Fire and Light

Independence Park, Tel Aviv

The Camp Fire, the Woolsey Fire, the Hill Fire - California was ablaze. For what seemed like an eternity, the conflagration spewing smoke and ash was out of control with no end in sight. A hundred people died as thousands upon thousands of acres along with hundreds of homes were charred and consumed by the inferno. The Town of Paradise was decimated, it’s now gone, history. 

Needless to say, the awesome power of fire has been on my mind as of late. But so has the light that emanates from combustion. Why?

For eight nights earlier in December my family started a fire each night. No worries, it was a very limited, controlled fire. We started by striking a match to light one small candle then added another each night until eight were lit. We do that at this time of year, every year to mark Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights. The holiday celebrates the successful revolt over two thousand years ago of the Maccabees, a Jewish band of rebels, against the Syrian king Antiochus who outlawed Judaism in his empire and defiled the Temple in Jerusalem. After the Temple was cleansed and rededicated, its iconic candelabrum, the menorah, needed to be lit so it could burn through the night, and every night thereafter. Only pure olive oil could be used for this sanctified purpose. Search as they might, the Maccabees could find only one flask enough for but one night. As the story goes, miraculously the sacred fire lasted eight days, hence the eight nights of the Hanukkah festival.

But why is this fire and the light it sheds different from all others? 

Answer - As it is written, the fire is one that must only illuminate and not consume. Jewish texts make clear the candles need to be separated at least by a finger’s breadth to ensure the flames will not join together to be ‘like a bonfire’. Hanukkah lights must be distinct so each becomes a point of light set against the darkness. What better time to gaze into the flickering flames than at this time, the darkest of year.      

In contrast to the ominous glow of the California blazes which can be seen from far above Earth, the light emanating from fire which I’ve been gazing at and thinking about is one that does not consume and destroy, it only illuminates, it warms the heart, it inspires. 

With devastation from the other fires of war and hate raging on our planet, that seemingly impermeable darkness needs to be pierced by the illuminating light of Hanukkah. It’s light we need to bring into our world and sustain.

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all images © David Greenfield

Jericho

Shofar - the biblical trumpet

‘Joshua fit de battle of Jericho

Jericho Jericho

Joshua fit de battle of Jericho

And the walls come tumblin’ down’

It’s a catchy tune about a familiar story - a populace on the march supported by a surge of trumpet blasts and committed to a mission to bring down the imposing walls of the city of Jericho. The events are emblematic of the Battle of Jericho, the first in the eventual conquest of the Promised Land. The song is certainly captivating and the story, as told in the Book of Joshua, is well known. Trouble is, archeologists subsequently excavating in Tell es-Sultan, i.e., biblical Jericho, approach unanimity in concluding the events as described never happened! But hasn’t history taught us that assemblies of men and women united in their determination are indeed capable of causing impenetrable walls of all stripes to come tumbling down? Not sure? Think Berlin Wall. Think breaching of walls to pass the Civil Rights and the Voting Rights Acts. Think millions voting with their feet during the March on Washington, Mother’s Day Marches, and Selma to Montgomery. 

Unfinished Business

If you wait for perfection, you’ll wait an eternity.

While marveling at an artist friend in the throes of layering brushstroke upon brushstroke to her opus-in-the-making, I noted how often what I thought was an endpoint would be summarily made history by new paint layers …. then newer ones. Before my eyes, the creation was continually transmogrified from one perceived finale to another, prompting me to ask, when do you stop and announce - finis? To which she replied, ‘you’re never really finished.’  

What! Don’t we relish placing a virtual ✔︎ next to a creation completed or even a job well done? Isn’t this type of unfinished business unsettling? It is for me.

Unfinished business weighs in with greater heft as the new year 5779 now begins for Jews throughout the world. It is a time for individual reflection on conduct during the past year - what was proudly accomplished and what was left undone or unsaid - and how to effect meaningful personal and societal changes in the year ahead. It also marks the time the Book of Genesis will soon be re-read. Genesis, the first of the Five Books of Moses, recounts as the name implies, Creation. Chapter One describes God’s separation on Day One of an unformed darkness into heaven and earth and subsequent command, ‘Let there be light.’ But it wasn’t until Day Four that God actually made the two great lights set in heaven to give light upon the earth; the greater light to rule day, and the lesser to rule the night. What then of ‘the Light’ from Day One? 

As it is written in Jewish commentary, perhaps that ‘light’ was actually the light of ‘awareness.’ The illumination we think of as measured in watts and lumens came later, on Day Four. But a problem arose; apparently those lumens never completely arrived. Their special delivery vessel suffered a breakup on the way. Fragmented shards with light still trapped inside were scattered to the four corners. Fortunately most of the divine light was reconstituted, but the illumination and the inherent goodness locked within dispersed fragments remained missing. Until it is released to join the reconstituted beams, the miracle of Creation remains …… Unfinished business. 

This is where we humans come in charged with gathering the stray points of light and harnessing its power to repair what is broken in the world. Although a daunting, if not impossible undertaking, a way forward can be found in the lyrics of poet/author/singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen’s classic work,  Anthem - 

there is a crack in everything 

(there is a crack in everything)

that’s how the light gets in  

Light which streams through the cracks can show us the way.

Cracks in our world

And what is that light called? Answer - Tikkum Olam.

And what is Tikkum Olam comprised of? Answer - Acts of kindness, charity, and efforts to improve society. In short, to effect repair we are called to always do good and always do the right thing. 

Even Mr. Rogers knew that, “We are all called to be Tikkun Olam, repairers of creation.”

Granted, these days the world’s brokenness seems to be expanding at warp-speed. Even making a dent in the journey toward an outer orbit of Perfection will require an eternity of lightyears. Alas, this Unfinished business will frustratingly always remain unfinished business. But there can be no alternative other than to plod ahead. 

Need encouragement for the long arduous journey? Look no farther than these timeless words of wisdom for motivation: 

“You are not obligated to complete the work, 

but neither are you free to desist from it.” 

Ethics of Our Fathers 2:21

Waiting for perfection - waiting an eternity - unfinished business …. no problem!

Onward.

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all images © David Greenfield

AMERICA the Beautiful

Parade - Hoboken, NJ

from THE AMERICANS

© Robert Frank, circa 1950

Immigrants. Immigration. Both have weighed heavily on my mind as of late. 

Not that long ago, the Statue of Liberty’s torch, held high in New York Harbor, illuminated a welcome for those seeking a better, more secure life, and yearning to participate in the American experiment of democracy, equality, and opportunity. Today Lady Liberty’s outstretched arm points newcomers back where they came from. 

Ever wonder what the ‘huddled masses’ braving so much to reach our shores think of us now?

Both sides of the aisle in Congress acknowledge our immigration policy is badly broken. Not only does it reflect poorly on us within the family of nations, it is misguided. The engine of our country purrs largely with fuel refined through the energy, talents, and hard work immigrants pour into the country’s tank. But we’re realizing that a shockingly wide swath of our citizenry doesn’t accept the value and necessity of immigration for our nation’s well being. More disturbing perhaps is that they never have. 

This awakening plus that of how we are currently perceived reminds me of one newcomer’s saga, Swiss born photographer Robert Frank. His photo-documentary work is legendary for generations of street photographers striving to emulate his gritty style. Frank arrived on our shores about seventy years ago with camera in hand. His signature work, THE AMERICANS, is an impressive chronicle of what this new American visualized during a 1950s road trip criss-crossing his newly adopted country. Two years, thousands of miles, 800 rolls of film, and 30,000 negatives later, Frank’s road trip made its last stop. It then entered a most arduous editing phase. That effort ultimately yielded only 80 photographs, only 80 - unbelievable!

In the pre-publication maquette, the photos were grouped into four sections of untitled images strategically juxtaposed on opposite pages for added impact. For the finish, Frank’s Bohemian good buddy Jack Kerouac, already known for his literary prowess, wrote an introduction. It is priceless, a must read. How perfect!

Trouble was, the proposed book was panned by critics and shunned by publishers. 

A message within the THE AMERICANS didn’t sit well. Although Frank’s essay found simple beauty in overlooked corners of America, it also cast a harsh light on Uncle Sam, exposing a few of his warts. The mirror he held up to our nation did not reflect only “The Fairest in the Land” image the country expected to see. THE AMERICANS revealed a tarnished ‘from sea to shinning sea’ image of a nation still basking in the afterglow of post-war euphoria. The US was not in the mood to confront the persistent, harsh pre-war realities of segregation, a wide Have and Have-not chasm, political demagoguery, and the darkening clouds of the ensuing Cold War portrayed in Frank’s photos.

THE AMERICANS did eventually get a publisher …… in France! A year later Grove Press published it in the US. Today it remains a gold standard in photojournalism. It redefined what a photo-book could aspire to be.

A few years ago, hailing the importance of Frank’s photo-documentary and recognizing its 1950s prescience, New York’s Museum of Modern Art featured a major retrospective of THE AMERICANS. It is sobering that we are still combating what Robert Frank, as a newcomer to the US, first visualized through his camera - inequality, racism, and disingenuous politicians. The dark side of today’s immigration debate confronts all these demons crystallizing Frank’s  decades old through the lens assessment. 

Unless we use the power of the ballot box to vote for change, the dark side will prevail. It will be déjas vue all over again.

North End - Boston, MA

© David Greenfield 

from his photo-essay ESCAPE ART: the urban fire escape

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Check out ESCAPE ART: the urban fire escape to view the entire Photo-essay. 

Shooting Hoops

Baseball is considered America’s National Pastime, but look down your hometown street and chances are you’ll see a basketball hoop in almost every driveway. 

Basketball’s resonance spans the generations - kids bounce the ball on the pavement as they walk and talk, teens release the day’s tension after classes playing pickup in schoolyards and parks, and Boomers show up religiously for Sunday morning competition. For these weekend warriors, as long as their banged up joints respond to ibuprofen and neoprene supports, there is no mandatory retirement age. 

Question: What is it about basketball that draws so powerfully and has such longevity? 

Answer: The game is challenging, invigorating, it’s fun! ….. and perhaps the court is a safe place for ‘acting out’ behavior that would otherwise be considered verboten in the outside world. Can the experiences of playing basketball be metaphors for what we encounter as life happens? 

Whatever it is, the game is a unifying theme for my shared passions - playing & observing the game coupled with photography and writing. Consider this personal reflection …… 

“I admire strength, whether physical or mental, and I appreciate finesse. Sometimes all  these qualities are found in one package. 

Along with his seven foot height and sculpted upper body muscle, Hakeem Olajuwon of the ‘70s Houston Rockets coupled a soft touch on the ball with the deft footwork artistry of a ballet dancer as he powered for low post positioning under the basket. At the lower end of the height spectrum was former Russian refusenik Anatoly Sharansky. He played chess, not power-basketball, but he certainly ‘played big’ as a towering exemplar of mental toughness. Sharansky maintained a resolve to emigrate freely from the former Soviet Union during his ten years of imprisonment, interrogation, and torture. In the end, he out-finessed the KGB. 

I'm not at all like either of these giants of mind and body, but when I stepped onto the court, my goal was to emulate by playing strong and smart. Some days, perhaps only when the Moon was in the Seventh House and Jupiter was aligned with Mars, it seemed that I was able to move and battle Olajuwon-like for inside position while persevering with a Sharansky mindset. On those days, I could score and finesse all opponents sent out to defend against me. Those were good days!”

Shooting Hoops as I call my endeavor, is a combined expression of photographic art, storytelling, and street experiences. It reflects a plain love of the game and is the product of countless trips up and down the court of inspiration. I hope to share this inspiration and offer a little insight about the inner game so viewers can be encouraged to feel the passion and then lace up their shoes.

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images ©David Greenfield

St. Valentine's Day

Public Enemy No. 1

                                         

None of them saw it coming, but even those who managed to escape would be scarred for life. The carnage, not the first of its kind nor the last for a nation seemingly inured to periodic eruptions of slaughter, still shocked the system’s core. The crime scenes were not confined solely to grimy urban jungle recesses, and even though the episodic bloodlettings spanned decades, each body shattering impact shared one thing in common. All occurred on the same day, February 14th - St.Valentine’s Day. 

Here’s how it all began, and perhaps, just perhaps, a spark of inspiration in anticipation for how it might end. 

Chicago, 1929 - Prohibition was the law of the land. It banned the manufacture, transportation, and sale of booze. Unfortunately instead of realizing the sobering benefits of this temperance achievement, the country witnessed a trifecta of unintended outcomes: bootlegging, speakeasies, and gang warfare. For Chicago’s mob running these felonious operations, Prohibition was a very lucrative, but ruthless business. With Mayor Thompson and the city's police in its back pocket, the mob ruled … and mob boss Scarface Al Capone ruled the mob with an aura of invincibility. As a businessman Capone was a mega-successful millionaire. He was also not a nice guy. To protect his territory, and surely to make a point, in one outburst of turf warfare on February 14th, thugs from Capone’s gang dressed as policemen cornered seven rival hoods in a North Chicago garage. They then sprayed them with Tommy Guns, the 1929 equivalent of today’s AR-15. Even Chicagoans were shaken as never before by this brazen ambush. The murders were so grizzly, the crime commanded a designation distinct from other eruptions of gang violence. It soon got one - the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Al Capone received a title as well - Public Enemy No. 1. The Feds then became intent on not just putting him out of business, but putting him away. They did. Two years later he was convicted for tax evasion, a federal crime at the time and a novel prosecutorial strategy. 

Even with Capone locked away in a US penitentiary, the Thompson Submachine Gun, the Tommy Gun, remained gang members’ easily obtained weapon of choice. With it, hoods continued instilling fear on Chicago’s streets. The Tommy didn’t commit the murders, it just turned them into wholesale crimes. The city’s reputation was becoming toxic for new business investment. The tipping point for cleaning it up gradually  outweighed the mountain of corruption built by pols aiding crime bosses and the bosses aiding the pols. In 1932, FDR was elected president and initiated a war on crime which included the National Firearms Act of 1934, the first federal gun law. The law was written to keep Tommy out of private hands. Without a private market, the weapon was adopted solely by the military where it really belonged. It was soon redirected appropriately to serve in combat operations on the battlefields of WWII.

This brings us to the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Texas. Could forces aligning after this 2018 St. Valentine’s Day Massacre provide the spark igniting a conflagration needed to incinerate the devils within our gun culture? Maybe. 

Boston Common - March, 2018

By following the money and history, we learn it was a private sector mobilized to impact the economic benefits of selling guns coupled with fire power at the ballot box which yielded passage of the National Firearms Act. That critical mass was necessary to stop a seemingly incurable epidemic of gun violence. Today, we have a triad of forces assembling to eradicate this national scourge. Consider - with Dick’s Sporting Goods, Walmart, and Kroger taking the lead, retailers are joining ranks to no longer sell automatic weapons and begin placing restrictions on their gun sales. After Atlanta based Delta ended travel discounts for National Rifle Association members and the Georgia legislature hit back ending some tax exemptions for the airline, passing new gun laws has been catapulted into the 2018 mid-term campaign. Voters feeling enough is enough are demanding their reps support sensible 21st century interpretations of the Second Amendment. And to round out the three pronged effort there is a secret weapon emerging from the Parkland tragedy, a student led movement which understands how to use the Force - the immense power of social media - to fight for its cause. This coalition of activism could be a new beginning as the Dark Side of the NRA’s Axis of Power finally meets its match.

May the Force be with us.

March for Our Lives - Boston

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                                              Boston images © David Greenfield 2018

Serene Reflection

Hoa Lo Prison - Hanoi

The walls were painted black, as if the place needed a more creepy feng shui to make your skin crawl. And it was cold, the type of chill that penetrates into and ices your marrow space. It’s the cold that wool, down, Canada Goose, and layers cannot conquer. Could this place be as those in charge claimed, a venue set up for contemplation, for serene reflection?  I guess it depends on who you ask.

We were in Hanoi’s Hoa Lo Prison. In its prime, this once massive French fortress, aka Maison Centrale, was the place no rebel in Vietnam’s twentieth century struggle for independence wanted to be in while the country was still a colonial outpost. More recently US  POW’s captured during the slog of the Vietnam War derisively dubbed Hoa Lo the Hanoi Hilton. By the way, hoa lo translates to ‘fiery furnace’ or ‘hell’s hole.’ Serene reflection in a ‘fiery furnace’? Something doesn’t compute.

Independence Palace - April 30, 1975

On April 30, 1975 Ho Chi Minh’s Communist minions smashed through the iron gates of Saigon’s Independence Palace finally prevailing in their quest to unite Vietnam’s North and South. As the helicopter ferrying the last of those desperate to leave took off from the roof of the US Embassy, a decade of war came to a close. It was also the day the victors started writing their version of history.  The North’s narrative would have us believe POWs had the best possible living conditions. Aside from treatment of injuries, our guys were given periodic health check-ups, healthcare, and generally treated well and humanely. All this TLC despite difficulties and shortages the Vietnamese people faced during wartime. Such ‘best possible living conditions’ were designed to allow the men use of their quiet time, when not watching TV, playing chess, or pick-up basketball, for serene reflection on their role in the ‘The American War.’ 

Former POW Senator John McCain and the hundreds of other US airmen who were Hilton guests might have a different perspective. The depiction of what they experienced/endured during their stay had “very little connection with actual events that took place inside those walls.” They know all too well having your hands and feet bound, then hoisted on a meat hook while bent in a hog-tied position was not a therapeutic option at the Hilton’s spa. Spending months in solitary confinement was also not considered to be an upgrade to a private room. While it’s true a firm mattress is often preferable for achieving a good night’s sleep, the hotel’s offering of concrete slab beds was a bit extreme. Bottom line, other than sharing the facilities with assorted vermin and rodents, starvation, isolation, and torture were POWs’ constant companions.  

It is said victors write the history. That accounts for Vietnam’s portrayal of Hoa Lo as our captured airmen’s venue for serene reflection. It’s also true that sound journalism requires checking and cross-checking sources; a principle critical in the climate of 'alternative facts' and 'fake news.' So it’s good to keep that in mind as one considers how serene reflection within the walls of the Hanoi Hilton stacks up against the TripAdvisor review Senator McCain would have given the hotel …. would not recommend, a 0/5.

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The Gallery of my Vietnam images is titled Vietnam Vignette

images © David Greenfield 2018

Use every drop .... twice

a drop - destined to be used again somewhere

                                 

Populating Childhood 101’s playlist are cheery nursery rhymes like, Mary Had a Little Lamb, Baa Baa Black Sheep, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But there’s also an outlier recounting how a rainy day is a bummer. 

Rain, rain, go away

Come again another day

All the family wants to play

Rain, rain, go away

But in Israel, a distant sliver of land within a vast arid landscape, the people do not ‘look out on the morning rain and feel uninspired.’ It’s not a downer  for them.

looking out at a rare day in the Negev - the southern desert

Israelis celebrate rain for it replenishes water levels in lakes, rivers, and streams. From those sources, water is skillfully directed to homes and fields. Water is life, without it there is no life, no future. 

But with annual rainfall in steady decline, a growing population, and hostile water source-sharing neighbors, rain alone cannot make the desert bloom. Nor can it sate the thirst of its citizens or the countless thousands, friend or foe, Israel currently supplies outside its meager land mass.  

the challenge

Despite the odds, waters continue to flow and make miracles in the desert. There is no alternative.

So how do they do it?

Answer - Water is viewed as a national asset and early on the country’s leaders had a vision to achieve water self sufficiency. Respect for every drop is also instilled from Day One. Consider this jingle from Israeli kids’ own Childhood 101 playlist.

'Ushavtem mayim b'sasson
mimainei hayeshua'

Joyfully shall you draw water
From the fountains of triumph
Water - water - water - water
Hey, water in joy

But R-E-S-P-E-C-T or celebration is not enough. There’s also a multi-faceted action plan. It combines innovative technologies like smartphone enabled controls and drip technology for irrigation, a continuous education campaign to reduce waste and prevent loss, waste water treatment and recycling - using every drop twice - and deep drilling in remote areas for as yet untapped aquifers. In addition, and perhaps most important, consumers pay full fare for the water they use. Eliminating subsidies results in more thoughtful use of this vital national asset.

When these efforts do not meet the need, the gap between supply and demand is removed with desalination. Waters of the Mediterranean are converted into a plentiful precious potable resource.  

Water, water everywhere, and now more than enough to drink

at the Sorek Desalination Center, thirty minutes ago this water was in the sea

Water is life. To life! Le Chaim!

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images © David Greenfield 2017