching myself as Isaiah and Joe and Bill and Vinnie and the rest of the Bad Boys. It is so identical, it is scary sometimes. Or maybe not idnetical, but parallel.

He is distraught about the drive home. Maybe we can stop in a bar or hotel or something at nine and watch the game, he suggests. He is ten years too young to do this, and I am ten years too old. But what if it was just the two of us in the car. What if my wife and younger two children did not come with us to Toronto. Would we pull over in London or Chatham or one of those towns that dot the 401 and watch the end of the game? It is purely hypothetical, because his mother and siblings are in the car.

Does he know I asked the same question twenty years earlier, when we had a flight from Miami to Detroit that took off at the same time the Super Bowl kicked off.

We drive and it gets dark and soon everyone is sleeping. Even my oldest. Sitting through a game on a hot day and walking through Downtown and taking off shoes and runnign through the fountain near the stadium is draining.

I listen to the game us I watch the Kilometers pass, frequently searching through the channels to find a good feed of the game. Reception is terrible, and there are long stetches of the game that I cannot hear.

The drive is as long as I fear, and finally, a little after midnight, we get to Windsor. The game is in overtime now, and my oldest has woken up and is listening attentively to the game. Every shot, every possession matters; it can mean a season of heroics, or one that will soon be forgotten. Billups is playinig out of his mind, but Robert Horry can't miss a shot either, and as we get to the tunnel that connects Canada to the United States, Horry has just hit the shot to put the Spurs up by one with 5.8 seconds left on the clock.

Pistons Ball.

The season may come down to this moment.

And there is no reception underneath the Detroit River.

Should I speed through the tunnel, and risk missing the play, or pull off to the side and listen to the play. In the NBA, 5.8 seconds is an eternity.

And I am exhausted. I do not want this day to go on for one extra minute. I pass the utrnoff to the duty free shop, and speed through the tunnel. Reception fades, and my oldest asks me to turn the volume up. We can't I tell him. We can't listen to the game inside the tunnel.

He is horrified, and as we exit the tunnel, there is a commercial on. The game is over we think, but what happened.

George Blaha's booming voice comes back on the air. There are still 5.8 seconds left. We didn't miss anything.

This is a sign, I think, a sign that we were not meant to miss the Pistons take a giant step forward in their quest for a championship.

The play starts. Rip gets the ball. He puts up a shot. The game winner on the games biggest stage, a shot he has fantasized about his entire life.

And it misses.

Oh Canada

We decided to celebrate Father's Day (Read: ME) by going to Toronto to watch the Blue Jays play. I had never been to the Skydome, and even though it has one of those erdiculous corporate names, it is still a nice field, if you don't mind watching people play baseball on carpet.

It was a sunny day, and I had a great time. For me, the biggest thrill was eating a hot dog that we bought at the game during the fifth inning. I know there are a handful of stadiums with Kosher hot dog vendors, but I had never been to one of those stadiums since they've become kosher. So that was a total thrill. I didn't do the whole Goy hot dog beer guzzling take my shirt off because A) I'm not a goy B) I don't have the body for it and C) I don't think that is the best lesson for my kids.

There were a few things I noticed about the game that seemed odd. First, there was definitely a minor league/county fair feeling to the experience. They sold 50/50 raffle tickets, made up their own song for the seventh inning stretch, and had some weird Take me out to the ball game recital.

Here is something else. The bathrooms were clean. I hate taking my daughter to use the men's room when we are in public places, but I had no problem bringing her into the men's room at Skydome. Even though there were only 2 stalls and about 50 urinals, the stalls were spotless.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Brooklyn is Beautiful - Revisited

Regular readers of this blog probably saw this post about a week ago. Opensource, an Public Radio show out of Boston, also saw this post, and included in their June 16th show, called "Blogsday."

I am working on posting the audio from their broadcast, but I am having trouble cutting out the 45 minutes that are not my post. In the meantime, if you want to hear it, you go to

Since my original post was posted at about 4:30 PM, the post is read toward the end of the show, or of course, you can listen to entire show. It is entertaining, reading from a wide variety of blogs from the web. My post is about 44 minutes into the program.

Friday, June 17, 2005

A funny dating story

Here is a quick dating story. Vee and I are in the front of the car. Dudi and Michelle are in the back of the car. I don't know where we are going, it doesn't matter, it is the conversation in the car that matters. I don't even know if this is from when we were going out, engaged, or just hanging out before we started dating. Anyway, it doesn't matter.

We are talking about Vee's glasses. They were sunglasses that change to clear glass when it is dark. She loves the glasses, but now they are missing. The mood in the car is boisterous.

Anyway, the sunglasses. Veev no longer has them. She is upset about that. Dudi shouts something about who cares about the sunglasses.

Vee yells "Those glasses cost me eighty f*cking dollars."

There is silence, followed by hysterical laughter.

I never heard her use that language before.

Years later, she denies using that language. She says she skipped the "c", and only said F*king

Not Going Well

It is not going well, I am certain. Not going well because I am standing in Rite-Aid at 6 PM on a Friday afternoon. Not going well because I am standing in Rite-Aid at 6 PM on a Friday afternoon looking for an anniversary present. Not just any anniversary. The biggest one we have had yet. Double digits. Ten.

When i was ten years old my mom gave me a key to the house. So ten is pretty frickin important. And it is a long time. And when you think about it, had i been thinking about it, I knew on June 19, 1995 that on June 19, 2005, I would celebrate anniversary number 10. So this is a day that is ten years in the making.

And I am without a gift.

The thing about rite Aid is you can find lots of things here. Christmastime the place is loaded up with crappy gift items, and I guess I am hoping that one of those are still here. But it is not. Gone long ago on the half off table. They have DVDs, but nothing good. Nothing that says thanks for sticking around for ten years. Nothing that says thanks for making dinner for ten years. Nothing that says thanks for having sex every once in a while with me for the last ten years. Nothing that is going to get me any later tonight either.

I could give her a pen. There are a lot of pens at Rite-Aid. Ten to a pack, even. Diane Court gave Lloyd Dobbler a pen after he told her he loved her. But then she broke up with him.

There are pantyhose, in all kinds of shapes and sizes, but I don't think pantyhose would cut it for mother's day, let alone an anniversary. And a trashy novel is too grab-bag gift for this event. Chocolate might be a big hit, but not if it comes in an orange wrapper and says Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on the package.

There are cards, but they suck. Nothing that says what i want it to say. Which i am not even sure what it is, other than why don't you keep on living here for a while and I love you and I don't know what else.

Totally clueless.

Here is the worst part. If I was in the mall, and had an unlimited charge card, and an unlimited selection. I still wouldn't know what to get her.

After ten years. Man, am I F***ed.

Skokie days

Skokie, or more formally, Hebrew Theological College, offers college students the opportunity to take classes on the Skokie campus, an earn a Skokie degree. They have an arrangement with local schools, such as Loyola, where Loyola accepts Skokie credits. They are vague about the national recognition of these credits, although sometime over the past 13 years this may have changed. From experience, I can tell you these credits did not transfer to YU or Wayne State, two schools I attended post-skokie.

But I don't realize that these credits are garbage, and I am trying to take these classes somewhat seriously. As seriously as you can when your college classes are really glorified high school classes, the only difference being the students have much more experience being students.

What is it like to work with a 45 year old retarded man with the intelligence of a four year old, I once asked a friend who worked with the mentally challenged. Imagine a 5 year old with 40 years experience, he answered. That is what Skokie classes are like.

Which is not to say that they are not entertaining. There is an advantage to students who went to skokie for high school. One day two former Skokie high school students "miraculously" get the same answers right and wrong on a test. They are not the only people who cheated on this test, but they are the only ones who walk away scott-free.

We are asked to read poetry. Chimney stuns the class his rendition of Green Eggs and Ham. In Yiddish.

There are English classes and accounting classes and math classes, and they have a common theme. It is a high school flashback.

Skokie allows us to have phones in our room. Maybe this is standard in post-high-school yeshivas, I'm not sure, but it is my first experience with this convenience. We call each other from one room to another to see if someone is standing. Protocol requires that if you are standing up when you get a call from someone who is laying in bed, and they need something from across the room, you MUST go to the other room and get that item.

A friend named Howard is visiting Skokie. He is probably in Chicago to go out on a date, and is crashing on our couch. The phone doesn't work, so he puts both wires in his mouth as he tries to fix it. The phone rings, sending some kind of shock waves through his mouth.

There is a student named Adam, who is something of a BT, although I don't know the level of his committment to an orthodox lifestyle. I think he is still learning and deciding. When he is not trying to kill himself. We walk into his room and see him looking up at a knife theat he is holding over his head. He claims to have a gun in his car, a true claim, as I have seen the gun. He is thinking about ending it all.

I don't know if he ever did get around to killing himself, because he is quickly kicked out of Yeshiva and sent to some kind of therapy program.

This Week in Air

Bugs and in-laws plus father’s day, 10 years later, and the kids are out of school, all that and more, you’re reading the Big Show on Air Time.

It began Monday night at dinner. My wife noticed a little bug crawling on the table cloth. We knocked it to the floor, but then there was another bug, and then we noticed there was a ton of these itty-bitty bugs. The Shavuos BBQ had taken place earlier in the day, and my father in law was convinced that these bugs came from the corn. My wife was afraid they were fleas. I was wondering which one of our guests had brought fleas into our house.

Then we found these little bugs upstairs, and in a few other rooms. What if they were fleas. How did our guests manage to track them all over the house. And who was the guilty guest?

On Tuesday night we captured some of them, and called the bug guy, who came on Thursday. The bugs were not fleas. They were not brought by a guest. They were some kind of silverback bug, and they are ALL DEAD now.

So my apologies to our guests, who I thought quite ill of. And thank you for not noticing the bugs while we were plowing through the BBQ.

The BBQ, as mentioned earlier, was fantastic, as most of them have been in our ten years of marriage. Or almost ten years. Our anniversary is this weekend, marking a decade of being married.

We got married in New Jersey, with all of our friends watching. Then we moved to Detroit, so it has probably been ten years since we saw most of those people with whom we once defined our lives by. But that’s the way life goes.

I never thought I would live here for ten years though.

My in-laws came to visit for Shavous, and my Father in Law was surprised it had been ten years. He is a chazzan, and the people at our shul really enjoy his davening. He was supposed to lead Shachris on Tuesday morning, but came down with a mysterious illness that prevented him from doing it. But hear me out. I think he faked it because he didn’t want to daven for the Amud. He coughed exactly two times during davening on Tuesday morning. The first time, when the baal shachris went up to daven, and then, a minute later, when people started looking at him and whispering why isn’t he going up to daven.


We decided to surprise the kids and go to Toronto on Father’s Day. We have tickets to see the Blue Jays play the Brewers. It is an afternoon game, so I don’t think we need to worry about any extracurriculars going on in the SkyDome hotel, but I am going to bring binoculars just in case.

School is out, which means no more car pool for me. I hated it, and I am not sorry they are out. I do feel bad for my wife who has had to entertain them this week. They all start camp on Monday, and then she can begin her summer vacation.

The Piston’s were dominant last night. If only they had played this way in games 1 and 2. And this series is over. And then I could send my nine year old to bed before midnight again.

Oh well, its fun watching the games with him.

This week's cover boy

He's controversial. Disliked. Liberal. A New York snob who claims that if he owned Hell and Texas, he would live in Hell and rent out Texas.

But DovBear is wildly popular, defends everything he writes, and is this week's cover boy.

He is overly-protective of his identity, so there is no way to know if this cover boy has canadian roots.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

After the Seder

We are at Gila's Aunt's house. It is Pesach, we are having the Seder in Ramot Gimmel. There are five of us there. Gila, me, Dudi, Shoshana and my cousin.

I don't know why I have never named my cousin. She was and remains a close friend. But for some reason I never get around to naming her. I'm sure if she read these posts, she'd appreciate it.

But I digress.

The seder is a lot of fun. We are videoed and photographed by Gila's Israeli cousins,as we get through the four cups and Matzoh. But now the first days are over, and it is time to go. Gila stays at her aunt's house. My cousin is not around either. It is only Dudi, Shoshana and me. For the first time all holiday, I am the third wheel.

Dudi is flirting with Shoshana, and asks her out. They make tentative plans to see a movie, maybe Hook, maybe something different. It is less than a week after our trip to Eilat, though. Dudi is interested in Shoshana, but only because she is sitting next to him. He is more interested in Lori, one of the girls from our Eilat trip.

Still he makes plans with her.

Then he calls Lori, and starts seeing her. It takes less than one day, but he no longer remembers Shoshana. The next day, as we are sitting in the park, he is telling me about Lori and showing me lipstick prints on his shirt collar and burning the hairs off his leg with his cigarette lighter.

Shoshana, we find out later, waits and waits. It is weeks before she finally realizes he is not calling her.


I am amused by some searches that bring people to Air Time.

Two recent ones were Yeshiva Sex and feel my breast yeshivish.

Some Social Commentary

I was talking to my sister in law over yom tov. We were joking about Anorexia, probably because there was an article about it in one of her rediculous magazines. But I digress.

She mentioned that the latest demographic to be hit with Anorexia/Bulimia is the group of moms whose daughters are of shidduch-dating age. Apparently, you can tell what size your future wife will be twenty-five years down the road by looking at her mother, and since this is a make-or-break issue in the super-shallow Shidduch dating world, its time for Mother's of Shidduch-aged daughters to step up to the plate and do whatever it takes to help little Chava Rena to get married.

Air Time is all about supplying demand, and so we offer the Bulimeator.

For a more serious look at Eating Disorders, you can see my previous post.

Eating Disorders

Although I mock moms who starve or purge themselves so that their daughter's can get a good shidduch, eating disorders are a serious problem, both in the orthodox community and the community at large.

One of my clients is the Self Esteem Shop, a book store that specializes in self help and therapeutic books. I write and design their catalogs, and am one of the people who updates their web site. If you or someone you know has an eating disorder, you may need professional help. At the very least, you need to buy a book.

Here are a few eating disorder books that I have read through recently. You can find these and more at

The Overcoming Bulimia Workbook - This wonderful workbook presents people suffering from bulimia with a comprehensive, step-by-step guide to recovery. Filled with strategies, self-monitoring assessments, diaries and real-life examples, it provides people suffering from the disease with the tools to overcome Bulimia and live a happier life. - 18.95

Help Your Teenager Beat an Eating Disorder - James Lock and Daniel Le Grange show parents how to help their children overcome eating disorders. They explain which treatments work, and why immediate action is critical. They also show parents how to change their family's eating habits, and how to prevent a relapse. Paperback. 296 pp. 16.95

The Overeater's Journal - This journal offers exercises for the heart, mind and soul, to help put food in perspective and avoid overeating. The journal challenges readers to face their feelings about food and eating, and help them to recover from a food obsession or addiction. Paperback. 133 pp. $10.95

Since I am plugging my client here anyway, let me throw a few more things at you.

They have a ton of educational material books for teachers, including character ed books, dealing with difficult students, etc.

They have a ton of books on parenting, Autism and Asperger's syndrome, sexual abuse, domestic violence, divorce, blended families and more. They also have a ton of children's books for each of these subjects as well.

If you are a mental health professional, half of their store is dedicated to you, and their catalogs are filled with great books.

Uh Oh

I received this email this morning from someone I know at work, which was sent to a number of employees in this company. The person who wrote this is one of the higher-ups here.

"Folks, as you have noticed last Friday (or will notice this week), I have begun to wear a skullcap (also referred to as “kippa” or “yarmulke”) at work.

While I have talked to some of you about this already, in case you’re curious, or if questions come up from your staff, my reasoning is as follows:

The skullcap is worn by most of the more observant males of the Jewish faith as a religious symbol, as a reminder of a ‘Higher Authority” above, and it’s something I’ve always worn at home. The custom is a bit more of a grayish area though (certainly more gray than the regular biblical commandments), which was why when I started working here I elected not to wear it, to sort of blend in to the corporate world. I’ve had misgivings about my original decision, both personally and the fact that I don’t want my kids to feel they have to compromise on their beliefs in order to accomplish their goals in life.

Coming back from Israel was a good opportunity to do this, though it’s something I’ve been considering for a while."

In a separate email to me, he acknowledged the role of having me working here with a Kippa that helped him to make his decision. I only hope he is not putting a black velvet ceiling on his career advancement at this company.

Baseball Blues

The Blue Jays are in Boston on the July third, and not playing on July 4. The Cubs are sold out on the third and not playing on the fourth, The White Sox are in Oakland on the third and playing a late game on the fourth.

But the Tigers are in Cleveland on the fourth for a double header.

The only thing is, Cleveland sucks. I don't like the food there. I've been to the Rock and Roll hall of fame and to be honest, I don't want to go back.

Meanwhile, we decided to go to Toronto on the 19th for Father's Day. We'll go, have some pizza, watch the Jays play the Brewers, grab some dinner and come home.

But the Blue Jays web site is really screwing us around, and it keeps moving our seats around. And my wife is going to pull her hair out if she has to keep on fighting with this web site. So maybe we will spend Father's Day at the beach and then BBQ something good.

I'm sure I'll let you know.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Help from my Torontonian People

Hello Canadians,

We are thinking about going to Toronto on July 3 and 4 with our kids, ages 3, 6 and 9. We are thinking of going to Wonderland or Center Island. Have any of you gone to Wonderland or Center Island with kids those ages? Would we be able to do things together, or would we have to split up to find age-apprpriate activities at those places? Also, is July 4 (monday) a holiday in Canada, or will people be working - shorter lines is a plus!

Are there other kid-friendly activities to do there?

Or should we follow the Tigers to Cleveland for a double header on the 4th?

If you're looking for my social commentary...

...I had to take it down for the day. There was a typo on it that needs to be corrected and can't be fixed until tomorrow morning. You should be able to find it some time tomorrow.

Brooklyn Is Beautiful

We have had many guests over the years for many different meals. But there was one guest, who came last Shavuos, who will probably never be forgotten by my wife or me.

She is from Brooklyn, and was in town visiting her sister-in-law and brother-in-law, friends of ours who we frequently have yom tov meals with. So she and her husband and her baby came with her brother- and sister-in-law to our house for lunch.

Anyway, we are talking, and since she is from Brooklyn, we get into some Brooklyn bashing. Nothing too serious. Just questioning how someone who lives in a country with freedom of choice to live wherever they want can end up in that slum. Willingly.

And she said something that I had never heard or imagined was possible to say.

"Brookyln is Beautiful."

Brooklyn is a lot of things, but beauty is the last adjective I would ever apply to slab of concrete.

But maybe I am being too harsh. I found beauty in Brooklyn one day, though she wasn't from Brooklyn. Her name was Aviva, and she was hanging out with my friends in Brooklyn one Saturday night. It turned out that we had a lot of friends in common, and after hanging out, in Brooklyn, for a few hours, first bowling, then shooting pool, she gave me her number.

Two days later I called her, and that night we went to the circus on our first date. A little over a year later, we got married.

When you look for it, beauty can be found anywhere. Even in Brooklyn. A place that might be beautiful in hell.


Overall, Shavuos was very nice. The BBQ went off perfectly. My In-laws came and went without incident. The kids were good. But there was soemone missing. Saadia and family went to NY for the holiday, on their way to Israel. They didn't make formal Aliyah, but they have left, with no plans to return to Detroit.

And they will be missed.

The Rally

We are walking through Jerusalem. I don't think any of us know that there is to be an Od Kahane Chai rally, but we are not disappointed when we find oursleves in the middle of it. Somehow, we all end up with T-shirts and torches too.

The rally finishes, and now it is time to march. We walk through the streets of Jerusalem, laughing and fooling around with the torches, glad that this evening has turned into something fun. Soon, there are police on horses and skirmishes in the street. It is getting out of control, but we stay on, wanting to see what will happen yet. Someone from our group gets hit by a cop on horseback. Others from our group are pushed around by the horses. We have found signs and we have no idea what we are protesting, or what Binyamin Kahane (O"H), who spoke during during the rally and is leading the march, wants. But we can chant and march and look like we know what we are talking about.

Eventually the rally dissipates, and we are left with our torches and signs and t-shirts. We take them back to Yeshiva, and take pictures with our torches lit in front of the yeshiva, a scene that would probably cause the chief to terminate our membership in his yeshiva on the spot.

First Time

I have known Yitzi since we were about nine years old. We met at Canadas's Camp Agudah. I have gone to high school with him, graduated with him, and now, we are in Mercaz together. He is one of my favorite people in Mercaz, and we occasionally will escape yeshiva for a few beers, or go jogging to SuperSol in the middle of town late at night.

I have known him for 11 years, and never seen him smoke, or show any interest in smoking, but today is different. He is pissed off or frustrated or just sick of yeshiva. I don't remember. But he comes to my room, and he asks for a smoke, and we go out onto the balcony.

There is a mask of some kind, with spears across it and a pole running down the back of it. It is brown and white, and we have named this mask the god of the balcony. It is in almost every picture we take on the balcony, seemingly standing alone, held up by a pole that runs to the corner of the balcony. The mask watches approvingly as we add another to our smoking fraternity.

Maybe Yitzi is smarter than most of us, though, and it is the only trip he makes to the balcony for a cigarette. Or maybe he just didn't like it.

Either way, it is the only time I ever see him smoke.

Four years later, in Canada, at Yitzis wedding, a rabbi falls and bloodies his nose on his way down the aisle.

10 years after that, Yitzi gets belated anniversary greetings on Air Time.


The Shavuos BBQ, that is. It rained before and after, but during grill time the rain held. Hamburgers, hot dogs, steaks, corn, kishka and fries, plus some salads that went untouched.

It rained before and after, but during grilling time the sky held and the fire burst forth from the coals and the food cooked to perfection.

Friday, June 10, 2005

That's All Folks

That's it for me. Don't forget to count 48 and 49 this week. Even if you haven't counted since 6.

Have a good shabbos.


Some of you guys were asking about Kevorkian, so here it is, really quick.

I was the last potential juror kicked off the jury for the Jack Kevorkian trial. I had never been called to jury duty, and I thought it would be interesting. It was just my luck that Kevorkian was being tried that day. I waited all day while they called people up, asked questions, and rejected them.

Kevorkian was representing himself, and kept falling asleep. Someone said they would convict Kevrokian because they don't like him and he is a murderer. Kevorkian was going to let him stay on the jury, but his advisor and the judge convinced Kevorkian to let the juror go.

Anyway, I finally got called up. They asked me a bunch of questions. The prosecution had only one rejection for no reason left (whatever thats called, i don't remember).

I couldn't figure out why they got rid of me. I was obviously a religious jew, so you'd think the prosecution would want me. The only thing i can think of is they asked me if i argue with my dad about issues, and I said that we do disagree on things sometimes. I guess they took that to mean I approved Euthenasia.

Too bad, it would have made a good story.

Buy the Cow

His name is Hillel. He arrived in Mercaz late in the year. I don't know anything about him, haven't seen or talked to him in many years. But he has the most brilliant idea I have ever heard in my entire year in Israel.

He has done the research, and found the cost of buying a single cow in Israel. He has done the math, and found out that if he can get enough people to contribute $25 to the cow fund, he can buy a cow, pay for its slaughter, its being cut up, and everyone in Yeshiva who contributes can BBQ fresh cow.

It is a brilliant plan, one that can make him a yeshiva legend if he can pull it off. He starts talking to guys, signing them up to be part of Operation Mercaz Cow.

There is only one flaw. He does not believe there is the need for discretion. There are no Halachos being broken; there are no school rules being trampled upon.

But it has been a long year for Mercaz, and word of the Operation Mercaz Cow reaches the Chief. Rabbi Rotman nearly explodes. He calls Hillel into his office, and puts the Kibosh on Operation Mercaz Cow. It is an operation, he claims that will "Make mercaz the laughingstock of the yeshiva world."

There will be no cow. In its place are disappointment and resignation.

Black Heat Remembered

It is times like this, as I prepare myself to grill on Yom Tov, that my thoughts turn to Black Heat. She was the lover I never had. Beautiful black rounded body, with a soul that burned charcoal and inflamed passion.

I got her as a father's day gift in 1998, and from then until 2002, she served us well. Her large grill was more than enough to entertain and feed as much company as we wanted, and her fiery coals burned 12 months a year.

Tragedy happened in the fall of 2001. Was it nature? Terror? Act of God? I will never know.

It was October 2001. We went away for lunch on the fine Succos afternoon. When we returned home, our Succah had collapsed, and there, buried beneath the rubble of our tarp and PVC-pipe succah, lay Black Heat.

She was badly wounded, and her once round shape was now ovalesque. Still, that Simchat Torah it was not without some joy that she performed her magic at the Simchat Torah BBQ.

My wife, who had long been jealous of Black Heat, started dropping hints that it was time to get rid of that "messy bitch in the backyard" and get a nice gas grill.

I resisted. You don't just get rid of a grill like that. Not after all she went through. Still, the following Summer we moved, and Mrs. Air Time put her foot down. Only one of them were moving to our house. I thought about it, and decided to kepp Mrs. Air Time. I knew I would miss Black Heat, but I would miss Mrs. Air Time more.

I found a nice family to take Black Heat in. They did not love her like I did, and soon after Black Heat found her way into the dumpster.

So as you are eating your Shavuot meal this year, take a moment to think of Black Heat. A grill who done good for herself.

Tradition Broken

Every Shavuot and Simchat Torah, our family BBQs for the second day lunch. It has been something we started about seven years ago, and something I highly recommend. We used to have Guest Poster Micha every year, but that ended when he got married and wasn't always home for that meal.

This year, we break with that tradition. We were invited out to lunch on the second day. Instead, we will be grilling on the first day of Shavuot. And this is where the Drive A Thon really starts to pay off for us. We had the Burger Buddys in Chicago. But on Monday, I get to grill the garlic and beef hot dogs from Romanian. Then we'll fry up some Romanian Corned Beef and Pastrami, toss it on top of burgers, and indulge ourselves in a meat frenzy.

Of course, we will prepare ourselves for this feast with a beer stick appetizer.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Second Borns

My wife is a second born. I am a first born. It means we have different perspectives on a lot of things.

When our second child was born, she sid she would never treat him any differently than our first born. Which doesn't quite explain why we have pitcures of our oldest at 3 month intervals from the time he was born until the time his brother was born, and we have 0 professional pictures of our second child.

It also doesn't explain how our oldest had a first birthday party and a two year old party, while our completely equal second child didn't have a birthday party until he was 3.

Usually I don't mind that we did things for my oldest that we didn't do for my middlest. Having more than one means more planning, and sometimes that doesn't happen. But I did feel bad today.

When my oldest finished any school year that had an end of year program, we took him out for pizza and tried to celebrate his accomplishment. When my five year old finished Kindergarten today, we went to the program, and brought him to day care for the rest of the day. No pizza lunch. No special praises.

I feel bad about that. He should have had his time today. But time and schedule didn't allow it, and we don't always make the same priority choices the second time around.

There's a New Cover Girl

Orthomom claims to be 50% Canadian, even though i don't think she ever lived there. Just Passing Through is 100% canadian, even though he will never live their again. This week's cover girl grew up in Canada, lives in Canada, and even with all that baggage, her posts are almost never about Beer, Bob and Doug Mackenzie or living in the Great White North. She did lead me to write this post about sluts, though.

Be sure to visit her blog, Pearlies of Wisdom.

Why are all my covers featuring Canadians? I don't know, maybe I'm still practicing.

Testing Limits

I am in a new Yeshiva, although I am not really sure why I am bothering. It is called Torah Mitzion.

There are two Rosh Yeshivas for the twenty boys who attend. One, who we call Shimmy, is young, has a hot wife, and smokes more than anyone I have ever spent time with. We form a connection very quickly.

The other Rosh Yeshiva is older. He is Rabbi Rhodes. He has convinced me to try going to Yeshiva one more time. I am bored, so I go.

It is my first Thursday night in Yeshiva, and my friends are going to Atlantic City. I go along too, and we spend the night playing slots and blackjack and roulette. Most of us are under 21, but no one asks for ID. The cash in our pockets are all the ID they need.

It is mostly the regular crew. Menachem, Shea, Michelle, Rivky, and others who I don't remember. We have a lot of fun, and leave at around 4:30 or 5 to make it back to Yeshiva for Friday morning davening.

I get back late, probably intentionally, trying to see what Rabbi Rhodes is going to do. Will this be a short stay in Torah Mitzion. He asks me why I missed davening, and I tell him. There is no reason to lie. I don't care if he kicks me out.

But he doesn't. He tells me to get back earlier next time, so I don't miss minyan.

It is the first time in a long time that I start to develop any respect for a Rabbi in Yeshiva.

Knish and Air Time on Good Terms

I am glad to say that the Knish has attributed the spoof ad on their site to me. I appreciate that they acted promptly, and I consider the matter resolved.

Yonah Wolf, the author of the article, also adressed in both the comments section and a post on his website,

If you don't know what I am talking about, you can find the article and ad/picture in the current Knish offering.

Air Time and The Knish

Yesterday Mirty, among others, pointed out that the family planning ad I made had found its way on to The Knish's website.

This was done without attribution to me, without permission from me, and without my knowledge.

It is certainly possible that it was done inadvertantly. My name or web site does not appear anywhere on the ad, and it could have easily been downloaded and emailed out.

I have also contacted the writer of the article, through his blog, and posted my response to his using the picture. Again, I don't know if he put the picture there or if it was done by the Knish.

I have contacted the Knish, asking them to either give the ad its proper attribution or remove it from their site.

I will keep you posted.

Before I forget...

I wanted to thank Micha for taking over Air Time yesterday.

There are a few other Drive A Thon thank yous that need to go out.

First, I want to thank god..oh wait, that's my Oscar acceptance speech.

I want to thank our sponsors, everyone who participated in the event, Larry for driving both ways, Jerry the Fireman for proving that you could actually sleep in the bed in the back of the RV while it was driving. Aaron, who brought his Xbox, left his cord at home, and bought a new wire so we could play on the drive back. I want to thank Gil, for his great record keeping, but mostly for bringing a bottle of Crown Royal that we put a major dent into. And Micha, who wrote a great opening post, and then mailed it in for the rest of the afternoon.

I want to thank the truck driver next to us for laughing when he saw us playing cards and drinking at 8:30 chicago time. I want to thank Ken for creating the Burger Buddy, and the spanish guy in the back for making it.

Thanks go out to Dave at Romanian who put our order together and had it ready for us on time even though we were late in getting him the order. And especially for giving us two more pounds of shish kabob meat because we couldn't find the two pounds he gave us when we checked the food in. (Yea dave, we will be sending in a check to cover the extra two pounds.

Thanks to Young Israel of Oak Park for letting us use their bank account so that all our participants can get a tax writeoff for their donation.

Finally, thanks to my wife, who rolls her eyes whenever she hears about the Drive A Thon and the MNFBBQ Club, but never tries to block it or get in the way.

Burger Buddy

You know that feeling. No, not a feeling. More of an uplifting of one's entire spirit. Where you know nothing but the pleasure and ecstasy of the moment.

That was yesterday at Ken's Diner, as I ate my Burger Buddy on Drive A Thon III. It is not everyday that one in Detroit can experience the Burger Buddy. With sauces dripping off the burger, on to your hands. Sauces that need to be licked off, not wiped off.

You breathe in the powerful Burger Buddy aroma. It overwhelms you with strength and size.

If you have never had a burger buddy, you're letting the best things in life pass you by.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Drive-A-Thon III Update (final)-brought to you by Lighting Supply Company

Burger One expects to touch down at YIOP between 7:15 and 7:30. I am leaving Mission Control now, so call me on my cell phone at 248-XXX-XXXX if you need to reach me.

Drive-A-Thon III Update (no. 5)-brought to you by Lighting Supply Company

Burger One is in Michigan. The estimated time of arrival is 7:00.

Drive-A-Thon III Update (no. 4)-brought to you by Lighting Supply Company

I’m glad to tell you that after a very filling lunch at Ken’s and a stop at Best Buy for Aaron’s purchase of an X-Box wire, Burger One hit the road home at 1:40 eastern time.

Drive-A-Thon III Update (no. 3)-brought to you by Lighting Supply Company

The eagle has landed. The men are inside Romanian.

Drive-A-Thon III Update (no. 2)-brought to you by Lighting Supply Company

Burger One is ahead of schedule and already on the Skyway. The troops are occupying themselves with Texas Hold ‘Em tournaments. Gil proposed making it strip poker, but the others defeated that idea in a 2-1 vote. It’s unclear who voted against it. Being ahead of schedule, Burger One plans to find a Best Buy to find whatever X-Box piece Aaron forgot. If they cannot find a Best Buy, they will just stop at the nearest donut shop to buy more pastries with which to pelt Aaron. After all, the jelly can only stay in the donuts for so many throws against a person before requiring a replacement.

Drive-A-Thon III Update, no. 1

Ground Control made its first contact with Burger One at 7:43 a.m., right around the time our valiant road warriors were passing Kalamazoo.  On board were co-captains Arye Zacks and Gil Stebbins, pilot Larry Winer, Aaron Kleid and Jerry Eizen.  While Arye and Gil were making their third trip and Larry and Aaron their second, Jerry is on his maiden voyage aboard Burger One. 


Liftoff was at 5:50, twenty minutes after the scheduled time.  Gil was late for the second year in a row.  Gil is now apparently hiding in shame in Burger One’s rear quarters.  He also might just be sleeping.  We’re not quite sure what he’s doing back there.


Jerry made sure that there would be ample provisions for the troops and brought donuts.  Aaron brought entertainment in the form of his X-Box, but forgot to bring the device that connects the X-Box to the television.  The others have apparently been pelting Aaron with the donuts as punishment for this egregious error.


Larry is valiantly guiding Burger One along the treacherous path that is I-94, maintaining a steady speed of seventy miles per hour.


I would like to finish this update with thanks from all of us at Drive-A-Thon III to all of you who have given to this worthy cause.  Special thanks go to the event’s sponsors, Lighting Supply Company, Simon Kresch, Gabi Grossbard, Bill Berlin and Eddie Katz, whose donations defrayed the expenses.  Due to their generosity, all proceeds after the meat purchases will go directly to Hazon Yeshaya.


Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Programming Note Plus

Tomorrow I will off doing the important Drive A Thon work. Fear not, though. The Air Time duties will be handled by Micha, an MNFBBQ member who is not hitting the road.

Throughout the day tomorrow he will be emailing Drive A Thon updates to all our sponsors. Through the magic of the internet, those emails will somehow end up on this Blog.

In case Micha decides to post any of his thoughts in addition to the Drive A Thon reporting, here are some things you need to know about Micha.

The first 163 girls/women whom he dated were not good enough. #164 won his heart, and they have been married ever since. If you are one of the 163 women he dated between 1990 and 2003 and have a comment to make, leave it here. Also, please be sure to include your number so he knows who the hell you are. If you know a ball player associated with your number, that is even better (i.e. #72, you can sign in as Refrigerator Perry)

His living room is bright red. (In case you were wondering, my dining room is deep purple.)

Had I not been there, I would not have believed it, but his wedding was a dairy affair. On a national holiday. You can read all about it.

And if you are reading it, and have never looked at a page of Gemara in your life, I recommend reading the middle first, and then going back and reading the commentary. If you have never been blown away by anything you've found on Air Time, this may be the piece that blows your hair back. It was a day with all the possibility of horrificness, but turned out OK.

Oh, and he is really bald, and really tall, but that shouldn't affect his posting.

If you were...

If you were to sell a product on your blog to jewish bloggers, it would have to be one that appeals to all jewish bloggers.

Which means it would have to capture the spirit of disconnectedness that most former yeshiva bloggers feel toward the yeshiva world.

There is only one issue that can unite Jewish Bloggers to come together and make a statement. And only one product that can capture that statement and spirit of discontent.

This is that product.

Wednesday Nights

It is an Israel Tradition, we are told. Massov Burger at the Tachana on Wednesday Night. Everyone is there.

If everyone is there, we will be there, even if it means we have to bail out of second seder an hour early. We will stuff our faces with Shwarma and hamburgers, and see if anyone can actually eat three of them in one meal. Few can, but Big G and Mick can pull the feat of with some regularity. Lippy might even do it once or twice.

By this time, Menachem has betrayed us at Mercaz for Beis. He still wants to get together on Wednesday’s and he has a key to a room at the LaRomme hotel. The only hotel at the time with an indoor pool.

So Wednesday takes on a new activity. Swimming for an hour at the LaRomme, followed by Massov Burger. It works for a while. We escape yeshiva even earlier, and jump on a bus toward town.

We go for a few weeks, before someone checks his key and we are no longer allowed in the hotel pool. We try to find alternative swimming venues. There is a private swimming club in Talpiot, and we manage to sneak in their once or twice, but for the most part, the Wednesday swimming portion of our day is canceled.

Drive A Thon countdown

With the Drive A Thon less than 30 hours away, we closed up our orders for Romanian. We can still accept burger buddy orders.

The Drive A Thon numbers

1 - Driver
4 - Riders in the RV (These are the brave souls who put it all on the line for the Drive A Thon
11 - Number of Burger Buddys ordered from Ken's Diner
48 - Total participants in Drive A Thon
289 - Pounds of meat ordered from Romanian
513 largest check
2,300 Approximate amount raised for Hazon Yeshaya

The numbers are a bit down from last year, but we din't put enough time into it this year.

Drive A Thon Test

Can I really post from email?