Showing posts with label Morgantown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Morgantown. Show all posts
Thursday, July 30, 2015
The New Blog
If you are (were) keeping up with this blog, the new blog is called "The Morgantowner" and one can find it at http://www.themorgantowner.blogspot.com.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Our July Vacation, Housewarming and The End of Year Three
We were looking for a place to go over July Fourth weekend. It was Joe's only weekend off this summer, what with weddings and bar and bat mitzvah celebrations to officiate. He asked me if there was somewhere we could drive to (we hate to fly-sorry GP) that we hadn't visited. I suggested Virginia Beach, where our friends Ellen and Spencer live. My sister's home in Greenbelt is almost exactly halfway, so we made up with Robin to stop in on the way in and back.
I met Ellen and Spencer at least twenty-seven years ago in Los Angeles. Ellen was a member of my mostly-gay-and-lesbian temple. I approached her at her job, teaching English at Le Conte Junior High in Hollywood, where I often worked as a sub. I incorrectly assumed she was a lesbian. As she explained, there wasn't a place for a childless-by-choice feminist in an average Reform temple, so she joined ours. Spencer worked in the film industry, doing special effects for movies. He told me he was from Norfolk, fled after high school and never wanted to return.
That will teach you to never say "Never." Ellen, after writing three books, getting a master's in Jewish Studies and later becoming a certificated cantor, decided to become a rabbi and they departed for Philadelphia just before (I think) Joe and I left L.A. for Crescent City. Between changes in technology and outsourcing to foreign countries, Spencer's work had dried up.
Ellen was responsible for most of the cantor jobs I got after 1997. I followed her to Rodeph Shalom, where I worked for three holiday seasons and most Friday nights for two and a half years. We both worked at different times at the temple in Downey, a suburb of Los Angeles.
Anyway, they decided after Ellen's ordination last year in June, that Virginia Beach would be a good place for a rabbi to start out, and Spencer's mother, who is a spritely ninety-one, is there. Spencer's return to southeast Virginia is as unlikely as finding me in Morgantown, West Virginia married to the town's Reform rabbi.
So we hung with them for a few days. We attended a Conservative synagogue in Norfolk Saturday morning, July Fourth. We know the rabbi-long story. We braved the mobs on the beach to see the fireworks that evening, and attended a cookout in our honor Sunday. Spencer gave us a tour of Norfolk Saturday afternoon and Joe and I went out exploring on our own later while they stayed in to cook for Sunday's party.
I remembered that the military had asked for an appropriation to prepare military bases for climate change. Our own Congressperson in Northern West Virginia, David McKinley, made sure, with the help of troglodytes in his party, that there would be no money, since there is no climate change. Unless you go to Norfolk and see a city rife with military bases, surrounded by tidewater that is measurably rising. It's easy to see the imminent demise of this beautiful city.
I was surprised to see palm trees. Many of them looked sickly, as they had frozen in the winter, but those directly on the water seemed to be thriving. We also noted, given the racist history of Virginia
(public schools closed to avoid integration in 1959) how diverse was the racial makeup of the crowd at July 4 and how many interracial couples there were out that night. Most of the people were young, so maybe they don't know or care about the local history.
Robin came back with us from Greenbelt. We decided to have people over to our semi-unpacked house the Saturday of her visit. Robin took over the planning. She and I picked out a menu from our local Panera. Everything went well. Our house turns out to be a good place for a party, so we will have more people over.
July 11 we celebrated three years in Morgantown, and thus the end of Year Three. Our big news for the year was buying a house. We didn't know what we were missing. Tomorrow (Thursday) a guy is coming to measure our bedroom windows for blinds. This house was a gift from my late mother. It's my share of her mutual fund that paid for the down payment and much of the new furnishings. The mortgage payments will come from Joe.
Year Three was amazing for us. We flew to San Francisco and Los Angeles, our former homes, last summer, drove to Memphis for Joe's cousin's bar mitzvah in September, and visited New York at the end of 2014 and saw friends and relatives, as well as "Beautiful! The Carole King Musical." I got behind on my monthly county visits, but managed to spend time in Barbour and Berkeley Counties in West Virginia, Bath, Bedford and Bland Counties in Virginia, Belmont County, Ohio and Beaver, Bedford, Berks and Blair Counties in Pennsylvania. I taught a six-week class last fall at OLLI on the music of the British Invasion: 1964-69.
People ask "So what are you doing now that you are retired?" I keep busy.
I also made a conscious decision this year to be happy about living in Morgantown. Joe is doing well with his work, we have finally met some age-appropriate gay people to hang with, as well as becoming friends with many of the people from Tree of Life. Lots of people in town know and like us now. We could not have afforded this house in urban California. We've dealt with two bitterly cold and snowy winters, and we find we can deal with the weather. I look forward to more fun and challenges in Year Four. Watch for a new blog.
The first five pictures are from Norfolk on July 4.
I met Ellen and Spencer at least twenty-seven years ago in Los Angeles. Ellen was a member of my mostly-gay-and-lesbian temple. I approached her at her job, teaching English at Le Conte Junior High in Hollywood, where I often worked as a sub. I incorrectly assumed she was a lesbian. As she explained, there wasn't a place for a childless-by-choice feminist in an average Reform temple, so she joined ours. Spencer worked in the film industry, doing special effects for movies. He told me he was from Norfolk, fled after high school and never wanted to return.
That will teach you to never say "Never." Ellen, after writing three books, getting a master's in Jewish Studies and later becoming a certificated cantor, decided to become a rabbi and they departed for Philadelphia just before (I think) Joe and I left L.A. for Crescent City. Between changes in technology and outsourcing to foreign countries, Spencer's work had dried up.
Ellen was responsible for most of the cantor jobs I got after 1997. I followed her to Rodeph Shalom, where I worked for three holiday seasons and most Friday nights for two and a half years. We both worked at different times at the temple in Downey, a suburb of Los Angeles.
Anyway, they decided after Ellen's ordination last year in June, that Virginia Beach would be a good place for a rabbi to start out, and Spencer's mother, who is a spritely ninety-one, is there. Spencer's return to southeast Virginia is as unlikely as finding me in Morgantown, West Virginia married to the town's Reform rabbi.
So we hung with them for a few days. We attended a Conservative synagogue in Norfolk Saturday morning, July Fourth. We know the rabbi-long story. We braved the mobs on the beach to see the fireworks that evening, and attended a cookout in our honor Sunday. Spencer gave us a tour of Norfolk Saturday afternoon and Joe and I went out exploring on our own later while they stayed in to cook for Sunday's party.
I remembered that the military had asked for an appropriation to prepare military bases for climate change. Our own Congressperson in Northern West Virginia, David McKinley, made sure, with the help of troglodytes in his party, that there would be no money, since there is no climate change. Unless you go to Norfolk and see a city rife with military bases, surrounded by tidewater that is measurably rising. It's easy to see the imminent demise of this beautiful city.
I was surprised to see palm trees. Many of them looked sickly, as they had frozen in the winter, but those directly on the water seemed to be thriving. We also noted, given the racist history of Virginia
(public schools closed to avoid integration in 1959) how diverse was the racial makeup of the crowd at July 4 and how many interracial couples there were out that night. Most of the people were young, so maybe they don't know or care about the local history.
Robin came back with us from Greenbelt. We decided to have people over to our semi-unpacked house the Saturday of her visit. Robin took over the planning. She and I picked out a menu from our local Panera. Everything went well. Our house turns out to be a good place for a party, so we will have more people over.
July 11 we celebrated three years in Morgantown, and thus the end of Year Three. Our big news for the year was buying a house. We didn't know what we were missing. Tomorrow (Thursday) a guy is coming to measure our bedroom windows for blinds. This house was a gift from my late mother. It's my share of her mutual fund that paid for the down payment and much of the new furnishings. The mortgage payments will come from Joe.
Year Three was amazing for us. We flew to San Francisco and Los Angeles, our former homes, last summer, drove to Memphis for Joe's cousin's bar mitzvah in September, and visited New York at the end of 2014 and saw friends and relatives, as well as "Beautiful! The Carole King Musical." I got behind on my monthly county visits, but managed to spend time in Barbour and Berkeley Counties in West Virginia, Bath, Bedford and Bland Counties in Virginia, Belmont County, Ohio and Beaver, Bedford, Berks and Blair Counties in Pennsylvania. I taught a six-week class last fall at OLLI on the music of the British Invasion: 1964-69.
People ask "So what are you doing now that you are retired?" I keep busy.
I also made a conscious decision this year to be happy about living in Morgantown. Joe is doing well with his work, we have finally met some age-appropriate gay people to hang with, as well as becoming friends with many of the people from Tree of Life. Lots of people in town know and like us now. We could not have afforded this house in urban California. We've dealt with two bitterly cold and snowy winters, and we find we can deal with the weather. I look forward to more fun and challenges in Year Four. Watch for a new blog.
The first five pictures are from Norfolk on July 4.
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| Spencer, Ellen, Mrs. Gill, Cookie, me and Joe, July 5 in Virginia Beach |
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| Me at Greenbelt Lake July 6 |
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| Robin at the historic synagogue in Cumberland, Maryland on the way back to our house |
Monday, July 13, 2015
Letters To The Editor
It's not like I haven't been writing the last two weeks. Yes, we were on vacation in Greenbelt, Maryland and with our friends Ellen and Spencer in Virginia Beach. My sister came back to Morgantown from Greenbelt with us and it's just been one glamorous party after another so far this month. I've gained a few pounds. This morning (Monday the 13th) I was back at the gym.
In my last post, I said I wasn't going to answer the editorial in the Bland County Messenger decrying the fluidity of gender, race and sexuality in our society. Then I couldn't sleep, so I did write a letter. Jeff Simmons, the publisher of the newspaper, asked if he could run my response as an op-ed the next week. Here it is, titled "A Visitor's Perspective":
Since moving to Morgantown just three years ago, my crazy retirement project has been to visit every county within three hundred miles, one a month, in alphabetical order. If a county is more than two hundred miles away, I stay over two nights. This is how I came to visit Bland County..
I was warned that there would not be enough here to keep me occupied, and indeed, the tourist literature usually makes it clear that Wytheville is the center of this region. Wythe County will probably be the last county I visit. I should be ninety-nine by then.
I was fortunate in the weather here, and the beautiful scenery. People were kind to me, like the women at the motel who came in and brought fresh towels and straightened up late in the afternoon after I told them they didn't have to because I was asleep after lunch when they would have cleaned. The man at the Virginia Welcome Center spent time listening to why I was traveling, and helped me find a short stretch of the Appalachian Trail to hike. The woman working at the library listened to my rant about what I read and don't read on trips, and the young man at the sub shop offered me extra napkins.
I'm sixty-five and not looking for a night life in any case, or fancy stores selling overpriced junk. I was fine with what was available here to do.
I picked up The Bland County Messenger today, and I was disturbed by the editorial, concerned about "moral relativism," the nature of truth, and what is a lie. In my trip this week, I only mentioned a spouse once, although I wear a wedding ring. My spouse is another man who is a few years younger than I and works full time. I often travel alone. We were fifty-five and forty-eight when we met ten years ago, and the idea of marrying each other was off our radar, until it became possible in California, where we lived in 2008. We did it because it was available to us, and like everyone else who marries, it was a way of affirming to our family and friends that we are a couple. I now think it was the best and most conservative thing we could have done.
As to the media changing people's perceptions of morality, I generally agree with your editor. We don't watch network television to not be influenced by advertisers and people who do not have our interests at heart. I cringe when I hear about celebrity couples who are "engaged" when they have children together. I lived in Los Angeles and saw streets filled with homeless people while others owned multiple houses and collected cars.
I strive for compassion for others. I wonder at the need for "American Owned and Operated" signs on establishments here. I saw how a woman working at a restaurant gave the skinny tattooed couple who came in for a sandwich a disapproving look.
I remarked to myself at the things I was able to hide here. I dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans today. I look youngish and healthy, but I wear support hose for my bad veins, and I have bruises on my arm because I take blood thinners. I'm basically Caucasian, but my racial heritage is ambiguous. I'm Jewish by birth and by choice. My grandparents were immigrants. And yes, I'm a gay man married to another man.
I couldn't help thinking that I might not have been treated as well here had I been with my spouse, or if I spoke English with an accent.
There is no danger of Bland County being overrun by gay people, transgendered celebrities or foreigners. Still, I would hope that a gay, lesbian or transgender kid growing up here would be accepted as a part of the community, and not bullied, shamed or called a sinner.
This new morality isn't necessarily new. My parents found out I was gay forty years ago, They didn't take it well at first. My mom died before I met my spouse, but she told me she would attend my wedding to another man, if I ever found one.
I enjoyed my stay here and I do respect the people who live here. I have a blog post about my trip at http://www.yearthreemorgantown.blogspot.com.
Barry Lee Wendell
Lots of people congratulated me and Joe when the Supreme Court decision came down allowing same-gender marriage nationwide. There were howls of protest from our Republican Senator, Shelley Moore Capito, and our Republican Congressperson, David McKinley. There was a nasty letter from a minister in a church in a rural community not far from here. I wrote back, and that letter was published Sunday, July 5, in our local paper, The Dominion-Post. Here it is:
I've seen this movie before. During the 1964 Democratic primary in Maryland, when I was in ninth grade, George Wallace ran and won on a platform of segregation and states rights. Some churches quoted Scripture on why God wanted the races separated. Now it's the Republicans, not (mostly) the Democrats, screaming "States Rights" and many of the same churches quoting Scripture against the decision allowing same-gender couples to marry.
It's still religious bigotry. Reform Judaism, the Episcopal Church, Unitarians, some Presbyterians and other churches choose to bless same-gender couples. Those that don't scream "God's law!" and "Biblical marriage!" Please read the Bible. Multiple wives, concubines, buying a teenage girl from her father. That's Biblical marriage.
I've been married to another man for more than six years. All this ranting and raving will not change that. We are religious people. If you are a politician in Morgantown, and you are dissappointed in the Supreme Court decision, or think the state should decide who can marry, let me talk to some engaged couples so I can vote on whether or not they should be allowed to marry. If you think you represent me, and you oppose my marriage, you don't represent me. Please stop sending me your newsletters and requests for support. If you are clergy and you oppose my marriage, let me know where your church is and I promise not to ever go there. And stay out of my religious life, where you have no right to interfere.
I'm retired and my spouse's job is secure. The people I worry about are those same-gender couples who have bravely stepped up and declared their love for each other, risking their livelihood against bosses who feel they have the right to interfere in the most intimate part of an employee's life.
Barry Wendell
There was a letter today from a woman near Morgantown. She quoted Leviticus about "abomination."
I found out from a quick internet search that she is a widow, probably in her 80s, and that she and her late husband attended a Nazarene church. I felt sorry for her that she has nothing better to do then worry about other people while she is (I presume) eating her morning bacon and eggs. Bacon is also an abomination in Leviticus.
I still have to write about our trip and the week since we've been back. We are now, as of the evening of July 11, in our fourth year here in Morgantown. This may necessitate a new blog. Stay with me.
In my last post, I said I wasn't going to answer the editorial in the Bland County Messenger decrying the fluidity of gender, race and sexuality in our society. Then I couldn't sleep, so I did write a letter. Jeff Simmons, the publisher of the newspaper, asked if he could run my response as an op-ed the next week. Here it is, titled "A Visitor's Perspective":
Since moving to Morgantown just three years ago, my crazy retirement project has been to visit every county within three hundred miles, one a month, in alphabetical order. If a county is more than two hundred miles away, I stay over two nights. This is how I came to visit Bland County..
I was warned that there would not be enough here to keep me occupied, and indeed, the tourist literature usually makes it clear that Wytheville is the center of this region. Wythe County will probably be the last county I visit. I should be ninety-nine by then.
I was fortunate in the weather here, and the beautiful scenery. People were kind to me, like the women at the motel who came in and brought fresh towels and straightened up late in the afternoon after I told them they didn't have to because I was asleep after lunch when they would have cleaned. The man at the Virginia Welcome Center spent time listening to why I was traveling, and helped me find a short stretch of the Appalachian Trail to hike. The woman working at the library listened to my rant about what I read and don't read on trips, and the young man at the sub shop offered me extra napkins.
I'm sixty-five and not looking for a night life in any case, or fancy stores selling overpriced junk. I was fine with what was available here to do.
I picked up The Bland County Messenger today, and I was disturbed by the editorial, concerned about "moral relativism," the nature of truth, and what is a lie. In my trip this week, I only mentioned a spouse once, although I wear a wedding ring. My spouse is another man who is a few years younger than I and works full time. I often travel alone. We were fifty-five and forty-eight when we met ten years ago, and the idea of marrying each other was off our radar, until it became possible in California, where we lived in 2008. We did it because it was available to us, and like everyone else who marries, it was a way of affirming to our family and friends that we are a couple. I now think it was the best and most conservative thing we could have done.
As to the media changing people's perceptions of morality, I generally agree with your editor. We don't watch network television to not be influenced by advertisers and people who do not have our interests at heart. I cringe when I hear about celebrity couples who are "engaged" when they have children together. I lived in Los Angeles and saw streets filled with homeless people while others owned multiple houses and collected cars.
I strive for compassion for others. I wonder at the need for "American Owned and Operated" signs on establishments here. I saw how a woman working at a restaurant gave the skinny tattooed couple who came in for a sandwich a disapproving look.
I remarked to myself at the things I was able to hide here. I dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans today. I look youngish and healthy, but I wear support hose for my bad veins, and I have bruises on my arm because I take blood thinners. I'm basically Caucasian, but my racial heritage is ambiguous. I'm Jewish by birth and by choice. My grandparents were immigrants. And yes, I'm a gay man married to another man.
I couldn't help thinking that I might not have been treated as well here had I been with my spouse, or if I spoke English with an accent.
There is no danger of Bland County being overrun by gay people, transgendered celebrities or foreigners. Still, I would hope that a gay, lesbian or transgender kid growing up here would be accepted as a part of the community, and not bullied, shamed or called a sinner.
This new morality isn't necessarily new. My parents found out I was gay forty years ago, They didn't take it well at first. My mom died before I met my spouse, but she told me she would attend my wedding to another man, if I ever found one.
I enjoyed my stay here and I do respect the people who live here. I have a blog post about my trip at http://www.yearthreemorgantown.blogspot.com.
Barry Lee Wendell
Lots of people congratulated me and Joe when the Supreme Court decision came down allowing same-gender marriage nationwide. There were howls of protest from our Republican Senator, Shelley Moore Capito, and our Republican Congressperson, David McKinley. There was a nasty letter from a minister in a church in a rural community not far from here. I wrote back, and that letter was published Sunday, July 5, in our local paper, The Dominion-Post. Here it is:
I've seen this movie before. During the 1964 Democratic primary in Maryland, when I was in ninth grade, George Wallace ran and won on a platform of segregation and states rights. Some churches quoted Scripture on why God wanted the races separated. Now it's the Republicans, not (mostly) the Democrats, screaming "States Rights" and many of the same churches quoting Scripture against the decision allowing same-gender couples to marry.
It's still religious bigotry. Reform Judaism, the Episcopal Church, Unitarians, some Presbyterians and other churches choose to bless same-gender couples. Those that don't scream "God's law!" and "Biblical marriage!" Please read the Bible. Multiple wives, concubines, buying a teenage girl from her father. That's Biblical marriage.
I've been married to another man for more than six years. All this ranting and raving will not change that. We are religious people. If you are a politician in Morgantown, and you are dissappointed in the Supreme Court decision, or think the state should decide who can marry, let me talk to some engaged couples so I can vote on whether or not they should be allowed to marry. If you think you represent me, and you oppose my marriage, you don't represent me. Please stop sending me your newsletters and requests for support. If you are clergy and you oppose my marriage, let me know where your church is and I promise not to ever go there. And stay out of my religious life, where you have no right to interfere.
I'm retired and my spouse's job is secure. The people I worry about are those same-gender couples who have bravely stepped up and declared their love for each other, risking their livelihood against bosses who feel they have the right to interfere in the most intimate part of an employee's life.
Barry Wendell
There was a letter today from a woman near Morgantown. She quoted Leviticus about "abomination."
I found out from a quick internet search that she is a widow, probably in her 80s, and that she and her late husband attended a Nazarene church. I felt sorry for her that she has nothing better to do then worry about other people while she is (I presume) eating her morning bacon and eggs. Bacon is also an abomination in Leviticus.
I still have to write about our trip and the week since we've been back. We are now, as of the evening of July 11, in our fourth year here in Morgantown. This may necessitate a new blog. Stay with me.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Morgantown, Revisited
This blog is called "Year Three Morgantown." I started it last July, to chronicle our third year in Morgantown. Joe was offered a five-year contract starting last July 1, to continue as rabbi at Tree of Life Congregation on South High Street. I guess I was hoping for a two-year extension so we could go somewhere else. We both like the congregation here and agree that Joe is a good fit as rabbi.
I wonder why the movies I want to see rarely play here. I want a better grocery store, a decent bookstore or a newsstand. I want to be able to walk and bicycle all over town on sidewalks and wide streets. I would feel more welcome if many of the local politicians didn't make it clear they do not represent gay people.
I agreed to go with Joe where he got a job, and that was Morgantown. We have made friends here, and even found a social group where there are gay men of all ages. The people in the student LGBT groups are too young for us to hang with, even though the few we have met have been friendly to us.
This time last year, I was thinking about what I needed to be happy here. We lived in a townhouse near the football stadium and the two big hospitals. We were the oldest people on our block by at least thirty years. Our student neighbors were mostly unfriendly. Our car was egged one night in the driveway. There was noise from the stadium, from helicopters and ambulances every night. We lived there because we needed a place quickly when we first moved here, and most developments wouldn't rent to us because we have a cat.
I had some cash left from my mother's estate, and we were able to use that as a down payment on a small house in Suncrest. It's not fancy, but we will be comfortable there. In a month we've spoken to more neighbors than we did in three years at our former apartment. We sleep some nights with the windows open. Only the birds wake us.
We were at a party a few weeks ago at the home of friends and congregants by the cemetery at the end of High Street. It was a warm, clear night, and we were outside. We were the only same-gender couple there. We knew many of the people from temple, but we met others we didn't know. My friend Roann was with us, visiting from Ann Arbor. She asked people about Morgantown, and everyone said they had found a home and a community for themselves.
People ask me where we will go next. and I guess the answer now is "Probably nowhere." I have to live in the present. The present is that I live in Morgantown, West Virginia, with my husband and our dopey cat, in a house I like that we can afford. I travel, I teach rock and roll history to seniors, we eat out often at unpretentious restaurants, and we are included as a couple at many social events. Our city councilperson saw me outside this morning as she was walking her dog. She said "Welcome to the neighborhood. I heard you guys bought a house here." We are known and liked in Morgantown.
So, I guess I'm saying I'm happy, and happy to be here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere else.
Joe calls it "magical thinking," but I am grateful to God that things have worked out so well for me and for us.
I wonder why the movies I want to see rarely play here. I want a better grocery store, a decent bookstore or a newsstand. I want to be able to walk and bicycle all over town on sidewalks and wide streets. I would feel more welcome if many of the local politicians didn't make it clear they do not represent gay people.
I agreed to go with Joe where he got a job, and that was Morgantown. We have made friends here, and even found a social group where there are gay men of all ages. The people in the student LGBT groups are too young for us to hang with, even though the few we have met have been friendly to us.
This time last year, I was thinking about what I needed to be happy here. We lived in a townhouse near the football stadium and the two big hospitals. We were the oldest people on our block by at least thirty years. Our student neighbors were mostly unfriendly. Our car was egged one night in the driveway. There was noise from the stadium, from helicopters and ambulances every night. We lived there because we needed a place quickly when we first moved here, and most developments wouldn't rent to us because we have a cat.
I had some cash left from my mother's estate, and we were able to use that as a down payment on a small house in Suncrest. It's not fancy, but we will be comfortable there. In a month we've spoken to more neighbors than we did in three years at our former apartment. We sleep some nights with the windows open. Only the birds wake us.
We were at a party a few weeks ago at the home of friends and congregants by the cemetery at the end of High Street. It was a warm, clear night, and we were outside. We were the only same-gender couple there. We knew many of the people from temple, but we met others we didn't know. My friend Roann was with us, visiting from Ann Arbor. She asked people about Morgantown, and everyone said they had found a home and a community for themselves.
People ask me where we will go next. and I guess the answer now is "Probably nowhere." I have to live in the present. The present is that I live in Morgantown, West Virginia, with my husband and our dopey cat, in a house I like that we can afford. I travel, I teach rock and roll history to seniors, we eat out often at unpretentious restaurants, and we are included as a couple at many social events. Our city councilperson saw me outside this morning as she was walking her dog. She said "Welcome to the neighborhood. I heard you guys bought a house here." We are known and liked in Morgantown.
So, I guess I'm saying I'm happy, and happy to be here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere else.
Joe calls it "magical thinking," but I am grateful to God that things have worked out so well for me and for us.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Real Estate, Last Part
We are in our new house as of Monday, June 1. I got it into my head on May 22 to ask the maintenance man (actually the building contractor) at our old place if he could find us a painter. He came over to look at it that day, and said he could do it himself the next day. I ran out to the big box store and picked out colors for the two bedrooms and the kitchen. While we were looking at the room, a mover I had called called back, and we were set. Meanwhile, Joe and I checked out the discount flooring place recommended by a friend. They sent someone out to look at the basement and the carpets. He suggested we just clean the carpets. We went back to the store to figure out what we would do with the basement floor. We are going with carpeting. The locksmith also has a carpet cleaning business, so that got done before we moved in.The basement floor will be done next week.
We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.
Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.
We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.
We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.
Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.
We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Real Estate, Part Something
After some drama, we closed on the house Tuesday May 12. We were promised the HUD-1 statement, which lays out exactly what your costs will be at closing, by Thursday or Friday, with closing scheduled for Monday afternoon. When we didn't have it by Friday noon, I called the agent and the mortgage broker. Neither of them picked up, nor did they return my call. I could feel my chest tightening. I couldn't read, couldn't nap. Joe was out. I thought the whole deal would fall through. Then I called Sarah, the young assistant mortgage person, and got her on the line. I told her we couldn't close Monday if we didn't have our HUD-1 by Friday afternoon. She said she would check on it.
Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "
They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.
"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.
It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.
In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.
I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.
Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.
Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.
Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "
They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.
"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.
It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.
In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.
I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.
Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.
Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Lavender Graduation at WVU
I am on the LGBT Equity Commission of West Virginia University as a "community" member. Princeton University rates colleges on a number of values every year. One of them is "gay-friendly." We were already living here before WVU filled out the questionnaire for this rating for the first time, so no earlier than 2012. They failed. The equity commission came out of that. WVU is trying to be more inclusive.
There are LGBT student groups now for undergraduates, law school students, and people in medical school and health sciences. There may be an LGBT student center next year. This is the second year of Lavender Graduation, a special ceremony to honor LGBT graduates. I didn't go last year.
This year, it was scheduled for May 2, a Saturday, at 2:30. Joe agreed to go with me after morning services and a potluck lunch at temple. I got dressed up for services and added a purple plastic Mardi Gras-style necklace to my ensemble for the Lavender Graduation.
I wasn't expecting much from this. After all, we are liberated now, and there isn't a need for a separate ceremony, right?
Most of the grads were women. I figured it is harder for young men to be out than it is for women. I was a year and a half out of college before I could admit to anyone that I was gay. Most of the girls looked like the rest of their classmates: long, straight hair, short skirt, and sandals. They could have hid. Some of the men were more "open" looking.
University president E. Gordon Gee spoke. He stressed the importance to WVU, and to him personally, that WVU be gay-friendly. He described himself as a "devout Mormon" and how, growing up in a small town in Utah, he didn't know any non-Mormons until he went to college. He seemed surprised at himself- that he has come so far. Joe and I were invited to dinner with him last month as a couple,which should seem just natural, but still felt to me like a big step. I have great respect for President Gee.
The grads were shy. Everyone was offered a chance to speak briefly, but very few did. Of those that spoke, most of them thanked Daniel Brewster, a professor in, I think, Sociology, and an advisor to student government generally, but also a mentor to gay students. One young person, long hair and dress, spoke. "I know I can't pass," she said in a deep man's voice, then ran out in tears. A friend followed, comforted her and brought her back in.
The program listed hometowns for the students. Some were from nowhere towns in rural West Virginia. I realized how hard it must be for them to be gay or lesbian. One student listed Benghazi as his hometown, and one man, who wore a suit and came with a beautiful woman, listed Tehran as home. I spoke with him at the reception after the event. He is trying to figure out how to stay in the United States. Returning to Iran is not an option. The woman with him is a friend, also from Iran.
In line for the food at the reception, I spoke to a young man, Jewish from Baltimore County, a Pikesville High grad and an actor. I told him I had attempted an acting career in Los Angeles. He was with another young man, an actor also. They asked me for advice, as if I had anything intelligent to say. I suggested not going to Los Angeles cold. I don't think they liked that, but they both have actor-related plans after graduation elsewhere. I introduced them to my husband, the rabbi, and wished them luck and blessings. They already work hard and have talent. I've seen them both in WVU theater productions.
I greeted Professor Brewster as we were leaving, and I thanked him for being a mentor to so many students. He told me that one of the men had never come out to anyone before that day. I was almost crying with emotion as we headed back to the car.
It's easy to be jaded after years of being out, but I was reminded how life-changing it is for a young person to be openly gay. It can mean a total break from family, friends, religion, and even one's country of origin. I applaud these new grads, and wish them a life full of love and blessings.
There are LGBT student groups now for undergraduates, law school students, and people in medical school and health sciences. There may be an LGBT student center next year. This is the second year of Lavender Graduation, a special ceremony to honor LGBT graduates. I didn't go last year.
This year, it was scheduled for May 2, a Saturday, at 2:30. Joe agreed to go with me after morning services and a potluck lunch at temple. I got dressed up for services and added a purple plastic Mardi Gras-style necklace to my ensemble for the Lavender Graduation.
I wasn't expecting much from this. After all, we are liberated now, and there isn't a need for a separate ceremony, right?
Most of the grads were women. I figured it is harder for young men to be out than it is for women. I was a year and a half out of college before I could admit to anyone that I was gay. Most of the girls looked like the rest of their classmates: long, straight hair, short skirt, and sandals. They could have hid. Some of the men were more "open" looking.
University president E. Gordon Gee spoke. He stressed the importance to WVU, and to him personally, that WVU be gay-friendly. He described himself as a "devout Mormon" and how, growing up in a small town in Utah, he didn't know any non-Mormons until he went to college. He seemed surprised at himself- that he has come so far. Joe and I were invited to dinner with him last month as a couple,which should seem just natural, but still felt to me like a big step. I have great respect for President Gee.
The grads were shy. Everyone was offered a chance to speak briefly, but very few did. Of those that spoke, most of them thanked Daniel Brewster, a professor in, I think, Sociology, and an advisor to student government generally, but also a mentor to gay students. One young person, long hair and dress, spoke. "I know I can't pass," she said in a deep man's voice, then ran out in tears. A friend followed, comforted her and brought her back in.
The program listed hometowns for the students. Some were from nowhere towns in rural West Virginia. I realized how hard it must be for them to be gay or lesbian. One student listed Benghazi as his hometown, and one man, who wore a suit and came with a beautiful woman, listed Tehran as home. I spoke with him at the reception after the event. He is trying to figure out how to stay in the United States. Returning to Iran is not an option. The woman with him is a friend, also from Iran.
In line for the food at the reception, I spoke to a young man, Jewish from Baltimore County, a Pikesville High grad and an actor. I told him I had attempted an acting career in Los Angeles. He was with another young man, an actor also. They asked me for advice, as if I had anything intelligent to say. I suggested not going to Los Angeles cold. I don't think they liked that, but they both have actor-related plans after graduation elsewhere. I introduced them to my husband, the rabbi, and wished them luck and blessings. They already work hard and have talent. I've seen them both in WVU theater productions.
I greeted Professor Brewster as we were leaving, and I thanked him for being a mentor to so many students. He told me that one of the men had never come out to anyone before that day. I was almost crying with emotion as we headed back to the car.
It's easy to be jaded after years of being out, but I was reminded how life-changing it is for a young person to be openly gay. It can mean a total break from family, friends, religion, and even one's country of origin. I applaud these new grads, and wish them a life full of love and blessings.
 |
| WVU President Gee speaking at Lavender Graduation |
Thursday, March 26, 2015
The Morgantown Human Rights Commission
The city of Morgantown has a Human Rights Commission. I've met some of the members, all dedicated, optimistic, and trying to make Morgantown more "inclusive." The commission's website says "The purpose of the Human Rights Commission is to provide leadership for addressing community interaction and fairness concerns. It works to ensure that the City is not only providing services, but maintaining ways in which a community can live together inclusively, functionally, and justly, despite differences, complexities, and conflicts."
The Commission ran a survey last year that asked respondents what their issues are in Morgantown about inclusivity. We were not eligible to participate because we live outside Morgantown's city limits, as do most people in this county. Many reported that they felt the city was not welcoming to people of color, those with disabilities, and LGBT people.
Last night (Wednesday, March 25), the Commission held an open meeting to discuss the results of the survey and come up with ideas that could be implemented by the City Council. We will be residents of Morgantown, within the city limits, when we move in May, so I felt qualified to go. We were divided into four groups: housing, transportation, jobs, and help for the disabled.
I picked transportation to deal with. We were chaired by Don Spencer, a member of the Commission, an acquaintance, and a genuinely good person. We were maybe ten in our group, mostly women, some from an advocacy group for the disabled, a man who is the head of the local Chamber of Commerce, and someone from the Morgantown Monongalia Metropolitan Planning Organization.
We had lots to talk about. Many of the streets here are too narrow to acommodate a sidewalk , the very limited bus service doesn't run weeknights and Sundays. The PRT, our once futuristic driverless rail system, is run by West Virginia University. It's great, but doesn't run as well as it did in the early 1970s, when it was created, and certainly hasn't been expanded. It also doesn't run Sundays, and was off all last summer for repairs. Sidewalks downtown were upgraded in the last few years with fancy lamps and "street furniture," but advocates for the disabled say it is now impassable for people in wheelchairs to move safely down the street. There is a lack of door-to-door transportation for elderly and disabled people to get to medical appointments. Even the meeting last night, at a city park, was not accessible by transit.
Joe Statler, a state legislator from our district, came over to our table. I couldn't stand it. Statler is one of two of our five legislators who signed on to a resolution to ask the US Congress to hold a constitutional convention to ban recognition of any rights for same-gender couples. "Inclusivity" indeed. I got up and walked away from our table. I couldn't stand listening to this jerk talk about transportation issues, or anything, for that matter.
I listened to the housing group next to me. Their group was predominantly African-American. They felt that landlords discriminated against them, there was a dearth of decent low-cost housing ( decent middle-class housing, too, from our house search) no public and very little subsidized housing. They felt landlords only want to rent to WVU students.
Eventually I calmed down enough to rejoin our group. I wrote on the form where they asked for problems and solutions, that our problem was "bigoted legislators" and the solution would be to call them on it from the city council. Don offered to introduce me to Statler, as a conciliatory gesture. I had met Statler at the League of Women Voters debate in October. Last night, he denied signing on to other anti-gay legislation ( I can check that out) and said he didn't really understand the resolution banning recognition of same-gender marriages. He said "I'm just a farmboy. I don't know about this stuff." He's 70. I said "I'm from an insular suburb, but I got out and learned about the world. Don't use your background as an excuse." Maybe those weren't the exact words exchanged, but something like that.
I also confronted the Chamber guy. He wants to raise the sales tax in Monongalia County to pay for transportation projects. I pointed out that raising the gas tax would be a better solution, since sales tax hurts poor people more than the rich. They didn't think the state would go for that.
I'm too old to have to put up with bigots and make nice to one-percenters from the Chamber of Commerce. I also have to learn to be much calmer, in order to get along with people, but also to maintain my own health.
I'm not sure Morgantown's Human Rights Commission can actually accomplish anything other than make people with little or no influence feel they have some. I don't doubt the sincerity of the people on the Commission, I just don't know if the Commission has any power.
The Commission ran a survey last year that asked respondents what their issues are in Morgantown about inclusivity. We were not eligible to participate because we live outside Morgantown's city limits, as do most people in this county. Many reported that they felt the city was not welcoming to people of color, those with disabilities, and LGBT people.
Last night (Wednesday, March 25), the Commission held an open meeting to discuss the results of the survey and come up with ideas that could be implemented by the City Council. We will be residents of Morgantown, within the city limits, when we move in May, so I felt qualified to go. We were divided into four groups: housing, transportation, jobs, and help for the disabled.
I picked transportation to deal with. We were chaired by Don Spencer, a member of the Commission, an acquaintance, and a genuinely good person. We were maybe ten in our group, mostly women, some from an advocacy group for the disabled, a man who is the head of the local Chamber of Commerce, and someone from the Morgantown Monongalia Metropolitan Planning Organization.
We had lots to talk about. Many of the streets here are too narrow to acommodate a sidewalk , the very limited bus service doesn't run weeknights and Sundays. The PRT, our once futuristic driverless rail system, is run by West Virginia University. It's great, but doesn't run as well as it did in the early 1970s, when it was created, and certainly hasn't been expanded. It also doesn't run Sundays, and was off all last summer for repairs. Sidewalks downtown were upgraded in the last few years with fancy lamps and "street furniture," but advocates for the disabled say it is now impassable for people in wheelchairs to move safely down the street. There is a lack of door-to-door transportation for elderly and disabled people to get to medical appointments. Even the meeting last night, at a city park, was not accessible by transit.
Joe Statler, a state legislator from our district, came over to our table. I couldn't stand it. Statler is one of two of our five legislators who signed on to a resolution to ask the US Congress to hold a constitutional convention to ban recognition of any rights for same-gender couples. "Inclusivity" indeed. I got up and walked away from our table. I couldn't stand listening to this jerk talk about transportation issues, or anything, for that matter.
I listened to the housing group next to me. Their group was predominantly African-American. They felt that landlords discriminated against them, there was a dearth of decent low-cost housing ( decent middle-class housing, too, from our house search) no public and very little subsidized housing. They felt landlords only want to rent to WVU students.
Eventually I calmed down enough to rejoin our group. I wrote on the form where they asked for problems and solutions, that our problem was "bigoted legislators" and the solution would be to call them on it from the city council. Don offered to introduce me to Statler, as a conciliatory gesture. I had met Statler at the League of Women Voters debate in October. Last night, he denied signing on to other anti-gay legislation ( I can check that out) and said he didn't really understand the resolution banning recognition of same-gender marriages. He said "I'm just a farmboy. I don't know about this stuff." He's 70. I said "I'm from an insular suburb, but I got out and learned about the world. Don't use your background as an excuse." Maybe those weren't the exact words exchanged, but something like that.
I also confronted the Chamber guy. He wants to raise the sales tax in Monongalia County to pay for transportation projects. I pointed out that raising the gas tax would be a better solution, since sales tax hurts poor people more than the rich. They didn't think the state would go for that.
I'm too old to have to put up with bigots and make nice to one-percenters from the Chamber of Commerce. I also have to learn to be much calmer, in order to get along with people, but also to maintain my own health.
I'm not sure Morgantown's Human Rights Commission can actually accomplish anything other than make people with little or no influence feel they have some. I don't doubt the sincerity of the people on the Commission, I just don't know if the Commission has any power.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Real Estate, Part IV
We didn't get the house we first looked at. We offered them lots less than they were asking. They had another offer they didn't like and asked both of us if we could come up with more money. We upped our bid as much as we could; the other party offered more.
We ultimately looked at eleven houses, including a two-bedroom, two-bath apartment overlooking the Monongahela River. It would have been perfect, if we could have gotten rid of ninety-percent of our belongings, and lived a minimalist life. We finally settled on a small townhouse with a basement and a giant addition on the first floor. It's in Suncrest, a mile west of where we are now, still too close to the hospitals and between the basketball coliseum and the football stadium, three miles across campus to Tree of Life. We are in the City of Morgantown, which means we will have curbside recycling, and better local representation than we have now in an unincorporated part of Monongalia County.
There have been distractions the last few weeks. We had the Jewish holiday of Purim. It's become traditional to perform a play based on the book of Esther, with costumes and funny characters. Joe writes parodies of famous musicals, writing new lyrics to the familiar songs. This year, it was "Little Orphan Esther" base on the musical "Annie." I played King Ahasuerus, in a crown I made as part of the Purim carnival that preceded the play, and an old royal blue bathrobe with white stripes and Joe played Mordechai. He spent hours working on his play, and we had a few nights of rehearsals.
The weather this February was Minnesota-like, often below zero or snowing. Just last week, after bitter cold weather for weeks, it warmed up. Then it rained like in the days of Noah. The rain turned to snow as temperatures dropped, until we were left with more than eight inches of snow, and one day in early March, a low of -3, setting a record for the month.
This isn't an easy place to live. Two of our five delegates to the West Virginia Legislature signed on to a resolution to the United States Congress to call a Constitutional Convention to ban any recognition of same-gender relationships in the entire country. This sixty-day term, which ends this week, the Republican-led legislature passed bills to overturn mine-safety regulations, to allow anyone to carry a concealed weapon without a permit, to delete the state requirement, after last year's disastrous Elk River chemical spill, which left all of metropolitan Charleston with no water for weeks, to have all chemical tanks in the state examined annually. Many people have expressed disgust with the whole state, and threatened to move away.
I credit Barbara Evans Fleischauer with our decision to stay and put down roots. She is the one liberal from Morgantown in the legislature, and the fact that she has support made me think we can find more people to hang with. West Virginia University's new president, E. Gordon Gee, has expressed unflinching support for gay rights. We are dining with him April 1. Joe says "We are winning the gay rights battle, even here." I have to go with his optimism.
So despite living in a politically hostile town, with below-zero weather and terrible storms in winter, we are taking the leap and buying a house. We will try to make this place work for us, even if I have to run against the legislative troglodytes myself in 2016. We're already talking about taking Joe's vacation in February next year. Meanwhile, we are nervous and excited. We move the second week in May. Here's a pic of our house. It's semi-detached, so we only have the left side. We met with the inspector today, who found some small wiring and plumbing issues. We hope the current owners will correct these issues.
Monday, March 2, 2015
House Resolution 99
Here in West Virginia, we have one of the worst state legislatures in the nation. The Legislature was never much good, but this year, the first time in many years there was a Republican majority, it has been nightmarish. While promising jobs and a fix for our state's awful road system, they have filed bills to limit abortion, overturn the efforts to make our water safer, gut mine safety regulations, overturn the Affordable Care Act, shield mine operators, nursing homes and used car dealers from lawsuits, and allow anyone to carry a concealed weapon without a permit. No jobs and no improvements to the roads.
Now a large group of legislators has filed a resolution, HR 99, to call for an amendment to the United States constitution stating:
"Only a union between one man and one woman may be a valid marriage in the United States. The states and their political subdivisions may not create a legal status for same-sex relationships to which is assigned the rights, benefits, obligations, qualities or effects of marriage"
Twenty-eight state delegates signed on to this; two are among the five delegates from Morgantown.
I would note that both the City of Morgantown and West Virginia University, represented by these people, have non-discrimination ordinances which include LGBT people. The Morgantown City Council voted to support same-gender marriage last year.
Here are the letters I wrote to those two. Both are Republicans.
To Cindy Frich:
I am your constituent and I am in a same-gender marriage conducted in California in 2008 by clergy of my religious denomination, and affirmed by the courts as valid in West Virginia. You have cosponsored HR 99, which, as you know, calls for a United States constitutional amendment prohibiting any legal same-sex relationships. In addition to being a colossal waste of time, as this will clearly go nowhere, it is a narrow-minded and hateful resolution. If you want to be seen that way, that's up to you. I will do everything in my power to see that you are not re-elected.
You promised to fix roads and provide jobs. All you've done in this session is introduce bills to allow every highly disturbed, undiagnosed individual in the state to carry a gun anywhere they want without a permit. You have set this state back fifty years in this session alone. I am disgusted.
Barry Wendell
Now a large group of legislators has filed a resolution, HR 99, to call for an amendment to the United States constitution stating:
"Only a union between one man and one woman may be a valid marriage in the United States. The states and their political subdivisions may not create a legal status for same-sex relationships to which is assigned the rights, benefits, obligations, qualities or effects of marriage"
Twenty-eight state delegates signed on to this; two are among the five delegates from Morgantown.
I would note that both the City of Morgantown and West Virginia University, represented by these people, have non-discrimination ordinances which include LGBT people. The Morgantown City Council voted to support same-gender marriage last year.
Here are the letters I wrote to those two. Both are Republicans.
To Cindy Frich:
I am your constituent and I am in a same-gender marriage conducted in California in 2008 by clergy of my religious denomination, and affirmed by the courts as valid in West Virginia. You have cosponsored HR 99, which, as you know, calls for a United States constitutional amendment prohibiting any legal same-sex relationships. In addition to being a colossal waste of time, as this will clearly go nowhere, it is a narrow-minded and hateful resolution. If you want to be seen that way, that's up to you. I will do everything in my power to see that you are not re-elected.
You promised to fix roads and provide jobs. All you've done in this session is introduce bills to allow every highly disturbed, undiagnosed individual in the state to carry a gun anywhere they want without a permit. You have set this state back fifty years in this session alone. I am disgusted.
Barry Wendell
To Joe Statler:
I am your constituent and I am half of a same-gender marriage conducted legally and by clergy in my religious denomination in California in 2008. Our marriage has been confirmed as legal in West Virginia by Federal courts. You have cosponsored a resolution to the US Congress for a constitutional convention to ban any legal recognition of same-gender relationships. In addition to being a colossal waste of time, as this will clearly go nowhere, it makes you look like a bigot. If that's how you want to be perceived, then so be it. I will work to make sure you are not reelected.
Morgantown and WVU are both tolerant and gay-friendly places. This is one of the few counties in the state that has had any economic growth in the last twenty years. People like you are working to give this place the kind of "backward" image that plagues most of West Virginia.
I also saw the letter in today's Dominion Post criticizing you for siding with mine owners to overturn safety regulations for miners. If you succeed in that, then you are potentially a murderer as well as a bigot.
Barry Wendell
At this point, the resolution is in the House Judiciary Committee. The session ends soon; it may not get out of committee.
I don't expect to hear back from these delegates.
Update: I did hear back from Joe Statler by e-mail:
"Thank you sir I appreciate your comments believe me sir I do not judge people on their life styles and I do make mistakes"
Just like that - no punctuation.
Update: I did hear back from Joe Statler by e-mail:
"Thank you sir I appreciate your comments believe me sir I do not judge people on their life styles and I do make mistakes"
Just like that - no punctuation.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
The Teen Learning Program
Part of me misses teaching, part says "Good riddance." Same with working as a cantor. I did it, I was good after a few years of not being good. I proved a point; it's over.
Tree of Life Congregation where Joe, my spouse, is the rabbi, has a teen learning program twice monthly. The idea is to keep the post-bar and bat mitzvah kids engaged with the temple until they leave for college. Margalit, Joe's assistant, asks people to volunteer time and expertise. She asked me to teach Jewish music to the kids. I agreed to do it, but in my typical passive-aggressive way decided to not teach anything I did as a cantor.
I thought I would start with West Side Story, originally produced on Broadway by Harold Prince, with Leonard Bernstein doing the music, Arthur Laurents writing the book, Jerome Robbins on choreography and Stephen Sondheim writing lyrics. Larry Kert was the original Tony. All of them were Jewish, and, except for Harold Prince, all of them were gay or bisexual. My spiritual ancestors.
Kids might see West Side Story in school, but they are not given a context. They don't know that the music and dancing were revolutionary compared to My Fair Lady or The Sound of Music, which are from the same era. They don't know that just about everyone who played a part in bringing it to the stage was Jewish, and how they related to immigrant outcasts clashing with the dominant culture, also a theme for gay outcasts, especially in the 1950s.
I showed two excerpts from the 1961 movie, "The Dance In The Gym" because it is so exciting and includes Robbins' choreography, slightly altered from the stage version, and "I Feel Pretty" because that song has the most obvious Sondheim lyrics. Bernstein wrote some of the lyrics also.
I found one other work from each of the four participants. I showed "The Wedding Dance" from the 1971 movie of Fiddler on the Roof because it was Jerome Robbins' work. Fiddler is where Robbins really got back to his Jewish roots. I played the last part of Bernstein's "Chichester Psalms." The New York Philharmonic, where Bernstein became conductor shortly after the premiere of West Side Story, told Bernstein not to write for Broadway again. In 1964, he wrote a setting of psalms for a choral concert in Chichester, England. He picked the psalms and told them they had to sing them in Hebrew. I performed this piece in the choir at Temple Israel of Hollywood around 1999. I still cry when I hear this performed. It ends with Hinei Matov Umanayim Shevet Achim Gam Yachad,
a text the kids all know.
Arthur Laurents wrote the screenplay for The Way We Were, really about standing up for principles, and about the Hollywood blacklist in 1950. Of course it became a vehicle for Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford. Laurents was both characters, Streisand's radical Jew and Redford's sell-out writer. Then there was that song by Marvin Hamlisch.
Lastly, I showed a film excerpt from a 1980 stage production of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, directed by Harold Prince. We saw Angela Lansbury describe "The Worst Pies in London."
The kids enjoyed it, all three of them, and the few parents, one of whom said the song "The Way We Were" still made her cry. She couldn't believe the movie came out forty-two years ago.
The kids didn't ask about anyone's sexuality, and I didn't tell. I gave them a list of all the Jewish people we had talked about and dared them to look them up. They won't. I only got some interest when I explained that Sweeney Todd slit people's throats in his barber shop and Mrs. Lovett baked their chopped-up bodies into pies. I recommended the 2007 Johnny Depp- Helena Bonham Carter movie directed by Tim Burton. They might look that up.
The classes were supposed to be two weeks apart, but because I was sick the week of the first class, we delayed it a week (costing me two students) and I had to teach again the next week.
Feeling guilty about avoiding prayer music, I decide to teach about Debbie Friedman. We sing many of her tunes at Tree of Life, particularly her healing prayer, Mi Shebeirach, which we do every Friday.
Debbie used to come to BCC, the temple I belonged to in Los Angeles. I met her there once and we chatted briefly. What impressed me about her was that she next showed up a few months later, ran up to me and hugged me and said "Hi, Barry!" I barely remembered having met her.
I showed a video of her teaching "Not By Might" from the Chanuka haftorah, then part of an interview with her where she explains her history, and finally a tribute movie, shown after Debbie's death, at the Union for Reform Judaism's biennial.
Debbie's contributions included changing the texts to include feminine verb forms, writing songs in Hebrew and English, often both in the same song, and writing songs that people could sing with the soloist. She said she was surprised that not everyone liked what she did. I explained that to the kids. Temples with a tenor soloist, an organ and organist, a choir and choir director, felt threatened by a lone soloist with a guitar. Although she didn't say it, having a woman lead services was new and not always acceptable. I get her music. I see why it is popular. I was that tenor soloist. I didn't want the congregation to sing along. I was happy to have my voice soar above a choir or organ (more often a piano). I found her music hard to sing and too "touchy-feely." Still, I don't think Reform Judaism would have survived without her and people (mostly women) who play guitar and lead congregations in song.
Early in class, one of the boys said he heard Debbie had died, and I confirmed that. At the end, a girl asked if she left a husband. I told all of them the truth, that Debbie was a lesbian, that she was open, but never discussed it publicly, and that she had a girlfriend. I don't know if they were ever married. The kids were cool with that explanation.
So that was it. I had three boys and a girl the second week, and one other boy on Skype who lives in the hinterlands about sixty miles away.
I enjoyed doing this, although it took lots of time, and I obsessed about every detail nearly to the point of insanity. Mid-twentieth century American culture, and in particular the Jewish and Queer influences on it, is my real academic interest, and Debbie Friedman is probably the person who most influenced how Jews in the Reform movement pray today. She was a friend, a deeply spiritual person, and a major talent. It is important that the kids know who she was.
Here's the list of people to look up from my first class. Go ahead. Look them up.
Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990)
Jerome Robbins (Rabinowitz) (1918-1998)
Stephen Sondheim (1930)
Arthur Laurents (Levine) (1917-2011)
Larry Kert (1930-1991)
Zero (Samuel) Mostel (1915-1977)
Barbra (Barbara)Streisand (1942)
Harold Prince (1928)
Jerry Bock (1928-2010)
Sheldon Harnick (1924)
(Chaim)Topol (1935)
Sholem Aleichem (Solomon Rabinovich) (1859-1916)
Sidney Pollack (1934-2008)
Marvin Hamlisch (1944-2012)
Alan (1925) and Marilyn (Katz) Bergman (1929)
Also, go to YouTube and see what you can find of Debbie Friedman.
Tree of Life Congregation where Joe, my spouse, is the rabbi, has a teen learning program twice monthly. The idea is to keep the post-bar and bat mitzvah kids engaged with the temple until they leave for college. Margalit, Joe's assistant, asks people to volunteer time and expertise. She asked me to teach Jewish music to the kids. I agreed to do it, but in my typical passive-aggressive way decided to not teach anything I did as a cantor.
I thought I would start with West Side Story, originally produced on Broadway by Harold Prince, with Leonard Bernstein doing the music, Arthur Laurents writing the book, Jerome Robbins on choreography and Stephen Sondheim writing lyrics. Larry Kert was the original Tony. All of them were Jewish, and, except for Harold Prince, all of them were gay or bisexual. My spiritual ancestors.
Kids might see West Side Story in school, but they are not given a context. They don't know that the music and dancing were revolutionary compared to My Fair Lady or The Sound of Music, which are from the same era. They don't know that just about everyone who played a part in bringing it to the stage was Jewish, and how they related to immigrant outcasts clashing with the dominant culture, also a theme for gay outcasts, especially in the 1950s.
I showed two excerpts from the 1961 movie, "The Dance In The Gym" because it is so exciting and includes Robbins' choreography, slightly altered from the stage version, and "I Feel Pretty" because that song has the most obvious Sondheim lyrics. Bernstein wrote some of the lyrics also.
I found one other work from each of the four participants. I showed "The Wedding Dance" from the 1971 movie of Fiddler on the Roof because it was Jerome Robbins' work. Fiddler is where Robbins really got back to his Jewish roots. I played the last part of Bernstein's "Chichester Psalms." The New York Philharmonic, where Bernstein became conductor shortly after the premiere of West Side Story, told Bernstein not to write for Broadway again. In 1964, he wrote a setting of psalms for a choral concert in Chichester, England. He picked the psalms and told them they had to sing them in Hebrew. I performed this piece in the choir at Temple Israel of Hollywood around 1999. I still cry when I hear this performed. It ends with Hinei Matov Umanayim Shevet Achim Gam Yachad,
a text the kids all know.
Arthur Laurents wrote the screenplay for The Way We Were, really about standing up for principles, and about the Hollywood blacklist in 1950. Of course it became a vehicle for Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford. Laurents was both characters, Streisand's radical Jew and Redford's sell-out writer. Then there was that song by Marvin Hamlisch.
Lastly, I showed a film excerpt from a 1980 stage production of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, directed by Harold Prince. We saw Angela Lansbury describe "The Worst Pies in London."
The kids enjoyed it, all three of them, and the few parents, one of whom said the song "The Way We Were" still made her cry. She couldn't believe the movie came out forty-two years ago.
The kids didn't ask about anyone's sexuality, and I didn't tell. I gave them a list of all the Jewish people we had talked about and dared them to look them up. They won't. I only got some interest when I explained that Sweeney Todd slit people's throats in his barber shop and Mrs. Lovett baked their chopped-up bodies into pies. I recommended the 2007 Johnny Depp- Helena Bonham Carter movie directed by Tim Burton. They might look that up.
The classes were supposed to be two weeks apart, but because I was sick the week of the first class, we delayed it a week (costing me two students) and I had to teach again the next week.
Feeling guilty about avoiding prayer music, I decide to teach about Debbie Friedman. We sing many of her tunes at Tree of Life, particularly her healing prayer, Mi Shebeirach, which we do every Friday.
Debbie used to come to BCC, the temple I belonged to in Los Angeles. I met her there once and we chatted briefly. What impressed me about her was that she next showed up a few months later, ran up to me and hugged me and said "Hi, Barry!" I barely remembered having met her.
I showed a video of her teaching "Not By Might" from the Chanuka haftorah, then part of an interview with her where she explains her history, and finally a tribute movie, shown after Debbie's death, at the Union for Reform Judaism's biennial.
Debbie's contributions included changing the texts to include feminine verb forms, writing songs in Hebrew and English, often both in the same song, and writing songs that people could sing with the soloist. She said she was surprised that not everyone liked what she did. I explained that to the kids. Temples with a tenor soloist, an organ and organist, a choir and choir director, felt threatened by a lone soloist with a guitar. Although she didn't say it, having a woman lead services was new and not always acceptable. I get her music. I see why it is popular. I was that tenor soloist. I didn't want the congregation to sing along. I was happy to have my voice soar above a choir or organ (more often a piano). I found her music hard to sing and too "touchy-feely." Still, I don't think Reform Judaism would have survived without her and people (mostly women) who play guitar and lead congregations in song.
Early in class, one of the boys said he heard Debbie had died, and I confirmed that. At the end, a girl asked if she left a husband. I told all of them the truth, that Debbie was a lesbian, that she was open, but never discussed it publicly, and that she had a girlfriend. I don't know if they were ever married. The kids were cool with that explanation.
So that was it. I had three boys and a girl the second week, and one other boy on Skype who lives in the hinterlands about sixty miles away.
I enjoyed doing this, although it took lots of time, and I obsessed about every detail nearly to the point of insanity. Mid-twentieth century American culture, and in particular the Jewish and Queer influences on it, is my real academic interest, and Debbie Friedman is probably the person who most influenced how Jews in the Reform movement pray today. She was a friend, a deeply spiritual person, and a major talent. It is important that the kids know who she was.
Here's the list of people to look up from my first class. Go ahead. Look them up.
Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990)
Jerome Robbins (Rabinowitz) (1918-1998)
Stephen Sondheim (1930)
Arthur Laurents (Levine) (1917-2011)
Larry Kert (1930-1991)
Zero (Samuel) Mostel (1915-1977)
Barbra (Barbara)Streisand (1942)
Harold Prince (1928)
Jerry Bock (1928-2010)
Sheldon Harnick (1924)
(Chaim)Topol (1935)
Sholem Aleichem (Solomon Rabinovich) (1859-1916)
Sidney Pollack (1934-2008)
Marvin Hamlisch (1944-2012)
Alan (1925) and Marilyn (Katz) Bergman (1929)
Also, go to YouTube and see what you can find of Debbie Friedman.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Real Estate, Part III
One thing I wanted to do in 2015 is move. We live in a firetrap townhouse (the insulation on the lower floor says "Flammable: Do not leave uncovered." It is, next to the furnace, hot water heater, and dryer. We are also in a three-story house, where it's a full flight up to get the groceries to the kitchen. Our next oldest neighbor in the other twelve townhouses is twenty-eight. We don't go to football games, but we are close enough to the stadium to have to plan our movements on football day to avoid the messed-up traffic and noise.
We talked about owning, but there was a voice in our heads that said "Morgantown is not home." If that's true, then we don't have a home. I'm five years out of Los Angeles, Joe is ten years out of San Francisco. We have people in New York, Washington, Memphis, Buffalo and various places in Florida. We are not really planning on moving to those places.
On Sundays, I typically check out the real estate section of the local paper. I learned from my unfinished graduate work in urban studies that the easiest places to move are the middle of a city and the outer edges. Tree of Life, where Joe is the rabbi, is two blocks across Decker's Creek from downtown Morgantown. There are three historic districts on The National Register (Chancery Hill, South Park and Greenmont) in that part of town. Many of the members of the congregation live in that part of town. Prior to the 1960s, Jews didn't live anywhere else in town. There are new townhouses being built around the edge of the city. The problem with the old houses is that while they are beautiful, they are expensive if remodeled, and unlivable if not.The new houses tend to be ugly and far from just about anything.
I look for more modern houses within five miles of the synagogue. Our townhouse is only 2.8 miles away, but through the University, meaning the traffic on the ancient streets is always backed up, and when classes are in session, one has to drive miles out of the way to avoid students walking to class.
Last Sunday, I saw a listing for a typical Liberty Road-style 1950s split-level house in South Park. An anomaly in that neighborhood. I called the agent for the house Monday and Joe and I went to see it Tuesday. It's only slightly bigger than the house I grew up in in Baltimore, and from the same time period. That house was cramped, but we were four. Two of us should be able to handle it. At sixty years old it can also be part of the historic district it is in, although most of the neighborhood is from the early twentieth century.
Yesterday we were pre-approved for a loan. I have enough cash for a down payment and the monthly payments will not likely be more than we pay in rent. The price seems too high. Of course, a similar house in Los Angeles would be in a rough Valley neighborhood and cost twice as much; in New York, it would be thirty miles out from Manhattan and cost a million dollars.
There may be other, nicer houses for less money, but not in South Park, which is where we really belong. It is the one liberal neighborhood in this otherwise troglodyte conservative part of the world. It's probably the only neighborhood in the 300 miles between Pittsburgh and Charleston where you might see an old "Obama" sticker on a car. This isn't an easy state to live in.
Buying a house might be the kind of "leap of faith" Joe took when he quit his job at Wells Fargo at forty-seven to start a five-year program to become a rabbi. Looking at a fifteen or thirty year loan at our age is daunting. And buying means we plan to stay here in Morgantown.
Still, it would be great to have a mid-century house, a flat yard, a finished basement to put our stuff in, a back deck to entertain in the summer, and neighbors who are already our friends. We might finally be in a home.
We still have work to do before this house is ours. We have inspections, price negotiations, dealing with banks, and then the logistics of moving to deal with. I'm hopeful.
I called this post "Real Estate, Part III" because Parts I and II were about our venture into real estate in Crescent City, California, described in my previous blog, "Barry's Excellent Adventure." It also appears in my book, Barry's Crescent City Blog: A Jewish Gay Man On California's North Coast.
I've spent a half-hour trying to upload pics from my phone and correcting the extra capital letter in the "Labels" section a dozen times. I'm so frustrated with how poorly this format works, I could strangle Sergei Brin (founder of Google) myself.
We talked about owning, but there was a voice in our heads that said "Morgantown is not home." If that's true, then we don't have a home. I'm five years out of Los Angeles, Joe is ten years out of San Francisco. We have people in New York, Washington, Memphis, Buffalo and various places in Florida. We are not really planning on moving to those places.
On Sundays, I typically check out the real estate section of the local paper. I learned from my unfinished graduate work in urban studies that the easiest places to move are the middle of a city and the outer edges. Tree of Life, where Joe is the rabbi, is two blocks across Decker's Creek from downtown Morgantown. There are three historic districts on The National Register (Chancery Hill, South Park and Greenmont) in that part of town. Many of the members of the congregation live in that part of town. Prior to the 1960s, Jews didn't live anywhere else in town. There are new townhouses being built around the edge of the city. The problem with the old houses is that while they are beautiful, they are expensive if remodeled, and unlivable if not.The new houses tend to be ugly and far from just about anything.
I look for more modern houses within five miles of the synagogue. Our townhouse is only 2.8 miles away, but through the University, meaning the traffic on the ancient streets is always backed up, and when classes are in session, one has to drive miles out of the way to avoid students walking to class.
Last Sunday, I saw a listing for a typical Liberty Road-style 1950s split-level house in South Park. An anomaly in that neighborhood. I called the agent for the house Monday and Joe and I went to see it Tuesday. It's only slightly bigger than the house I grew up in in Baltimore, and from the same time period. That house was cramped, but we were four. Two of us should be able to handle it. At sixty years old it can also be part of the historic district it is in, although most of the neighborhood is from the early twentieth century.
Yesterday we were pre-approved for a loan. I have enough cash for a down payment and the monthly payments will not likely be more than we pay in rent. The price seems too high. Of course, a similar house in Los Angeles would be in a rough Valley neighborhood and cost twice as much; in New York, it would be thirty miles out from Manhattan and cost a million dollars.
There may be other, nicer houses for less money, but not in South Park, which is where we really belong. It is the one liberal neighborhood in this otherwise troglodyte conservative part of the world. It's probably the only neighborhood in the 300 miles between Pittsburgh and Charleston where you might see an old "Obama" sticker on a car. This isn't an easy state to live in.
Buying a house might be the kind of "leap of faith" Joe took when he quit his job at Wells Fargo at forty-seven to start a five-year program to become a rabbi. Looking at a fifteen or thirty year loan at our age is daunting. And buying means we plan to stay here in Morgantown.
Still, it would be great to have a mid-century house, a flat yard, a finished basement to put our stuff in, a back deck to entertain in the summer, and neighbors who are already our friends. We might finally be in a home.
We still have work to do before this house is ours. We have inspections, price negotiations, dealing with banks, and then the logistics of moving to deal with. I'm hopeful.
I called this post "Real Estate, Part III" because Parts I and II were about our venture into real estate in Crescent City, California, described in my previous blog, "Barry's Excellent Adventure." It also appears in my book, Barry's Crescent City Blog: A Jewish Gay Man On California's North Coast.
I've spent a half-hour trying to upload pics from my phone and correcting the extra capital letter in the "Labels" section a dozen times. I'm so frustrated with how poorly this format works, I could strangle Sergei Brin (founder of Google) myself.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Gay Friends
We found out sometime last year that there is a group based in Morgantown called "G2H2," or "Gay Guys Happy Hour." They meet monthly at a different restaurant/bar in town. Up to that time, we had not met many gay folks in town, certainly not other couples in our age group. People would say to me "There is a gay student organization." Yes, but they are all twenty and still worried about what their parents or roommates will say. So G2H2 looked to be our group. Only they meet from 6-8 on Friday evenings, and we have to be at services before 7:30. I went once without Joe and met some people, and we attended together once last summer when Shabbat was late. Still, we had to leave before seven.
The December meeting was on the Thursday night before Christmas, because the restaurant was booked for several large parties Friday. Perfect for us. We had drinks (non-alcoholic in my case) and stayed for dinner. We chatted up a couple in their early sixties (older than Joe, younger than I) named Dave and Joe Bart. We had met them at one of the earlier mixers.
This month, the party was again on Thursday night, and although I was tired, not feeling great, and having an important medical test the next day, I went with my Joe. We were in a trendy new bar, with not much really edible food, and fairly high prices. We spent most of the evening with Joe Bart and Dave, and another man named Doug, who now runs G2H2 with Joe Bart. We all adjourned to Mother India down the street, where there is a plentiful buffet of recognizable food. Joe Bart and Dave invited us to their farm in Pennsylvania, just over the border, for dinner Saturday.
So we went. I took Robitussin and whatever else I could find to mask my deteriorating health. We have found lots of people in this area, including gay people, who live way off main roads, in virtually inaccessible places. I always imagine gays congregating in a "gay ghetto" in the center of a city. That doesn't work here. Joe Bart and Dave live six miles east of the first exit on I-79 in Pennsylvania, just north of the West Virginia line. The directions didn't include street names, just "turn left at the church" and "look for the red barn." We passed fracking wells and coal mines on the way. It was seventeen miles from our place in Morgantown.
The house is beautiful and modern, set far off the road. They have a barn and goats. Doug from G2H2 was there, along with his mother, a Presbyterian minister, and Bill, a Jesuit priest. They had all been to see the opera at a movie theater in Morgantown, streamed from The Met in New York.We'll pause here for the "a priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into..." joke.
Anyway, we were totally comfortable with everyone there. We had food and drink and bonded with two dogs and one of the two house cats. They asked us if we had met many people socially in Morgantown, and we almost cried. "This is the first time we've been invited socially to the home of a gay couple in this part of the world." True. We've dined with many of Joe's congregants, and they have been just lovely to both of us, more than we would have imagined before we came, but we really have no gay friends.
I should say "had," because we now have Joe Bart and Dave. Our house is tiny and a disorganized mess, thanks to my lack of Executive something-or-other and Joe's life in a more ethereal world. Still, we will get more organized, clean up and cook dinner for our friends, as soon as my now full-blown cold is over. The test from the doctor Friday resulted in good news, a great relief.
Hopefully, this is a sign that we will be more comfortable with our lives in Morgantown over the next few years.
The December meeting was on the Thursday night before Christmas, because the restaurant was booked for several large parties Friday. Perfect for us. We had drinks (non-alcoholic in my case) and stayed for dinner. We chatted up a couple in their early sixties (older than Joe, younger than I) named Dave and Joe Bart. We had met them at one of the earlier mixers.
This month, the party was again on Thursday night, and although I was tired, not feeling great, and having an important medical test the next day, I went with my Joe. We were in a trendy new bar, with not much really edible food, and fairly high prices. We spent most of the evening with Joe Bart and Dave, and another man named Doug, who now runs G2H2 with Joe Bart. We all adjourned to Mother India down the street, where there is a plentiful buffet of recognizable food. Joe Bart and Dave invited us to their farm in Pennsylvania, just over the border, for dinner Saturday.
So we went. I took Robitussin and whatever else I could find to mask my deteriorating health. We have found lots of people in this area, including gay people, who live way off main roads, in virtually inaccessible places. I always imagine gays congregating in a "gay ghetto" in the center of a city. That doesn't work here. Joe Bart and Dave live six miles east of the first exit on I-79 in Pennsylvania, just north of the West Virginia line. The directions didn't include street names, just "turn left at the church" and "look for the red barn." We passed fracking wells and coal mines on the way. It was seventeen miles from our place in Morgantown.
The house is beautiful and modern, set far off the road. They have a barn and goats. Doug from G2H2 was there, along with his mother, a Presbyterian minister, and Bill, a Jesuit priest. They had all been to see the opera at a movie theater in Morgantown, streamed from The Met in New York.We'll pause here for the "a priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into..." joke.
Anyway, we were totally comfortable with everyone there. We had food and drink and bonded with two dogs and one of the two house cats. They asked us if we had met many people socially in Morgantown, and we almost cried. "This is the first time we've been invited socially to the home of a gay couple in this part of the world." True. We've dined with many of Joe's congregants, and they have been just lovely to both of us, more than we would have imagined before we came, but we really have no gay friends.
I should say "had," because we now have Joe Bart and Dave. Our house is tiny and a disorganized mess, thanks to my lack of Executive something-or-other and Joe's life in a more ethereal world. Still, we will get more organized, clean up and cook dinner for our friends, as soon as my now full-blown cold is over. The test from the doctor Friday resulted in good news, a great relief.
Hopefully, this is a sign that we will be more comfortable with our lives in Morgantown over the next few years.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
FIRST WEEK
It's been a productive week, this first one in 2015. Joe and I both decided to eat less, with the hope of losing weight. I'm down three pound so far, which makes me happy.
I had two doctor appointments January 5, one a checkup with my regular MD, a pretty Southern young woman, a resident. I've noted in the past that she always wears makeup. I don't know why that surprises me. The second appointment was with the cardiologist, a charming, handsome, Italian-American with a drawl and a sense of humor. Lately, I see a technician and a nurse practitioner before I get to the real doctor. They always ask a bunch of questions, which elicit in me a sense of gratitude for my good life. "Are all your needs being met?" "Do you feel safe in your household?" The nurse was a young woman named Amalita, with an Italian accent. I didn't want to talk to her at first, but then I noticed she was wearing something lacy under her white lab coat. I asked if her mother was Amalia, and she told me she was named for an opera star her mother admired. She was charming and beautiful.
I finally admitted to Dr. Renzelli and Amalita that, yes, I did sometimes have chest pain, not like my heart attack nearly twelve years ago, but more a tightness, coupled with breathing hard. I noticed it riding my bicycle up some of the steeper hills in Morgantown. And sometimes, when I walk to the convenience store in the morning to buy newspapers, I stop walking back up the hill to our house, because I feel out of breath. I don't know that a totally in shape 65-year old can do better than I do.
They've been worried about me. I have a stent in my left anterior descending artery that was designed to last eight to ten years. February 9 will be twelve years since it was installed. So I'm going to do a stress test Friday next week to see if everything is working the way it's supposed to. If not, they have to go back into the artery and unclog it. I don't have any illusions at 65 about life expectancy and things that can go wrong, but if there is a blockage, and they can clear it, I'll be better off.
Tuesday Joe and I went out in snow and cold weather to run a bunch of errands. We bought Bubbie's Pickles at Mountain People's Co-op, sourdough at New Day Bakery, checked my post office box, picked up Joe's dry cleaning at Massullo's, bought groceries at Kroger, stopped at the bank and the gas station, and found me a new gym.
The gym is in the shopping center with Kroger. "Brad" greeted me at the door. He's a big blond hunk, maybe 25, wearing a three-inch long silver cross on a huge chain around his neck. He's a graduate of the program at the gym I just left, and spoke fondly of two of the faculty there, one of whom couldn't say "Hello" to me in the twenty-eight months I worked out there. I signed up for a year, with two months free. I asked about working out a few times with a trainer. Brad mentioned two graduates of The Human Performance Lab, probably my two favorite ex-grad students. I'm sorry they don't have better jobs, with their masters degree in Exercise Physiology. I'm meeting with Ariel, a thin, pretty, talkative native West Virginia woman tomorrow. We were actual friends at HPL.
Joe and I came home from more than two hours in cold weather, and I fell asleep for over an hour. We had been talking about going to a trivia night at a local restaurant that people in the congregation go to. I was exhausted and not feeling well, so I let Joe go alone.
Now we are in the grip of the Polar Vortex. I took the car yesterday to buy papers in the morning, and ran out to the street to pick up the mail in the afternoon. That was it for outdoors. It snowed on and off all day. Today, it's clear and pretty out, but in the three hours since sunrise the temperature has only gone from -1 to +1 F., and the wind chill is steady at -10. It's supposed to go up to 19 later this afternoon. Our intrepid cleaning woman is driving over the mountains from Garrett County, Maryland to be with us this afternoon, so I'll be heading to the mall to get out of her way. I may go to a swing dance class tonight at the University. It will be my first time there.
Both Joe and I are working on our health and our social life this year. We've taken steps in the last week. All that's keeping us from being out more socially and walking outside is the bitter cold weather.
I had two doctor appointments January 5, one a checkup with my regular MD, a pretty Southern young woman, a resident. I've noted in the past that she always wears makeup. I don't know why that surprises me. The second appointment was with the cardiologist, a charming, handsome, Italian-American with a drawl and a sense of humor. Lately, I see a technician and a nurse practitioner before I get to the real doctor. They always ask a bunch of questions, which elicit in me a sense of gratitude for my good life. "Are all your needs being met?" "Do you feel safe in your household?" The nurse was a young woman named Amalita, with an Italian accent. I didn't want to talk to her at first, but then I noticed she was wearing something lacy under her white lab coat. I asked if her mother was Amalia, and she told me she was named for an opera star her mother admired. She was charming and beautiful.
I finally admitted to Dr. Renzelli and Amalita that, yes, I did sometimes have chest pain, not like my heart attack nearly twelve years ago, but more a tightness, coupled with breathing hard. I noticed it riding my bicycle up some of the steeper hills in Morgantown. And sometimes, when I walk to the convenience store in the morning to buy newspapers, I stop walking back up the hill to our house, because I feel out of breath. I don't know that a totally in shape 65-year old can do better than I do.
They've been worried about me. I have a stent in my left anterior descending artery that was designed to last eight to ten years. February 9 will be twelve years since it was installed. So I'm going to do a stress test Friday next week to see if everything is working the way it's supposed to. If not, they have to go back into the artery and unclog it. I don't have any illusions at 65 about life expectancy and things that can go wrong, but if there is a blockage, and they can clear it, I'll be better off.
Tuesday Joe and I went out in snow and cold weather to run a bunch of errands. We bought Bubbie's Pickles at Mountain People's Co-op, sourdough at New Day Bakery, checked my post office box, picked up Joe's dry cleaning at Massullo's, bought groceries at Kroger, stopped at the bank and the gas station, and found me a new gym.
The gym is in the shopping center with Kroger. "Brad" greeted me at the door. He's a big blond hunk, maybe 25, wearing a three-inch long silver cross on a huge chain around his neck. He's a graduate of the program at the gym I just left, and spoke fondly of two of the faculty there, one of whom couldn't say "Hello" to me in the twenty-eight months I worked out there. I signed up for a year, with two months free. I asked about working out a few times with a trainer. Brad mentioned two graduates of The Human Performance Lab, probably my two favorite ex-grad students. I'm sorry they don't have better jobs, with their masters degree in Exercise Physiology. I'm meeting with Ariel, a thin, pretty, talkative native West Virginia woman tomorrow. We were actual friends at HPL.
Joe and I came home from more than two hours in cold weather, and I fell asleep for over an hour. We had been talking about going to a trivia night at a local restaurant that people in the congregation go to. I was exhausted and not feeling well, so I let Joe go alone.
Now we are in the grip of the Polar Vortex. I took the car yesterday to buy papers in the morning, and ran out to the street to pick up the mail in the afternoon. That was it for outdoors. It snowed on and off all day. Today, it's clear and pretty out, but in the three hours since sunrise the temperature has only gone from -1 to +1 F., and the wind chill is steady at -10. It's supposed to go up to 19 later this afternoon. Our intrepid cleaning woman is driving over the mountains from Garrett County, Maryland to be with us this afternoon, so I'll be heading to the mall to get out of her way. I may go to a swing dance class tonight at the University. It will be my first time there.
Both Joe and I are working on our health and our social life this year. We've taken steps in the last week. All that's keeping us from being out more socially and walking outside is the bitter cold weather.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The Gym and The Holidays
Back in Baltimore, we lived in a segregated society. In the days of smaller businesses, we had our own doctors, pharmacists, dentists. If Jews exercised, it was at the Jewish Community Center. Most of our classmates at school were Jews. Despite that, there was always a Christmas pageant, Christmas carols, Easter, and in some classes, until Madelyn Murray, we had to say The Lord’s Prayer and read from a Christian Bible. In high school, we had our own Jewish youth groups. Fraternization with Christians was frowned upon.
In college, my friends were most likely to be Christian, at least in name. Those of us not from super wealthy families at the private university I attended tended to hang together. None of us were particularly religious, anyway.
In Los Angeles, most of the “white” people were Jewish. Everyone lived in their own ethnic ghetto, with Jews being the most powerful group in the city. We had two synagogues for gays and lesbians, among over a hundred synagogues in Los Angeles County. It was a good place to immerse oneself in Jewish culture and redefine it in a personal way. Public schools closed for Yom Kippur.
In West Virginia, the Jewish community is small, and probably shrinking. There is a bubble of liberal Judaism in the South Park neighborhood of Morgantown, but throughout the state, Jews are invisible by choice. In Morgantown, the local paper does feature articles about Chanuka and Rosh Hashana. This year West Virginia University’s homecoming parade and football game coincided with Yom Kippur. Morgantown High’s homecoming parade was on a Wednesday night, Rosh Hashana. A congregant told me that students and teachers were advised that they would not get an excused absence the next day for Rosh Hashana.
This brings me to the gym. I joined in the summer of 2012, right after we moved here. The gym is through WVU, designed for people over sixty and people with a heart condition. I was a perfect candidate. There are four people working in the office. Graduate and undergraduate students are out on the floor, chatting with the oldsters and taking our pulse and blood pressure periodically.
I think the regular workers were surprised that I was the husband of the new rabbi in town. The University has a non-discrimination policy for LGBT people in place, so there was no kickback. One of the men who works there, who rarely comes out of the office, has almost never spoken to me. The woman in charge, and the two other men who work there were friendly enough. They are all religious Christians, probably Evangelicals. I haven’t discussed their specific religious beliefs in great detail.. One of the men does discuss his faith with others at the gym, and when he is in charge, the radio music in the weight room mysteriously changes from classic rock to a Christian station. I wasn’t always comfortable with the talk of football and hunting among the students and workers, but I understood that this was a gym.
What changed was the court decision in the Fourth Circuit that led to the legality of same-gender marriage in West Virginia. I felt that the two men in the office who were moderately friendly avoided me after that decision.
The students are exercise physiology majors. Two of the grad students admitted to me that they hadn’t read a book all the way through since eighth grade. None of the ones I spoke to, either in 2012 or 2014 voted in the election. None of them read a newspaper. I told some of them about the marriage decision, and most were supportive. Only one actually lit up with a big smile and said “Congratulations!” The kids do know about both professional and WVU sports teams.
One of the old guys who works out regularly is a right-wing loudmouth. He comes in and pontificates loudly about his hatred of President Obama, and once called Hillary Clinton “a twit.” No one ever disagrees with him. I did once, and we got into a heated argument. Someone pulled us apart. We are too old to actually get into a fight; we are both heart patients. I felt like I was blamed for the altercation.
We have free speech and freedom of religion in this country. What people don’t get is that there are consequences. I don’t need to be in a place where I’m uncomfortable. Yesterday,I told the woman who runs the gym, who was rarely there when I was the last few weeks, that I wasn’t coming back in 2015. She was surprised when I gave her my reasons. She didn’t think I would mind hearing Christian radio, or that I would be snubbed, or find someone’s ongoing right-wing rants offensive.
I went in yesterday, the first day of Chanuka, and gave the staff members who were there and the two grad students (the undergrads are gone, finished for the semester) bags of chocolate coins from Israel. They just looked at me. The Christmas tree is up in the office, and one of the men asked me to attend the Christmas party Friday. Maybe I’m picking a fight where there doesn’t need to be one, but, no, I don’t want to be at your Christmas party.
Maybe the problem is just West Virginia. Christianity, particularly the anti-gay type, is the State religion. Maybe I should stay and continue to educate people. I’d rather keep looking for a more comfortable gym. We may move to South Park next year, close to the synagogue, and the one liberal neighborhood in the 250 mile stretch between Pittsburgh and Charleston.
In college, my friends were most likely to be Christian, at least in name. Those of us not from super wealthy families at the private university I attended tended to hang together. None of us were particularly religious, anyway.
In Los Angeles, most of the “white” people were Jewish. Everyone lived in their own ethnic ghetto, with Jews being the most powerful group in the city. We had two synagogues for gays and lesbians, among over a hundred synagogues in Los Angeles County. It was a good place to immerse oneself in Jewish culture and redefine it in a personal way. Public schools closed for Yom Kippur.
In West Virginia, the Jewish community is small, and probably shrinking. There is a bubble of liberal Judaism in the South Park neighborhood of Morgantown, but throughout the state, Jews are invisible by choice. In Morgantown, the local paper does feature articles about Chanuka and Rosh Hashana. This year West Virginia University’s homecoming parade and football game coincided with Yom Kippur. Morgantown High’s homecoming parade was on a Wednesday night, Rosh Hashana. A congregant told me that students and teachers were advised that they would not get an excused absence the next day for Rosh Hashana.
This brings me to the gym. I joined in the summer of 2012, right after we moved here. The gym is through WVU, designed for people over sixty and people with a heart condition. I was a perfect candidate. There are four people working in the office. Graduate and undergraduate students are out on the floor, chatting with the oldsters and taking our pulse and blood pressure periodically.
I think the regular workers were surprised that I was the husband of the new rabbi in town. The University has a non-discrimination policy for LGBT people in place, so there was no kickback. One of the men who works there, who rarely comes out of the office, has almost never spoken to me. The woman in charge, and the two other men who work there were friendly enough. They are all religious Christians, probably Evangelicals. I haven’t discussed their specific religious beliefs in great detail.. One of the men does discuss his faith with others at the gym, and when he is in charge, the radio music in the weight room mysteriously changes from classic rock to a Christian station. I wasn’t always comfortable with the talk of football and hunting among the students and workers, but I understood that this was a gym.
What changed was the court decision in the Fourth Circuit that led to the legality of same-gender marriage in West Virginia. I felt that the two men in the office who were moderately friendly avoided me after that decision.
The students are exercise physiology majors. Two of the grad students admitted to me that they hadn’t read a book all the way through since eighth grade. None of the ones I spoke to, either in 2012 or 2014 voted in the election. None of them read a newspaper. I told some of them about the marriage decision, and most were supportive. Only one actually lit up with a big smile and said “Congratulations!” The kids do know about both professional and WVU sports teams.
One of the old guys who works out regularly is a right-wing loudmouth. He comes in and pontificates loudly about his hatred of President Obama, and once called Hillary Clinton “a twit.” No one ever disagrees with him. I did once, and we got into a heated argument. Someone pulled us apart. We are too old to actually get into a fight; we are both heart patients. I felt like I was blamed for the altercation.
We have free speech and freedom of religion in this country. What people don’t get is that there are consequences. I don’t need to be in a place where I’m uncomfortable. Yesterday,I told the woman who runs the gym, who was rarely there when I was the last few weeks, that I wasn’t coming back in 2015. She was surprised when I gave her my reasons. She didn’t think I would mind hearing Christian radio, or that I would be snubbed, or find someone’s ongoing right-wing rants offensive.
I went in yesterday, the first day of Chanuka, and gave the staff members who were there and the two grad students (the undergrads are gone, finished for the semester) bags of chocolate coins from Israel. They just looked at me. The Christmas tree is up in the office, and one of the men asked me to attend the Christmas party Friday. Maybe I’m picking a fight where there doesn’t need to be one, but, no, I don’t want to be at your Christmas party.
Maybe the problem is just West Virginia. Christianity, particularly the anti-gay type, is the State religion. Maybe I should stay and continue to educate people. I’d rather keep looking for a more comfortable gym. We may move to South Park next year, close to the synagogue, and the one liberal neighborhood in the 250 mile stretch between Pittsburgh and Charleston.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Belmont County, Ohio
This weekend, the forecast was a high of 49 Saturday, with even warmer weather Sunday, but
I took the back route across West Virginia 2 to New Martinsville. For some reason, although it was 32 when I left the house, the temperature got colder. Then it started to rain. And then there was ice all over the roads. An accident on the bridge across the Ohio River at New Martinsville held me up for a half hour. I was behind a truck salting the road on Ohio 7 heading up the river. I still didn't understand about the ice. I stopped at Dollar General in Powhatan Point to use the bathroom, check directions and buy a big bag of pretzels for a dollar.
I followed a back road, where I saw a car in a ditch. Then my car began to slide. That's when I got it. The car's gauge said it was 32 outside. I drove slowly after that. Southwestern Belmont County is mountainous, like West Virginia. It's dotted with well pads and access roads from fracking, disturbing the landscape. I hadn't gotten to my first historic place in the town of Belmont by 12:45. This man doesn't live on pretzels alone, so I continued on OH 9, instead of turning off to Belmont, to St. Clairsville, where I knew there was a mall off I-70. I knew I could get a cheap and fast lunch at the mall. I had a slice of pizza, a small salad, and a diet Pepsi. Coming out, I could see that the traffic heading back to St. Clairsville was backed up. I decided to go back to the Ohio River and visit the old town of Bellaire.
I was on I-470 in Ohio, the bypass around Wheeling, West Virginia. Traffic stopped dead for a half hour. I saw trucks stalled on the road for no apparent reason. I thought maybe there was some kind of trucker strike, like last year. A Pittsburgh radio station talked about how traffic was stopped all over the region. Apparently, it was because of ice on the roads.
I finally reached Bellaire, stopping at a Dairy Queen for an ice cream and another bathroom. I tried to get Mapquest on my phone, but typically, I couldn't get internet service on my useless Samsung Galaxy S4 with Sprint service, when it works. I had written the addresses of the five historic places in town. I found two. My research found that once upon a time there were three synagogues in this town. The 1920 census showed 15, 061 people in Bellaire. In 2010, there were 4, 278. This is what the rust belt looks like.
I had planned to be out six hours, three to drive both ways and three to explore. With all the traffic problems, the only place I really got to look at was Bellaire.
The joke on me was that Sunday was much warmer, and there was no rain. If I were into magical thinking, I would say I was punished for ditching Torah study Saturday morning to go exploring.
Here are some pictures from Bellaire, Ohio, Saturday, November 22, 2014, between 2;30 and 3:45 P.M. The temperature was around 45 F., and there was an on-and-off drizzle under cloudy skies.
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| Traffic backed up on I-470 in eastern Ohio |
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| Village square in Bellaire. The high school is in the background |
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| B&O Railroad Bridge from across the Ohio River into town |
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| First Christian Church. This is near where there was once a synagogue. Maybe it was in this building? |
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| United Presbyterian Church |
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| Bellaire Public Library |
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Belmont Street, the main drag through downtown
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Thursday, November 20, 2014
Israel
Note: I am in a same-gender marriage to Rabbi Joe Hample, spiritual leader of Tree of Life, a Reform synagogue in Morgantown, West Virginia. I am publishing this without showing it to the Rabbi. The opinions here are my own, not his. Nor do they necessarily represent the views of members of Tree of Life.
Rabbi Joe sermonized about Israel on Yom Kippur. He called for a separation of the Jews and Arabs in Palestine with the establishment of an Arab state in the West Bank and Gaza. It was brave of him to say that when the government in Israel seems to be opposed. Still, if Israel is to remain a Jewish state, the Arabs need to have their own government.
Since then, the world has seen the rise of militants in Iraq and Syria, failing governments in Yemen and Libya, and Arab attacks on Jewish civilians in Israel, particularly in Jerusalem. This past Tuesday, November 18, two Arabs attacked a group of Orthodox Jews at morning prayer in Har Hof, a West Jerusalem neighborhood favored by English speakers from the United States and Britain. People were shot, stabbed and hacked with a meat cleaver in the middle of their prayers. Ultimately, a police officer, an ethnic Druze, shot and killed the two attackers. The policeman himself died of injuries.
Israel annexed all of Jerusalem after the Six-Day War in 1967. Many in the Arab community, who were the majority in that area before 1967, are not happy to be in a Jewish state. They have the rights of citizenship, but Israel is clearly set up for the benefit of Jews. The definition of "Jerusalem" has been expanded to include all the land up to Hebron. Jewish-only settlements have been built on land the Arabs want for their own state.
Until the attack this week, I had the impression, from visiting Jerusalem in 1985 and 2007 and from talking to friends and reading about Israel, that religion was not an issue between people. There was a "live and let live" attitude. Tensions were worse between the so-called "Ultra-Orthodox" and "secular" Jews. I use quotes because many in both camps object to those terms. Some pundits think these killers were inspired by ISIS to kill Jews at prayer, and that is possible. Tension may be high because some Jews are demanding the right to pray on the Temple Mount, site of Solomon's temple, but the site of a mosque since the seventh century. After the 1967 conquest of East Jerusalem, the Temple Mount was placed under Moslem jurisdiction and Jews could visit, but not pray. Maybe it shouldn't be a big deal, but I don't see the point of Jews praying there if it affronts Muslim sensibilities. Our prayers, as Jews, have not depended on being at the Temple Mount for almost two thousand years. As a liberal, Diaspora Jew, I say "Let them have it."
Speaking of liberals, the rhetoric from friends on Facebook has been hysterical and not helpful. People are quoting from sources without investigating them. I mean from "TheRightScoop.com or well-known haters like Pamela Geller or Michelle Malkin. People I know buy whatever these horrible people are saying about how "Liberals hate Israel."I won't even repeat what they say about Islam generally. In the past, I've asked well-meaning people not to post from people like Mike Huckabee, Glenn Beck, or Ben Carson. When I read something, I consider the source before I consider their arguments. If it's Cal Thomas (who appears in the Morgantown Dominion-Post) or someone who I know is racist and homophobic, or if it comes from an unreliable source like Fox News, I ignore it. Yes, CNN, The Washington Post and even the New York Times have been unreliable. My readings on Israel are likely to come from Ha'aretz, a liberal, English-language paper from Israel that provides a variety of opinions directly from Israel. I follow Ha'aretz on Twitter. My few Israeli friends are people who have moved there from the United States. I don't often agree with them.
What I've read about the community where these murders took place is that the people are at prayer. Thousands attended the funeral of the non-Jewish police officer who was killed. They are not asking for revenge. What they have done is mourn the dead, affirm their attachment to Israel, to the Jewish people and to their own families. I join with my fellow Jews in these endeavors.
I feel helpless. The Islamic world is spinning out of control. Israel, like the United States, has become more divided, more ruled by ugliness, money and thuggery than in the past. I ask that we take a step back, listen to the other side, be charitable and pray for peace with respect for everyone in the world.
Rabbi Joe sermonized about Israel on Yom Kippur. He called for a separation of the Jews and Arabs in Palestine with the establishment of an Arab state in the West Bank and Gaza. It was brave of him to say that when the government in Israel seems to be opposed. Still, if Israel is to remain a Jewish state, the Arabs need to have their own government.
Since then, the world has seen the rise of militants in Iraq and Syria, failing governments in Yemen and Libya, and Arab attacks on Jewish civilians in Israel, particularly in Jerusalem. This past Tuesday, November 18, two Arabs attacked a group of Orthodox Jews at morning prayer in Har Hof, a West Jerusalem neighborhood favored by English speakers from the United States and Britain. People were shot, stabbed and hacked with a meat cleaver in the middle of their prayers. Ultimately, a police officer, an ethnic Druze, shot and killed the two attackers. The policeman himself died of injuries.
Israel annexed all of Jerusalem after the Six-Day War in 1967. Many in the Arab community, who were the majority in that area before 1967, are not happy to be in a Jewish state. They have the rights of citizenship, but Israel is clearly set up for the benefit of Jews. The definition of "Jerusalem" has been expanded to include all the land up to Hebron. Jewish-only settlements have been built on land the Arabs want for their own state.
Until the attack this week, I had the impression, from visiting Jerusalem in 1985 and 2007 and from talking to friends and reading about Israel, that religion was not an issue between people. There was a "live and let live" attitude. Tensions were worse between the so-called "Ultra-Orthodox" and "secular" Jews. I use quotes because many in both camps object to those terms. Some pundits think these killers were inspired by ISIS to kill Jews at prayer, and that is possible. Tension may be high because some Jews are demanding the right to pray on the Temple Mount, site of Solomon's temple, but the site of a mosque since the seventh century. After the 1967 conquest of East Jerusalem, the Temple Mount was placed under Moslem jurisdiction and Jews could visit, but not pray. Maybe it shouldn't be a big deal, but I don't see the point of Jews praying there if it affronts Muslim sensibilities. Our prayers, as Jews, have not depended on being at the Temple Mount for almost two thousand years. As a liberal, Diaspora Jew, I say "Let them have it."
Speaking of liberals, the rhetoric from friends on Facebook has been hysterical and not helpful. People are quoting from sources without investigating them. I mean from "TheRightScoop.com or well-known haters like Pamela Geller or Michelle Malkin. People I know buy whatever these horrible people are saying about how "Liberals hate Israel."I won't even repeat what they say about Islam generally. In the past, I've asked well-meaning people not to post from people like Mike Huckabee, Glenn Beck, or Ben Carson. When I read something, I consider the source before I consider their arguments. If it's Cal Thomas (who appears in the Morgantown Dominion-Post) or someone who I know is racist and homophobic, or if it comes from an unreliable source like Fox News, I ignore it. Yes, CNN, The Washington Post and even the New York Times have been unreliable. My readings on Israel are likely to come from Ha'aretz, a liberal, English-language paper from Israel that provides a variety of opinions directly from Israel. I follow Ha'aretz on Twitter. My few Israeli friends are people who have moved there from the United States. I don't often agree with them.
What I've read about the community where these murders took place is that the people are at prayer. Thousands attended the funeral of the non-Jewish police officer who was killed. They are not asking for revenge. What they have done is mourn the dead, affirm their attachment to Israel, to the Jewish people and to their own families. I join with my fellow Jews in these endeavors.
I feel helpless. The Islamic world is spinning out of control. Israel, like the United States, has become more divided, more ruled by ugliness, money and thuggery than in the past. I ask that we take a step back, listen to the other side, be charitable and pray for peace with respect for everyone in the world.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
High Holidays 5775 (The Remix)
I didn't feel much of the holiday spirit this year. If I were to repent of anything, I would have said I need to say "No" more often. What I want to do is write more; what I'm doing is chanting Torah on Yom Kippur, working on a history project for Tree of Life, serving on a commission for "LGBT Equity" at West Virginia University, and keeping house. Not that all these things aren't worthwhile, or that keeping house wasn't to be expected when I got married.
Being Jewish in Morgantown does not entirely give me what I need. I'm starting to fight back against the "War on Christmas" mentality that dominates this area. I wished all my Christian acquaintances "Shana Tova" in the way they all wish me "Merry Christmas" because "Happy Holidays" doesn't work for them. The more curious asked me what it meant and when were the holidays, the less curious just looked at me. One of the slogans in Morgantown is "Building A Diverse Community." And yet, WVU's homecoming parade was Friday night on Yom Kippur, and the big football game was late afternoon Saturday. Morgantown High had its homecoming parade the evening of Rosh Hashana, and apparently would not excuse absences for the next day. I'm feeling that "Diversity" does not include Jews. Last week was "Diversity Week" at the University, and they did advertise Israeli dancing, but that's as Jewish as it got.
The High Holy Day cantor at Tree of Life flies in from Mexico every year. This year he called around September 1 to say he was ill and couldn't come. In the scramble to find someone else, Joe and I came up with a mutual friend, Rabbi Yossi Carron, who worked as a cantor at one time, then became a rabbi. He has worked as a chaplain in the prisons, and Joe interned with him one summer. This gave Joe the confidence to pursue a job in the prisons.
The way it worked out with the congregation, Joe and I had to drive him eighty miles to and from the airport in Pittsburgh twice, and put him up at our house. Someone offered to find him somewhere else to stay, but he told this person he wanted to stay with his friends. This was hard for us, because I needed time to work on my Torah chanting, and Rabbi Joe had sermons to write, and three funerals in the days after Rosh Hashana. It was stressful for us to have someone in our two bedroom house.
Services turned out well. The congregants loved Yossi. He kissed and hugged all the older women, flirted with the young men (who didn't seem to mind), schmaltzed up all the singing, which people considered "spiritual." The sticklers didn't like that he forgot or mispronounced much of the Hebrew. The complainer I heard from asked me why I didn’t take over for the holidays. I told him “ I don’t have the strength to do a full holiday schedule. And I would never do holidays with just three weeks to prepare.” I hope he realized we were blessed that Yossi had the chutzpah to walk in at the last minute and do a full holiday schedule.
I laughed when Yossi sang "The Way We Were" during the Yizkor Memorial service on Yom Kippur afternoon. But by the end of the song, I felt nostalgic for the past, and sorry for the passage of time strongly enough to tear up. Of course, it was late afternoon, and though I didn't fast, I hadn't had a lot to eat and I was tired. Ultimately, the Yom Kippur magic worked for me, even though I was determined not to feel it. At the end, I knew I would be a better person in 5775.
Yossi charmed us too. One of my complaints about Morgantown is that we don't have older gay men for friends here. Yossi and Joe sat around at dinner and breakfast challenging each other with the lyrics of obscure Sondheim musicals. It was the only time during the holidays that Joe really relaxed and had fun.
In addition to loving Joe, I admire him as a rabbi. He was always a skilled speaker. At the evening service on Yom Kippur, he spoke about Israel, from the heart. He took what would be considered a leftist view in most synagogues, calling for an Arab state in the West Bank and Gaza, whatever it takes, and despite the obvious risks. People praised his speech to me, but said they feared others would be critical. I'm not sure anyone was. I have rarely been more proud of my Joe.
We've finished the holidays, and today, October 9, is the first day of Sukkot, the harvest holiday where we eat lots and hang out with friends in the autumn air. Despite the stress, we enjoyed having Yossi with us. Joe still has work for Sukkot and Simchat Torah. I try to take this time to enjoy autumn and relax.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
65
I'm sixty-five now. I keep having to repeat that. Soon I will believe it. On my actual birthday, I taught a class to people over fifty (mostly over seventy) about the music of the British invasion of the Sixties. This week was 1968. I played music and videos from The Beatles, "Hey Jude" and The Beatles (aka "The White Album"). I played The Rolling Stones singing "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and some excerpts from Beggars Banquet. I lost them with a video of Cream playing "White Room" and excerpts from Wheels of Fire. A woman I'm friendly with raised her hand and asked "Why are we listening to this noise?"
I tried to explain, as I did to family and sometimes friends in 1968, "This isn't 'Yummy, Yummy, Yummy I've Got Love In My Tummy.' It's not aimed at ten-year-old girls like most Top 40 music. You have to listen more intently. It might take time to get used to it." So I guess I haven't learned anything in the last forty-seven years. I got the same blank look I got in 1968. Someone in the class brought cookies because they knew it was my birthday.
I had lunch at Subway with a seventy-five year old man in the class. He grew up in New York, and although not Jewish, he knew lots of Jews then and even now in Morgantown. His wife died some time ago, and he asked me "Are there available women at your temple?" I mentioned two widows in their sixties who might be available. "I know them. I don't want anyone like that. Look at me. I'm in great shape for my age." (He's not.) " Isn't there anyone younger?"
At that point, I silently thanked God for sending me Joe, gray-haired, balding (not as bald as I am) and only seven years younger than I am. Old enough that we have things to talk about, and young enough to be my "young man."
There was a class about Yiddish theater with a movie in the afternoon, then I ran some errands and went home to crash. Tappuz the cat slept with me.
Joe thought we should go someplace fancy for dinner. We did, although I wasn't hungry after all the cookies, and I was tired. There was one other occupied table with an older couple and a young woman. I didn't know them. At least that's what I thought, but the older woman said "Hi, Barry. Happy birthday!" I couldn't place her, but it turns out she is in my class. She couldn't come that day. I should have remembered her.
Some of the food was good. My entrée was just average. Everything was expensive. I couldn't wait to leave. I'm always glad to go out, but I was tired and not feeling that well. I was reminded of my mother insisting we go out someplace fancy for my twenty-first birthday. I was a hippie college student then, a senior, and seriously depressed. Depressed enough that I wouldn't go to a shrink because I was afraid they would hospitalize me. The thought of getting dressed up enough to go to a nice restaurant sent my stomach into spasms. I hadn't eaten much that day, and I was in pain. I barely got through dinner then. An allergist years later explained that my stomach ailments, always around my birthday, were a seasonal allergy. Now you tell me.
I look at now and I have to do the Jewish thing. I have to be grateful for all the gifts in my life. I have a handsome, good, hard-working man at home who loves me. The times have changed enough that I can thank the waiter for not asking if we want separate checks and he'll answer "I'm young, but I'm not that young." I'll introduce my husband to a male-female couple, and they'll say to him "We've heard so much about you from members of your congregation. They just love you." As of two weeks ago, the state accepts our marriage. Most of the people aren't happy about it, but we've already changed people's minds about same-gender marriage, even here.
I have a body that works, with a little pharmaceutical help. I've dodged polio, teenage drivers, Vietnam and AIDS. I survived a heart attack, and done many dangerous things I hope no one finds out about. I'm still here. Sounds like a Sondheim song :" I've lived through George and George W., Nixon-Agnew. " I should leave lyric writing to Mr. Sondheim.
I understand mortality. I'm four years younger than my father when he died, and ten years younger than my mother. I get it. Still, I look in the mirror and say "Not bad." I remember and study the past, live in the present, and still have plans for the future. Joe is throwing me a dinner and dance party this weekend.
I tried to explain, as I did to family and sometimes friends in 1968, "This isn't 'Yummy, Yummy, Yummy I've Got Love In My Tummy.' It's not aimed at ten-year-old girls like most Top 40 music. You have to listen more intently. It might take time to get used to it." So I guess I haven't learned anything in the last forty-seven years. I got the same blank look I got in 1968. Someone in the class brought cookies because they knew it was my birthday.
I had lunch at Subway with a seventy-five year old man in the class. He grew up in New York, and although not Jewish, he knew lots of Jews then and even now in Morgantown. His wife died some time ago, and he asked me "Are there available women at your temple?" I mentioned two widows in their sixties who might be available. "I know them. I don't want anyone like that. Look at me. I'm in great shape for my age." (He's not.) " Isn't there anyone younger?"
At that point, I silently thanked God for sending me Joe, gray-haired, balding (not as bald as I am) and only seven years younger than I am. Old enough that we have things to talk about, and young enough to be my "young man."
There was a class about Yiddish theater with a movie in the afternoon, then I ran some errands and went home to crash. Tappuz the cat slept with me.
Joe thought we should go someplace fancy for dinner. We did, although I wasn't hungry after all the cookies, and I was tired. There was one other occupied table with an older couple and a young woman. I didn't know them. At least that's what I thought, but the older woman said "Hi, Barry. Happy birthday!" I couldn't place her, but it turns out she is in my class. She couldn't come that day. I should have remembered her.
Some of the food was good. My entrée was just average. Everything was expensive. I couldn't wait to leave. I'm always glad to go out, but I was tired and not feeling that well. I was reminded of my mother insisting we go out someplace fancy for my twenty-first birthday. I was a hippie college student then, a senior, and seriously depressed. Depressed enough that I wouldn't go to a shrink because I was afraid they would hospitalize me. The thought of getting dressed up enough to go to a nice restaurant sent my stomach into spasms. I hadn't eaten much that day, and I was in pain. I barely got through dinner then. An allergist years later explained that my stomach ailments, always around my birthday, were a seasonal allergy. Now you tell me.
I look at now and I have to do the Jewish thing. I have to be grateful for all the gifts in my life. I have a handsome, good, hard-working man at home who loves me. The times have changed enough that I can thank the waiter for not asking if we want separate checks and he'll answer "I'm young, but I'm not that young." I'll introduce my husband to a male-female couple, and they'll say to him "We've heard so much about you from members of your congregation. They just love you." As of two weeks ago, the state accepts our marriage. Most of the people aren't happy about it, but we've already changed people's minds about same-gender marriage, even here.
I have a body that works, with a little pharmaceutical help. I've dodged polio, teenage drivers, Vietnam and AIDS. I survived a heart attack, and done many dangerous things I hope no one finds out about. I'm still here. Sounds like a Sondheim song :" I've lived through George and George W., Nixon-Agnew. " I should leave lyric writing to Mr. Sondheim.
I understand mortality. I'm four years younger than my father when he died, and ten years younger than my mother. I get it. Still, I look in the mirror and say "Not bad." I remember and study the past, live in the present, and still have plans for the future. Joe is throwing me a dinner and dance party this weekend.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Re: Marriage
In my last post, I mentioned that the Supreme Court, by refusing to hear appeals by states to overturn lower court rulings in favor of marriage equality, opened the door to our marriage being recognized in West Virginia. The circuit court gave West Virginia's anti-gay attorney general, Patrick Morrisey, two weeks to come up with a reason to stop same-gender marriage. Last week, Morrisey folded and same-gender marriage is now allowed in West Virginia. The papers have had pictures of couples, often two women with children, signing up for marriage in some of West Virginia's more rural counties. A pastor in a rural town not far from Morgantown railed impotently against the new rules. He swore he would not marry a same-gender couple in his church. As if anyone would ask.
I wrote a letter to the editor of The Dominion-Post, which they published Wednesday, October 14. Next to it was a letter from someone in a town of 380 in the eastern panhandle, complaining that the courts had overstepped, because the states have the right to define marriage, according to his reading of the Constitution. That issue was settled with the demise of laws against interracial marriages fifty-some years ago.
Here's my letter:
It didn't seem like it would be a big deal. We married in California in 2008 just before Prop 8 passed there, ending the spate of marriages that had lasted a few months. Our marriage remained legal in California, and when asked, I always said "I'm married," even when we moved to West Virginia in 2012. We've made lots of friends here, but I still felt hostility, particularly when I asked Senator Manchin and Congressman McKinley to support same-gender marriage and they wouldn't. Just this week, Senate candidate Capito said she believes "marriage is between a man and a woman." Attorney General Morrisey has never even pretended to be a friend to gay people. Still, when DOMA was defeated, I was able to put my spouse on my health insurance, saving us $6500 per year.
Despite my jadedness, both Joe and I have been walking around smiling since marriage equality came to West Virginia. We feel more "at home" here.
What has moved me are the pictures and stories of people in rural counties as well as the cities signing up to marry. They usually say "We're just like everybody else." But they're not, and we're not. We've all been through a lot. We've had to come out to ourselves, risk losing our families, our friends and our religion to be who we really are. Those of us who are married and marrying have found love and are running with it, and the court has recognized our right as free people in the United States of America to marry the person we choose.
Many people in West Virginia oppose same-gender marriage, they say, because they are conservatives. To me, marrying my boyfriend six years ago was the most conservative thing I could have done.
It's been a great week in West Virginia. Thanks to Governor Earl Ray Tomblin, the Morgantown City Council and WVU President E. Gordon Gee for supporting us.
I wrote a letter to the editor of The Dominion-Post, which they published Wednesday, October 14. Next to it was a letter from someone in a town of 380 in the eastern panhandle, complaining that the courts had overstepped, because the states have the right to define marriage, according to his reading of the Constitution. That issue was settled with the demise of laws against interracial marriages fifty-some years ago.
Here's my letter:
It didn't seem like it would be a big deal. We married in California in 2008 just before Prop 8 passed there, ending the spate of marriages that had lasted a few months. Our marriage remained legal in California, and when asked, I always said "I'm married," even when we moved to West Virginia in 2012. We've made lots of friends here, but I still felt hostility, particularly when I asked Senator Manchin and Congressman McKinley to support same-gender marriage and they wouldn't. Just this week, Senate candidate Capito said she believes "marriage is between a man and a woman." Attorney General Morrisey has never even pretended to be a friend to gay people. Still, when DOMA was defeated, I was able to put my spouse on my health insurance, saving us $6500 per year.
Despite my jadedness, both Joe and I have been walking around smiling since marriage equality came to West Virginia. We feel more "at home" here.
What has moved me are the pictures and stories of people in rural counties as well as the cities signing up to marry. They usually say "We're just like everybody else." But they're not, and we're not. We've all been through a lot. We've had to come out to ourselves, risk losing our families, our friends and our religion to be who we really are. Those of us who are married and marrying have found love and are running with it, and the court has recognized our right as free people in the United States of America to marry the person we choose.
Many people in West Virginia oppose same-gender marriage, they say, because they are conservatives. To me, marrying my boyfriend six years ago was the most conservative thing I could have done.
It's been a great week in West Virginia. Thanks to Governor Earl Ray Tomblin, the Morgantown City Council and WVU President E. Gordon Gee for supporting us.
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