The First Fifty - A chronicle of hope and gratitude

It is said that the first of anything is the hardest to attain. The first million; the first big league home run; first NHL goal, and so forth...

What about the first fifty? As in fifty years??

Four thousand years ago, some of our ancestors lived to be 900 years old. Moses, as we know lived to see 120; others even longer. 200 years ago, attaining the age of fifty was at times difficult, and even today, in some cultures, ravaged by poverty and famine, even the age of twenty seems to prove at best, a dream.

For us, though, living in our technologically incredible world, fifty is considered young. Most of the people with whom I work are well into their eighties or nineties, and some have even surpassed the Century mark of 100 years of age. Medical technology has made it so.

For me, attaining the age of fifty this coming Sunday wasn't so easy, and it was my fault. Years of abusing my body caused a sudden interruption in the life continuum four years ago, and to all concerned, reaching 50 for me was, but a dream. In fact, reaching forty-six was in short, a miracle. Nevertheless, I did make it this far, and for being here, I say Shecheyanu, the Hebrew prayer of gratitude for arriving at this place, at this time.

Often, I ask the elderly with whom I work to tell me what they feel to be the greatest change that they have witnessed in their ninety or so years of life. Their reply, almost to a person has nothing to do with technology, transportation or media, as we would expect. Their answer is stated simply and quietly with one word: Respect. "People no longer have respect", they tell me and continue to relate that this lack of respect appears to them as a general concept. People no longer respect people; we no longer respect the rules of society; we no longer respect our cities or communities; we no longer respect our own accomplishments, such as our jobs; and we no longer respect ourselves.

Teenage boys wear pants that are three sizes too big and have no desire to cover their backsides; twelve and thirteen year old girls dress as if they are headed to a nightclub for under-dressed adults, and this dress is not the exception, but the norm, and not just when they dress for school, or to hang out with their friends, but to Synagogue as well. Let's forget for a moment that this is G-d's house (because isn't G-d really everywhere?), but what about having enough self respect to cover one's self?

This doesn't necessarily rest solely with kids today, rather, with parents as well. I have actually seen one father bring his daughters to Synagogue wearing a lumberjack shirt, jeans, tennis shoes and suspenders; his girls are usually wearing some version of pajamas, and they don't even arrive in time to respect the sanctity of the Sabbath, or the tradition of Shabbat Prayer, rather, they seem to show up every week solely for the Shabbat lunch provided to Congregants, usually sponsored by the family of the Bar or Bat Mitzvah. I am not here to judge, really I am not, rather, I am demonstrating yet another example of how lack of respect has taken over society. Our society.

Do you remember hearing... "When I was your age, I walked a mile and a half to school uphill in the snow with an old pair of beaten up shoes, and..."? It sounds a little funny now, but I have found myself telling my kids that when I was their age, men wore ties and hats to ballgames, and our mothers would never even consider going to the grocery store without a full face of make-up, and newly pressed dress!

"Those were the days, my friend, (credit to Gene Raskin ca~1958), we thought they'd never end..." But, they did end. The question; my question, is, how do we get them back? How do we return, nit to the days of wearing Fedoras to ballgames, necessarily, but how do we regain the self respect that we once had, and in turn, have respect for others?

In a word, we need to look back, forward and sideways, and be more like my friend Jeff from Jeff's Gourmet and be "Smeichim b'Chelkeinu" (happy with our lots). We need to be grateful for every one of G-d's blessings, however small. We need to fill ourselves with gratitude that we awoke this morning,and with the hope that we will awake tomorrow to enjoy yet another wonderful day is this incredible place that G-d created for us.

We need to be head over heels in love. With life.

As the unknown poet during the Revolutionary War wrote: Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here; and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt, the universe is unfolding exactly as it should. Therefore, be at peace with G-d, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

My first fifty has taught me two things that I will now share with you.

As soon as you think these words, say them:

I love you and Thank you. For you will never know if you will have another opportunity.

With gratitude for my first fifty, and hope for my next fifty, I wish you Ahavah u'Vrachot; Love and Blessings from the Left Coast...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

"Holding a grudge is like letting someone live Rent-Free in your head!"

I wish I could take credit for the above quote, but it appeared on my Facebook and as we are at the end of the Jewish month of Elul, the month when we forgive and beg forgiveness before the end of our year, I knew that I just had to use the quote.

It is true, you know, holding a grudge IS like letting someone live in your head rent-free. The more we hold onto the negatives in life, the more we worry about them, and the more we worry, the more we are pre-occupied. With the negative.

Last week, I mentioned to a friend of mine who happens to own the absolutely best Kosher burger and hot dog place on earth (Jeff's Gourmet Sausage Factory) that I thought that he should open a second location; one closer to where I live. That discussion lasted about three seconds, when the manager of the store said to me, "you know, that is one man (Jeff) who really is "Sameach b'Chelko" (happy with his lot). Not only is he a great guy, but he is one lucky man.

Would it not be wonderful if we were all Smeichim b'Chelkeinu, happy with our lots? Would it not be truly wonderful to wake up every day and thank G-d for what we have, and never ask for more? I try, but it isn't always easy. We are trained in this Country to "keep up with the Jones's"; to strive for wealth and possessions; to work as little as we have to for the greatest reward. What we seem to forget, though, is that the greatest reward is just being here, enjoying this wonderful world that G-d has given us.

During the Yom Kippur service, ten times we recite a prayer that is the confessional. Al chet sheh chatanu, for these sins we have sinned. Even for those sins which we have committed unknowingly.

As all of us, often I find myself hurting those for whom I care. For this, I ask each of you whom I have hurt during this past year or in years past to forgive me; I ask you to pardon me and I ask you to atone for me.

I received today a greeting from my good friend Juan Bravo in Huanaco, Peru. It is with great pleasure that I share his thoughts, as they mirror mine. Juan writes: I wish you a Happy New Year; that G-d always grants you wisdom and many successes.

This year, the Jewish people begin the year 5772.

We have survived despite having been slaves for 400 years in Egypt and forty more wandering the wilderness of Sinai; despite the cruelty of the Roman armies who destroyed our Temple; despite the efforts of the soldiers of the Crusades and Inquisitions, Spanish and Portuguese; despite the efforts of Hitler and Stalin and Arafat; despite wars of Arab aggression that continue to seek our extermination and UN Resolutions that are full of hatred. Despite Abbas and Ahmadinijad's missiles that land daily in the playgrounds of Sderot that target our children, we have survived and will continue to survive and thrive.

This week when we go into our Synagogues to welcome the New Year, we pray that we all may enjoy peace and good. We pray that the year 5772 is a good and sweet year.

My family and I wish you a year full of good health, joy, laughter, personal success; sympathy and kindness; a year which is a year of peace for all of us; and for each of us, the opportunity to live and to thrive.

From Sunny Southern California, on the Left Coast, we wish you a Shana Tovah u'Metukah; Ahavah u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

How do we love G-d with all our heart, soul and might?

Have you ever noticed that it seems that situations close together in chronology appear to compliment each other, even though they do not seem at all related?

A few weeks ago, I was talking baseball with my son, (which often we do), and I was trying to recall the name of a certain pitcher from the eighty's, and simply could not remember his name. Immediately, I remembered a patient whom I had visited in the hospital a few months ago and thought of his incredible knowledge of baseball history, and how he enjoyed talking baseball during our many visits. Right then, I wanted to call him, but got busy and after a few hours, the name of this pitcher became trivial and inconsequential; and its importance forgotten.

This past week, while leaving the hospital, I was approached by this wonderful man's wife in the parking lot, and she told me that his disease had progressed and that he was back in the hospital. On Monday night, he passed into Olam haBa, ending his pain and his suffering before we ever had the chance to talk baseball again. This saddens me.

These past two Shabbatot, we read from the Book of Deuteronomy, and the Parashot of V'Ethchanan and Ekev. In these weekly portions of Torah, we are told that it is our duty and obligation to love G-d with all our hearts, all of our souls and all of our might.

My dear friend and colleague, Rabbi Stewart Vogel led a tremendous discussion about love. The love of a parent; the love of a spouse; the love of G-d. Rabbi Vogel taught us to not just define love, but to look into ourselves to find our own definition.

In this way, I came about realizing that to love G-d, is to love ourselves, as we do our neighbors; as we love strangers. As we are all made in G-d's image, how could we not?

Without even being conscious of it, our work with seniors and the infirmed defines exactly how we can love G-d with all our hearts, souls and might. By merely visiting and providing them with the Judaic connection that many of them have lost so many years ago, we are able to allow our Neshamot, our souls connect with theirs and in doing so, we are loving G-d in a way that many of us have long forgotten.

With this in mind, I would like to tell you about Mobile Rabbinical Chaplaincy Services.

Providing Rabbinic visits to Jewish patients and residents of Skilled Nursing, Assisted Living, Board and Care and Hospice Facilities, our goal is to help bring Judaica to Seniors who, otherwise would not have a connection. In addition, we provide On-Call Chaplaincy services for emergency situations such as hospitalizations and End-of-Life events. We specialize in End-of-Life Chaplaincy and Palliative Care for patients with terminal illness, as well as providing grief counseling services for families in need.

As we never charge the patients or residents, our services are supported solely by the generosity of others and as a Religious Organization, our supporters are able to enjoy tax deductions as with any 501(c)3 recognized group.

Our goal is to recognize and serve as many seniors as we are able, and eventually to bring other Rabbis in many locations into the fold to help more people. In so doing, hopefully, we will all be able to love G-d in one more caring way.

Our Facebook page may be found at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mobile-Rabbinical-Chaplaincy-Service/129786313782038, and our website is currently under construction, but will soon be available at http://www.mrcsonline.org.

Would it not be wonderful if we knew that our parents and grandparents had a Rabbi visiting them a few times a week, and available to them twenty-four hours a day in emergent situations?

When next we read the Shema and ve'Ahavta/ve'Haya im (Deuteronomy 6:4-9 and 11:13-21) let us all think of our seniors and what we all can do to show our love for G-d; with all our hearts; with all our souls and with all our might.

From Sunny Southern California, I wish you Ahavah u'Vrachot. Love and Blessings.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

Isn't Every Day Father's Day?

Last night, after a crazy evening of Karaoke, I sat with my son, visiting from College and watched a wonderful movie called "Jews and Baseball: A Love Story". It is a chronicle of baseball from a Jewish prospective, and a history of many Jewish ballplayers that played in the Major Leagues, and how they changed the game.

I found this to be the perfect movie to watch with Zac as the hour passed into Sunday, which, of course, is "Father's Day", as dubbed by Hallmark.

According to Encyclopedia Britannica, Credit for originating the holiday is generally given to Sonora Smart Dodd of Spokane, Washington, whose father, a Civil War veteran, raised her and her five siblings after their mother died in childbirth. She is said to have had the idea in 1909 while listening to a sermon on Mother's Day, which at the time was becoming established as a holiday. Local religious leaders supported the idea, and the first Father's Day was celebrated on June 19, 1910, the month of the birthday of Dodd's father.

For many of us, it is a time to spend with our families. Bringing dad breakfast in bed, playing a round of golf, davening together, or in my case, remembering my father and the times that we spent together, every day, not just on Father's Day.

As many of you may remember, my father and I had a bond unmatched and unbreakable. Of course, it included many days and nights at the ballpark, where, together, we had our own love story with Baseball.

Just as my father and I did, my son and I will spend the day today with what else? Baseball.

As with everyday, though, the day will be bittersweet. Today is the 1,257th father's day without my dad, and the fourth "official" one. It is also my first commercial father's day without Papi. Without the love of both of these great men, my life would have been not close to as rich.

My thoughts and prayers go out to everyone of you who today remember your fathers. To my friend Karla who said goodbye to her dad just a few weeks ago, I send love and support; to David I send open arms and a shoulder, and of course to Tom, my brother in life, I send both laughter and tears for past days and future years to raise our sons the way that our dads raised us.

To the mother of my wonderful children, I thank you for making me a father; it truly is the greatest job on earth.

And lastly, to Ben, whom I never had the chance to meet in life, I thank you for sending me the most precious of all gifts, your daughter. I promise to cherish her as did you.

See you at the Ballpark!

Ahavah u'Vrachot... Love and Blessings...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

For Papi: My Other Dad

A wise person once said "If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all".

Advice like this came from not only my own dad, but from our "Papi", the father of one of my closest and dearest friends, and a man whom I loved as much as anyone could love a second father. I dedicate my return to the keyboard to Papi, who was called home to haShem last week after a courageous battle with cancer. Through it all, though, when asked of his health, the reply was always: Never better. He always was.

During my own family struggles these past several months, (which kept me from writing), Papi was always the man of reason. He was always there for me with a joke and a smile, and every Friday night, he stood in proxy for my own dad and gave me the Parental Blessing. I will miss him.

And so I return now to this column after several difficult months, wherein I refrained from writing for fear that any negativity that I may have been feeling would seep out into this Column; and as such, I kept my pain (as well as my joy) to myself and kept my relatively big mouth shut; until now.

A year ago, I wrote that I find this time of year the "most wonderful" of all the seasons. Spring flowers are in full bloom; the grass on fairways is green and the sound of wooden bats cracking baseballs 400 plus feet over outfield walls has again made its way back into our lives.

The most wonderful sound, though, is the voice of the youngest at the table asking "Why is this night different from all other nights?", and our response that we were once slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt. Add to this, the magic of being surrounded by loved ones; friends and family and friends of family and the sum of this equation is simply this: It is the most wonderful time of the year.

This is a time to reflect on the past. A past of some 3,200 years ago when G-d took us from bondage and slavery with a strong hand and an outstretched arm and gave us Torah fifty days later. It is a time to celebrate our freedom from our slavery in Egypt and a time to rejoice in our independence.

I would agree with everything that I have just written with the exception of the existence of one minor question: Are we free from bondage?

A year ago at our Seder, my first in the presence of only my boys, my youngest son, who is now 15 years old noted that we each live in our own Mitzrayim; our own "personal Egypt". Whether we be slaves to our school work, our jobs, our rent or mortgage; car payment or simply slaves to our society or the expectations that society places on us, our freedom can and will come from one source and only from one source: Faith.

Faith that the sun will rise in the morning; faith that the moon will show its wonder after dark; faith that I will awake with the sun, breathe and again be able to enjoy another day in this mixed up, yet wonderful world. Above all, faith that one more person today, just one more person, will also begin to have this faith, for until many more of us do, our woes as a world of human beings will continue.

It is said and believed that each of us has reason to be here; that we each have a purpose in this life, and whether or not we know what that purpose is, is irrelevant. The mere fact that we are here says something.

The wonderful poetess Linda Ellis, in her poem "The Dash", wrote of the dash between the dates of birth and death on our tombstones:

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars the house the cash
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

Papi lived this way. His dash bright and knowing; full of life and living; caring and loving; and most of all, in awe of the wonders of G-d and of Torah.

May we too, this Passover season, find our own personal Egypt and from it, find our own peace, independence and salvation from affliction, slavery and bondage. By listening to the Papi in all of us, maybe the beautiful words of Linda Ellis will help us to realize what life is really about, and if it is still difficult, just look outside and wonder in the amazing world that G-d created for all of us to enjoy.

From the Left Coast in Sunny Southern California, I wish you a very happy and healthy Passover, Shabbat Shalom and as always, Ahava u'Vrachot. Love and Blessings...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams