The Promise

 

It was just before Valentine’s Day 2026 as I was mulling over all the amorous words I might soon bestow on my beloved partner in life and best friend forever. Fortuitously both happen to be the same person, my wife Carol. Suddenly the spell was broken - I had a flashback to a particularly fraught episode in our lives! Where did that memory come from and why now? It concerned consuming bugs and a solemn promise I made about gasoline.

You must be thinking - WHAT/WHY! Or thinking, rather than bugs, what mushrooms is this guy eating. Not to keep you in the dark about my gastronomic pica for arthropods and ‘The Promise’, here’s the prequel.

Our destination was Joshua Tree National Park, a junction point of the Mojave and Colorado deserts in southeastern California. The park is vast, with a barren moon-like landscape covering almost a million acres. It rests among the top tier of our largest national parks. Once inside, there’s no cell service, no fuel, no food, nor any other amenity. You enter and you are on your own.  

Foolishly, and a bit lazily I assumed Joshua Tree would be like Acadia, a park we previously visited, one rubbing shoulders with our smaller parks - easy in, easy out, and close to civilization.

Turns out it wasn’t, not by a long shot.

Before setting out for our thirty minute plus highway drive to Joshua Tree, Carol asked if we had enough gas. The fuel gauge of our rented Jeep was close to half full. Even with the Jeep’s non stellar fuel economy, figuring on a seventy mile round trip, I confidently responded, “no problem, more than enough”.“But there’s a station right here, why not do it now?” she replied. Carol is typically right 98% of the time and I’m usually wrong the other 2% yet somehow I keep forgetting that. So much to her chagrin, off we went without fueling up.  

Carol and the Wrangler

Soon while cruising to the park on Interstate 10, I felt a slight chill as the fuel gauge started dropping to ‘E” much faster than expected. Not having done  my homework, I didn’t know about Joshua Tree’s, ‘once you enter, you are on your own’ admonition. Not to be deterred, I soldiered on thinking, ‘worse comes to worse, I could get directly to the north entrance, fill up outside the park, then resume our planned in-the-park itinerary. Of course I also didn’t know that once in, the north gateway still remained an hour away. 

That’s when I recalled learning about desert survival skills and bugs. 

In an earlier journey Carol and I were in Israel on a water mission learning about Israel’s magic with water.  

In the Negev Desert

Among those feats was converting seawater into potable H2O with a surplus sufficient for export to neighboring states. Gray and recycled water irrigated crops and literally made the desert bloom. Given the harsh terrain, that was  miraculous. 

One morning while still in the Negev desert region, we opted to take a sunrise ride to a nearby natural wonder - the immense 40 km long Ramon Crater. Omar was our guide and driver. Bouncing along in his jeep, which had plenty of gas, Omar recalled the desert survival course of his IDF service.  

Omar is in the middle

It was an eye opener to learn that if stranded and out of supplies, soldiers were supposed to seek out and eat bugs for their protein content and NOT eat green vegetation. 

Q: Why, aren’t greens good for you? 

A: Since some plants are poisonous, even if consuming won’t kill you, you’ll get sick, perhaps violently and then compromised.

Now back to Joshua Tree, and well into the park’s no man’s land. 

Joshua Tree Desert and thinking the worse case scenario

My gut was now officially in a tight square knot, it was decision time. I pulled over to a culvert, stopped and turned to Carol who was visibly not a happy camper. Guilty as charged for passing up fueling fiascos, I took a knee and begged forgiveness. Then I solemnly made ‘The Promise’ - “When you tell me to fill up, I will!” 

In my mind I was thinking about my friend Kevin who once mentioned, “When I turned 50, I never passed a men’s room without paying a visit”.

I would now apply that crisis avoidance approach to gas stations whenever Carol recommends fueling up sooner than later. 

Not all men’s rooms have such interesting decor

With my flashback of the desert drama over, I refocused and finished composing my Valentine’s Day words, then looked forward to soon going out for a romantic dinner. Fuel would not be a concern as the restaurant was just a short walk away.

Everlasting Life

 

To commemorate International Holocaust Remembrance Day on January 27, 2026

 and in observance of my father’s twentieth yahrzeit (anniversary of his passing), I offer this blog, 

Everlasting Life

Joseph Greenfield - at home in Oceanside NY 1964

My father is a Holocaust survivor. He was liberated from KZ (concentration camp) Mauthausen by US 11th Armor troops - Thunderbolt Division - on the 5th of May, 1945. Despite the unimaginably black abyss from which he emerged, he chose a path of light to  create a new family and new life in a new country. 

He was my hero. I think about him every day.

*******

“May his precious soul be bound up in the bond of everlasting life.”

Those words are etched at the base of the monument recently dedicated in my father Joseph’s memory. I’ve been thinking a lot about everlasting life since he died. I’ve now come to a better understanding of its meaning. In the beginning, I fully expected to feel lost and aching. Expressing similar pained emotions, two Jewish sages, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, composed these lyrics for their soulful song America:

 

“I’m lost and aching and I don’t know why, 

Counting the cars on the NJ Turnpike”

When my journey of mourning began, it was also in New Jersey, and it was also on a highway. But it wasn’t the Turnpike, and I wasn’t counting cars. I was, however, numbly staring out the window of a small SUV as it cruised down Jersey’s Garden State Parkway on the way back from the cemetery where my father had just been laid to rest. Although traffic was flowing freely, our driver suddenly exited onto a side road. I turned to ask why the switch. He told me he grew up in New Jersey and loved driving the rural routes whenever he could. At that moment, I pictured my dad leaning over to give him the directions to turn off, just as he often did to me when I was driving, and just as he would have done if he was behind the wheel and the option of a more scenic route presented. I realized in that instant that I would never again take the quiet “road less traveled” without feeling my dad’s presence. So, despite the tears of the morning and the turbulence of the previous few months, and unlike the lost and aching souls in the song America, I smiled and turned to continue gazing out the window. Somehow I was happy and at peace.  

My father on the road less traveled

One day when sitting in synagogue for the daily morning service, I sensed my father’s presence once again, as I have on numerous other occasions. My eyes had momentarily drifted from the siddur (prayer book) and fixed on the beautiful aron kodesh (ark containing the Torah scrolls) in front of me. A smile spontaneously spread across my face. What happened to elicit such a pleasurable diversion? Among his many talents, my dad was a master craftsman. One of his last creations, at age 87, was building a commissioned aron kodesh for his own congregation. In the exuberance to complete the project, he made an errant cut with a power saw and it needed to be disguised with just a slight, undetectable modification of design. This scenario of an “excitement faux-pas and correction” did occur occasionally in his creations. When he told me what happened, I invoked the traditional carpenter’s mantra, “Remember, you measure twice and cut once, not the other way around.” This interchange had long ago become a standing joke between us. For added emphasis, I added that in my surgical work, I typically measure three or four times before an incision is made, never the other way around. With all of our kidding aside, I always learned a lot standing alongside my dad watching him work. As a teen I often begrudged having to spend my time being his assistant, steadying the wood as he sawed those knotty-pine boards for renovations around our home and other such jobs. But that is how I developed an appreciation for the beauty of wood and finer points of woodwork. 

Working in his NJ garage workshop, 2005

And later it was for photography, of which he was also a master. So now, whenever I take in the aroma of fresh sawdust, or whenever I hear the soft metallic whisper click of my camera’s shutter, I know he is there. His presence will always be with me. It is everlasting.

self portrait with Leica III and 90 mm lens

My father lived to an old age, but he never became an old man. He was vibrant, independent, fiercely loving of family, incredibly creative & artistic, and wise with the fundamental precepts of Judaism to the end. I will always be grateful for and inspired by that full life. 

As I said, he was my hero.

Joseph and David - building a deck in Newton, 1980

“May his precious soul be bound up in the bond of everlasting life.”

Jacob's Ladder

 "It was the best of times ... it was the worst of times,  it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair."

In high school I didn't read much Dickens, but I always remember those opening lines of from his novel, A Tale of Two Cities.

The quote came to mind this Thanksgiving 2025 when everyone collectively paused with family and friends to think of all we are thankful for. But with hurt and fear viscerally affecting so many now across the land, it's hard and perhaps Pollyanna-ish to engage in that exercise. If you hold fast in believing we are truly in the season of darkness, consider this ...

In this same season of 1863, in the midst of the Civil War with Rebel sons sometimes fighting Northern brothers and the Union on life support, President Lincoln proclaimed going forward there would be a national day of thanksgiving.

Crazy, no?

Even during those worst of times Lincoln wanted his countrymen to recognize their blessings. Acknowledging the good motivates the soul to respond with gratitude. The President believed that despite darkness and despair, it is always a season for hope, light, and gratefullness.

Abraham Lincoln was known as a brilliant orator and master storyteller, but as far as I know, he wasn't a Torah scholar. Yet his remarks over 150 years ago echoed the corresponding Torah portion of this past week - the story of Jacob's ladder (Genesis 28: 20-22).

In this passage, we find Jacob on the lam. Previously he schemed with his mother Rebecca to take advantage of his father's failing eyesight and steal his older brother Esau's birthright. Realizing the robbery, Esau goes ballistic. He with his men, 400 strong, then set out to get Jacob who has just made a hasty exit from biblical 'Dodge'. Exhausted by his desperate flight, Jacob drops into a deep sleep somewhere in the desert wilderness. During the night he dreams of a ladder ascending the heavens. Jacob's vision can be seen as a way upward to overcome life's challenges and connect with all that is good. But as in Wenceslas Hollar's 17 century artistic depictions of the dream, angels are shown going down as well as up. The ladder is a two-way thoroughfare providing rungs to journey heavenward but also steps to fall back to the uncertain times in the earthly realm.

So here's the $64 question - will the ladder help you up, inspiring to see a better place, or lead you down to remain wallowing in despair?

It's your call.

Isaac getting inspiration along with a snack

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Photos © David Greenfield

Lincoln - St. Gaudens Nat'l Historic Park, Cornish NH

ladders - Poverty Lane Orchard, Lebanon NH

Isaac getting inspiration - Arlington MA

Jacob's Ladder Artwork - Wenceslas Hollar 1607 - 1677

How Sweet It is!

 

Has feeling the pain of our citizens who lost SNAP benefits during the government shutdown and didn’t know how they would feed their families continued to gnaw away at you? How about seeing images of ICE agents pulling people out of cars or being rounded up at workplaces and put into detention just because the agent judged the shade of their skin to be too ‘non-white’? 

It gnaws at me and I needed a remedy, at least short term. Perhaps something funny on the telly would work.

Then for some inexplicable reason, I thought of Jackie Gleason.  Don’t ask me why.

Jackie as Ralph Kramden (Etsy photos)

During his illustrious television and film career,  Gleason’s signature line was, “how sweet it is!” In his 1950s Hollywood heydays he brought joy and awe to viewing audiences by portrayals of busdriver Ralph Kramden on the ‘Honeymooners’ TV series and as the gentleman pool aficionado Minnesota Fats in ‘The Hustler’, just to name two.

Temporarily putting aside what I, what we, can do about the tsunami of heartless, hurtful policies emanating from Washington on a daily basis, I needed some of Gleason’s ‘sweetness’,  something to warm my insides, brighten my horizon, and put a smile on my face. 

Maybe you need that too. 

In pondering a ‘one size fits all’ fix I conjured up a sure-fire winner, baby faces - pure and innocent. Just the idea of it immediately began to work. Unless you’re made of stone, maybe it will work for you.

So, to bath our ailing psyches with a short term soothing salve, check out this collection of babes and see if you won’t start thinking, ‘how sweet it is!”

photo credit - Jonathan Dunn and Emily Jewel

Is the 'salve' working for you yet?

How Sweet It Is!