Category Archives: Drama

Marvin’s Room (1996), directed by Jerry Zaks

marvins-room-posterBoth of my parents died suddenly while they were still leading active lives. I never had to think about elder care or nursing homes. It was not until a friend of mine asked me to accompany him on a visit to some assisted-living and nursing home facilities that I began to understand the dilemma that families experience when they are facing the reality of caring for a loved one who cannot take care of himself. Children want to do the right thing, but decisions are often made not by considering what’s best but by what is affordable.

There is a scene in Marvin’s Room, a serious drama with lots of comic relief, which captures this dilemma. Two daughters, opposite in temperament, are visiting a senior care facility for their father who has been “dying for the past twenty years,” and who now needs full-time attention. One sister, Bessie, has been caring for Marvin, her father, for the past 17 years, even since he had his first stroke. The other sister, Lee, has been absent all those years, and even now does not want to make a personal sacrifice for her ailing father. She fears that her future will be compromised and states unequivocally: “In a few months, I’ll have my cosmetology degree. My life is just coming together; I’m not going to give it all up, now!”

What brings the sisters together after so many years in the sad news that Bessie has leukemia and may not be able to care for her father any longer. Bessie contacts Lee, who has two boys, and asks her to come with her kids so that they all can be tested as potential bone marrow donors. They may be able to save her life; and as a consequence, Bessie can continue to care for their father. If Bessie passes, the responsibility will fall to Lee. That possible scenario is the catalyst for their visit to the elder care facility.

Complicating factors is Lee’s oldest son, Hank, who has been in a mental institution after deliberately burning down their house in a act of rebellion against his mother whom he hates and who he feels was the cause of the split between his parents. Hank idealizes an absentee and abusive father who he barely knew and his mother feels the brunt of this anger. Family dysfunction abounds.

Marvin’s Room gives us a window into the world of families faced with awesome decisions. It exposes the raw nerves of a family, both challenged and confused by an inevitable future. The film depicts two points of view, one very dark and one optimistic, suggesting that confronting the mortality of a loved one can be a stimulus for reinventing one’s life and reordering life’s priorities. In fact, Lee and Hank finally undergo an epiphany in which they understand that living fully means giving to others, not just being concerned about one’s own needs.

The Talmud tells us that it is better to visit the house of mourning than the house of feasting because the lessons learned there are so profound and so meaningful for purposeful living. Moreover, the Bible exalts the commandment of honoring parents, which is defined in books of Jewish law as providing for the needs of parents, especially when they get older and cannot take care of themselves. This includes feeding them, clothing them, escorting them, and respecting them. Marvin’s Room provides a textbook case of varied responses to a life problem facing many, and in its own idiosyncratic way recommends that love trumps all. Family endures when children and parents care for one another.

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Live Free or Die Hard (2007), directed by Len Wiseman

mv5bndqxmde1otg4nv5bml5banbnxkftztcwmtmzotqzmw-_v1_sy317_cr00214317_The computer teacher, the techie, is often the most powerful member of the teaching staff in a high school. He controls the keys to the kingdom of the Internet. He can enable teachers and students to enter the portals of Google, Wikipedia, and a variety of social networks. He can expand their worlds.

As a school principal for many years, I observed the transformation of the school office via computer applications. Instead of two or three secretaries, we eventually needed only one. Instead of dictating speeches and correspondence through a Dictaphone machine, we now wrote and corrected our own material using Microsoft Word. Furthermore, we mostly used the more convenient and speedy electronic mail rather than snail mail, which was slower and used so much paper. Currently, when I have to inform my parents and students in Israel of school news and changes in class schedules and syllabi, we use email and social media outlets, not letters or phone calls.

The computer guru, in truth, can be a beacon of light bringing wisdom and enlightenment to the world, but he can also be a sinister force for evil if he uses the computer to lord over others and take advantage of them. In truth, the computer can be a powerful means to control and shape politics and economics in a destructive way. Such is the premise of Live Free or Die Hard, part of the Die Hard series of movies starring Bruce Willis. In it, a computer genius, Thomas Gabriel, designs a plan to create worldwide chaos so that he can profit from the ensuing panic and destruction. Can he be stopped in time is the classic question in this formulaic but exceptional action-packed thriller. Gabriel begins by sabotaging the nation’s infrastructure. Traffic signals malfunction, trains and planes come to a halt, the stock market closes, and the financial systems of the nation are breached. He then launches a plan to take out the nation’s power grid. Gabriel is able to do this because, as a former national security director responsible for building the security systems, he knows the systems inside and out, including all its vulnerabilities.

Why is he so hell-bent on causing so much human damage through computer manipulations?  The back story informs us that many years earlier he attempted to interrupt a Joint Chief of Staffs meeting to share his professional expertise and to point out weaknesses in the nation’s security system using only his laptop. At the time, he was rebuked and publically humiliated. As a result, he now wants to show all those who mocked him that he truly does have the power to control events and they do not. He wants money and he wants revenge.

Watching this film reminded me of the many people I have observed in positions of power. The best of such people work selflessly for the community with no personal agenda. The worst see the possession of power as an opportunity for payback, to control, and to intimidate. It can be very scary for one who falls within their orbit.

The Talmud tells us in many places that the possession of power brings with it responsibilities. The classic example is King David. He does not seek kingship. Rather it is thrust upon him, and he struggles to leave a positive legacy. He is not perfect, but he tries to be loyal to God and beneficent to his subjects. All he wants is for his people to actualize their spiritual potential, to be all they can be. David understands that power may corrupt, and that it is wise to temper power with an abiding sense of community responsibility. Power is neutral. It is our job to harness it for good.

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Chronicle (2012), directed by Josh Trank

Chronicle posterThe unexpected violence at Newtown, Connecticut, sparked much controversy about legislating tougher gun control laws. Moreover, there has been much discussion about mental illness and the role it plays in these nightmare scenarios where children are murdered by a depressed or belligerent teenager. How can we identify the loner, the mentally unbalanced person, before he acts out his violent fantasies?

Chronicle does not answer any questions, but as a former high school principal for many years, I can tell you that the alienation and loneliness of Seattle high-school teenager Andrew Detmer depicted in this dark, disturbing, and profanity-laden film ring true. I recall vividly a student in my school who always was absorbed in her own world, who had very little meaningful connection to her peers, and who generally seemed depressed. About five years after she graduated, I read in the newspaper that she had been murdered. I never learned the details, but her tragic end was not surprising to me. She was the victim, not the perpetrator, but her social isolation set the stage for a turbulent future.

In Chronicle, we can actually trace the evolution of a high school loner into a full-fledged murderer. To those who interact with him in a pleasant way, Andrew is a decent guy; but under the quiet façade is an angry young man poised to do terrible things.

To combat loneliness, Andrew buys an expensive camera and takes it everywhere to record his life. He is obsessed with filming his day to day existence, which is very unhappy. His mother is dying of cancer, his father yells at him and beats him, and the kids at school bully him. Using the video camera enables him to distance himself from the sordid life he is actually living and allows him to create his own reality.

The crux of the film details the encounter of Andrew and his friends Matt and Steve with a strange substance that gives all of them telekinetic powers. At first, the use of these special gifts is a game, but they soon realize that it is a gift that can be used for good or bad, to create or destroy, to help or to harm.

Over time, Andrew becomes more isolated from everyone and hostile to those who make fun of him. Away from friends and family, he begins to see himself as an “apex predator,” someone who feels no guilt for using his power to inflict pain on those who hurt him. His isolation grows and he ultimately decides to steal and physically to hurt other people to accomplish his personal goals, which to him are reasonable and just. As Andrew’s power grows, he uses it more to advance his own personal agenda, and people feel his wrath.

The Talmud instructs us not to separate from the community. The community is the anchor to normality and connects us to concerns other than our own. Moreover, the community elevates us and enables us to achieve higher levels of spiritual transcendence and holiness. That’s why Jews pray preferably pray in a quorum of ten because ten in Jewish tradition represents the community. Separation from it creates risks for all. Andrew’s aberrant behavior reminds us of this.

Linkage to community perhaps is the antidote to the loneliness that fosters disconnectedness and, in a worst case scenario, destructive behavior. The violence at Newtown should make us think about the idea and reality of community. Do we do enough to welcome the stranger, to make the loner feel accepted as part of a larger community? Do we bring the loner into the family of man or do we let him struggle as he defines himself as an outsider? Jewish tradition tells us that there is more that binds us than divides us. We are all created in God’s image, and there is no fixed image of a godly person. In truth, it is the divinity within every man that connects us all, regardless of how we look or present ourselves to others. If we understand this, then we can make the outsider an insider.

 

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The Rainmaker (1997), directed by Francis Ford Coppola

rainmaker-posterA friend of mine has been studying for the actuarial examinations for the past several years, but without success in passing them. He has hired private tutors to help him, taken online courses, and devotes an hour daily to working on practice tests; but the examination still eludes him. He is a very intelligent young man, a National Merit Scholar in Math, but his paycheck is small without the credential of Enrolled Actuary. Presently, he works for a pension fund company which hired him with the hope that he will soon pass the test that will qualify him for more responsibility in the office and a bigger salary. In the interim, his keen analysis of data and company files has enabled his company to save millions of dollars because of discoveries he has made in the accounting processes of his firm, even though he lacks an official actuarial credential.

There is a character in Francis Ford Coppola’s exceptional legal drama, The Rainmaker, who mimics what happened to my friend. Deck Shifflet is a paralegal who has failed the bar exam six times, but he is a master at locating critical information about insurance companies and their economically driven claims policies. His resourcefulness enables him to get hired by law firms who take advantage of his knowledge at a fraction of the cost of a full-fledged attorney.

The Rainmaker revolves around the case of a middle-aged couple, Dot and Buddy Black, who file suit against an insurance company, Great Benefit, which denied insurance coverage for a bone marrow transplant for their 22-year old son Donny Ray, dying of leukemia. In spite of religiously paying their premiums for many years, they are victimized by small print in the insurance contract which precludes the company paying for aggressive procedures to cure their son. Moreover, Great Benefit has a corporate policy of denying all claims when they are first presented. It is only the customers who press on despite initial rejection of their claim who receive any compensation at all.

Rudy Baylor, a young attorney representing the Blacks against the high-powered lawyers for Great Benefit, has just passed the Tennessee bar exam; but he has never before argued a case in front of a judge and jury. It is a daunting task for a rookie attorney, but he has a secret weapon in Deck Shifflet. When all seems lost, it is Deck who repeatedly comes up with an innovative strategy that potentially can win the case, or locate a crucial witness who has long since dropped out of sight.

The Ethics of the Fathers tells us that the wise person learns from every man. Deck in professional terms is a loser, but he possesses the street smarts needed to be successful in the sinister world of insurance fraud. Deck reminds us that the possession of a credential, a degree or a license, does not guarantee wisdom, insight, or financial success.

Rudy recognizes Deck’s value and partners with him in his law practice. It is a partnership founded on genuine friendship, mutual trust, and respect. Each one relies on the other for expertise in the area where they are weak. Rudy’s sincerity and humility impress the jury, but it is Deck’s resourceful research and knowledge of human nature that buttress Rudy’s legal arguments before the jury.

Our Sages teach us that we should never belittle any man for every man has his hour of glory, his moment in the sun. The synergy of Rudy and Deck remind us that every person has something to contribute to the greater good regardless of pedigree, regardless of intellectual or social background. No one should be considered insignificant.

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3:10 to Yuma (2007), directed by James Mangold

Three ten to Yuma posterI recently taught a poem entitled “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden to my eleventh grade English class. The poem is about the relationship between fathers and sons, how a son finally understands how much his father did for him as he raised him from boy to man. He remembers how hard his father worked to maintain his household and “no one ever thanked him.” He acknowledges that he was unaware of his father’s love for him, which was expressed in taking care of the daily needs of his family: “ What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?”

These lines resonate in many films that show the complex relationship between fathers and sons, many of which reveal the son not appreciating his father until the father has passed away.

3:10 to Yuma is the story of Dan Evans, a poor rancher and veteran of the Civil War, who is struggling to keep his land in the face of people who want to take it away from him and sell it to the railroad at exorbitant profit. When two men set his barn on fire, he resolves to make things right; but his son, William, has little hope that his father can do this. When Dan tells his son that he will understand when he walks in his shoes, his son bitterly responds, “I ain’t never walking in your shoes.” He sees his father as weak and incapable of fixing anything. He does not see inner courage, only outer trembling.

Dan is pained by his son’s low estimation of him and will do anything to be a hero in his eyes, even escort Ben Wade, a notorious bank robber and murderer, to federal court in Yuma where he will probably be hanged. For a payment of $200 from the railroad company, a huge sum in those days, he puts his life on the line to save his farm and to redeem himself and his family. He wants his son to know that he was the one who brought Ben Wade to Yuma for trial when nobody else would, a feat that would impress and draw the admiration of his son. Against near impossible odds, he gets Ben Wade to the train to Yuma but with tragic consequences.

The Bible tells us that the commandment of honoring parents is rewarded with long life. A parent of a student I teach recently complained to me about his teenage son who almost never speaks to him. My friend said:  “I wish he was an adult already. Then we could talk to one another normally.” He also told me that even though he often told his son that he loved him, his son never told him “I love you, Dad.” He had no doubt that his son loved him but he wanted his son to have long life; it weighed on his mind that his son didn’t seem to understand how meaningful it would be if he would be more forthcoming with expressions of parental appreciation and affection.  To the father, expressing love verbally was a way to honor parents and for his son to receive the reward of long life. He was perplexed that his son was not taking advantage of this spiritual opportunity. Moreover, my friend was fearful that he would no longer be living in this world when his son finally wanted to verbally express his love.

3:10 to Yuma has a lot to say about father-son relationships. It reminds us of how much a father wants to be a good role model for his son, and how satisfying it can be to a parent when children express appreciation and love. A parent-child dynamic may be rooted in love, but the roots have to be watered for that love to flourish.

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The African Queen (1951), directed by John Huston

African Queen posterI serve as a volunteer matchmaker on an international internet site, and as a volunteer I can choose which age group on which to focus. Although I try to be helpful to people of all ages, I especially like to work with the over-40 crowd. This is a challenging group since I find that the over-40 group is perceived very negatively as consisting of people who are confused, commitment-phobic, who have unrealistic expectations about a marriage partner, and who possess a streak of selfishness. While there may be a grain of truth in such a stereotype, I have found that, in most cases, these people have simply not found their destined one yet. And so I research the site and try to find a suitable match, and sometimes I happily succeed.

The idea that love begins after 40 is given cinematic reality in the classic film, The African Queen, starring a mature Humphrey Bogart, who plays Charlie Allnut, and Katherine Hepburn, who plays Rose, a Christian missionary. Charlie Allnut delivers mail and supplies to a remote African village while World War I rages in Europe.  When a contingent of German soldiers arrives at the village and sets it afire, Rose’s brother, also a missionary, becomes despondent and commits suicide. Charlie volunteers to take Rose, his surviving sister, to safety, and so begins their dangerous journey on Charlie’s boat The African Queen.

Charlie and Rose come from different worlds, but destiny has thrown them together. What begins as an adversarial relationship eventually morphs into love as they share perilous adventures together. Surviving treacherous rapids and the gunfire of German troops, they bond through shared adversity.

What emerges from their mutual trials is the revelation that Charlie and Rose share a common humanity, an innate honesty, and a positive attitude towards life. They are vastly different from their public personas. Charlie is not the proverbial drunken sailor; nor is Rose the conventional missionary.

Also noteworthy is their honest self-appraisal. Rose and Charlie have no illusions about one another. They do not long for a younger love. They live in the moment and want every minute to count. This approach to life is captured exquisitely in the final scene of the film in which Charlie asks a German ship captain to marry Rose and him when they are about to be hung for spying. The captain concludes the ceremony and declares: “By the authority vested in me by Kaiser William II, I pronounce you man and wife. Proceed with the execution.” What happens next defies description. Suffice it to say, the loving couple lives happily ever after.

What makes for a match in Jewish tradition? The Talmud tells us that making a match is like splitting the Red Sea, a miracle of major proportions. As a matchmaker, I can never predict why two people ultimately will connect emotionally. I just make a calculated guess and leave the rest up to God. The African Queen provides several examples of Providence taking over to produce positive results. Rain comes to free a boat entangled in a swamp. Makeshift torpedoes hit a target without being launched by a human being. All demonstrate that we can only do our best; but to be successful, God has to intervene.

Finally, what underpins my volunteer work is the belief that what binds a couple together is not just physical attraction. There has to be an intellectual connection as well. Moreover, there has to be a feeling of a shared spiritual destiny. Therefore, on the client’s profile page, I pay close attention to self-descriptions more than to dimensions of height and weight. Proverbs teaches us that “beauty is vain.” It passes and then we are left with who we really are.

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Hachi: a dog’s tale (2009), directed by Lasse Hallstrom

Hachi posterA friend of mine has two dogs. Whenever he and his wife go on vacation, they place the dogs in what is essentially a dog hotel where they will be fed, walked, and cared for while they enjoy their time off from work. Several months ago, one of the dogs died and my friend went through a genuine grieving experience. He was depressed, very mellow instead of his usual upbeat self, and generally quiet as he processed his loss. When I spoke to him, I felt that the dog was not just a dog to him, but functioned like a human friend, always there with him in times of trouble to comfort him and provide a beacon of light in dark times. The dog was a real companion that made his life more happy, more positive, and more fulfilling.

My friend’s attitude towards dogs resonated as I watched Hachi, the story of a remarkable dog who feels a special bond with its owner. Sent as a gift in a cage from Japan, the cage falls off a baggage cart leaving the dog alone and in danger. Professor Parker Wilson finds him and tries to locate its owner but to no avail. Soon he forms an attachment with Hachi and keeps him, much to the dismay of his wife Cate, who does not want a dog in the house. Cate relents, however, and soon the dog feels at home in the Wilson household.

One morning, Hachi follows Parker to the train station and returns in the afternoon by himself. There he greets his master as he exits the train station after a day at work. This ritual continues for a very long time, until Parker suffers a sudden fatal heart attack. The Wilson house is sold, Cate moves away, and Parker’s daughter Andy and her husband Michael take Hachi to live with them. Hachi, however, finds a way to return to his original home and then to the train station where he waits patiently for Parker for the next nine years. Hachi is fed by local vendors who remember his devotion to Professor Parker each day as he waited for him to return home.

Hachi is a dog story, but it is more than that. Like Aesop’s fables, animal stories are a metaphor for the human experience. Hachi reminds us to be intensely aware of the gratitude that we should show towards friends and family. Hachi is a foundling and Parker rescues him. That act of kindness has a ripple effect, remembered by Hachi for the rest of his life and celebrated by the many people who witnessed this act of loyalty and devotion by a dog.

The Talmud makes a similar point when it tells us that if someone teaches us only a single letter or a single verse, we must give that person honor. We are indebted to all those who are benevolent towards us.

In Judaism, the training ground for the nurturing of kindness is the home. It is here that the kindnesses that spouses show for each other and the kindnesses that parents show for children are locked into the family’s DNA. Here acts of kindness happen in the moment, but they transcend the moment and establish a psychological bank account for generations. The changing of a diaper, the emergency trip to the hospital, the act of giving birth all create emotional connections that are unbreakable.

At the heart of Hachi is the message that kindness needs to remembered and perhaps even memorialized. It is a dog story that tells us how important and meaningful it is to treasure the kind acts of others.

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The Tree of Life (2011), directed by Terrence Malick

Tree of Life posterWhen I was 12 years old, I had what I would call an “outer-body experience.” I thought I was in the presence of God. It happened in Mountaindale, New York, in heart of the Catskill Mountains where I was a camper at a religious boys’ camp. We were singing and dancing on Friday night on the holy Sabbath, and suddenly my whole body was tingling. I felt spiritually touched, as if I had gotten an A+ on a final and hit a home run at the same time. It was an exquisite moment.

I also recall that as a very little child, my mother, of blessed memory, encouraged me to say the following prayer when I went to bed: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” My mother planted in me a sense of the spiritual life, a sense that God was involved with me. I remember that my earliest conception of God was that of an old man who lived on the top floor of my friend Victor Delgrasso’s house. He had an ancient face and a black moustache; and from my child’s perspective, he possessed a kind of divine mystery.

I share these very early childhood memories because they resurfaced as I watched Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life, a one-of-a-kind movie that seriously attempts to give the viewer a notion of what life after death is like, and how love and forgiveness can enable us to cope with the inevitable inconsistencies and adversities that are part of existence.

Tree of Life takes place in the 1950s and recounts the story of a loving Texas family whose faith is tested in the crucible of life experience. The parents, played by Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain, experience the tragic death of two children, the father’s loss of his job, and the growing-up tensions between father and son that threaten to destroy their inherent love for one another. Life, which begins with hope and innocence, brings inconsistencies, loss, suffering, and death to the forefront, echoing the Book of Job which is quoted at several points in the film.

The story is told through the eyes of the 11-year-old son Jack and through the eyes of the adult Jack, a successful architect who seeks to discover meaning in a contemporary world where wealth is the measure of the man, not his spiritual sensitivity. The film is filled with images of doorways and ladders, as if to suggest that we need to enter another world to comprehend the one in which we are living.

The climax of the movie takes us through one of those doorways. As we cross the threshold, we glimpse the afterlife, an ethereal place where we are all reconciled with one another and where forgiveness is the operative emotion. Freed from the constraints of the real world, we can make peace with parents with whom we have had deep disagreements and create eternal bonds of love with people in our lives, both past and present, all of which makes our present life more bearable, meaningful, and spiritually satisfying. The Ethics of the Fathers tells us that one moment in the afterlife is more blissful than all of life in this world, suggesting that it is only from the aspect of eternity that we can truly transcend present adversities and appreciate the everyday miracles of life.

The Tree of Life, suffused with poetic images of beauty from all facets of creation, affirms that within one’s family are nurtured the seeds of love that allow us to endure and come to terms with the mysteries and tragedies of life.

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The Crucible (1996), directed by Nicolas Hytner

Crucible posterIn Israel, one of my jobs is teaching literature in an Israeli high school. A recent assignment was reading The Crucible, the celebrated Arthur Miller play which later was made into a movie whose screenplay was also written by Miller.

When one of my students asked why we are still reading this play, I responded that although it deals with the Salem witch trials of the 1690s and originally was written as an allegory of Senator Joe McCarthy’s Committee on Un-American Activities which took place in the 1950s, the play is still relevant today.

In a burst of creative energy, I googled  “movies about the McCarthy hearings” and discovered three dealing with the topic: the 1991 film Guilty by Suspicion, the 2005 film Goodnight and Good Luck and the 2007 documentary Trumbo. I then downloaded the trailers for all three films onto my iPad and showed them to my students before we read the play. I then asked them what is the common thread between those films. The answer: they all address the issue of being true to oneself, about being a person of integrity even at great personal cost. That is a topic of significance today as much as it was over fifty years ago when The Crucible first appeared.

The movie begins with a scene of teenage girls running in the forest at night conjuring love potions to encourage the affections of young men in Salem. Their dancing is witnessed by the local preacher who sees their wild behavior as witchcraft, the work of the devil. This eventually leads to a myriad of false innuendos and false accusations made in court about upright citizens, which unravel the bonds of community.

A central figure is Abigail Williams. She has had an affair with John Proctor, and wants to get rid of Proctor’s wife, Elizabeth, who stands in her way. In fact, she rejoices when Elizabeth, along with many others, is singled out as a witch condemned to death for trafficking with the devil. With her gone, John will be free to marry her. Absorbed in her own selfish needs, she threatens her peers not to contradict her perjury and they oblige.

Numbers of innocent people are sentenced to death on the testimony of this group of girls who have fabricated stories of devil worshipping among the righteous pillars of the town. To stop the hangings, John Proctor is compelled to admit his own moral mistake and he, too, is condemned to death.

In a powerful, poetic scene on a windy day by the sea, he has a frank conversation with his wife in which they finally communicate in an open and honest way with one another and confess their shortcomings as husband and wife. It is an emotional tableau of reconciliation that touches the heart and mind. In the end, Proctor values life and agrees to confess to Judge Danforth, the presiding judge in the witch trials.

But there is a problem. Danforth wants Proctor’s signed confession to be posted on the church door for the entire community to see. That will blacken Proctor’s name forever. In an impassioned speech, he cries out: “How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul, leave me my name!”

The Ethics of the Fathers tell us that our most important possession is not our wealth or our knowledge but rather our good name. More important than the priesthood or kingship is our reputation. John Proctor understands this well. He wonders aloud: “I have three children—how can I teach them to walk like men in the world?” If his name is besmirched, then how will his children regard him? Leaving them his farm or his wealth is meaningless if he cannot leave them his good name. A good reputation is a legacy that transcends the generations.

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Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2011), directed by Stephen Daldry

During my years as a synagogue rabbi, I would often speak at funerals and do my best to comfort the bereaved, but it wasn’t until I myself experienced a loss that I could truly empathize with the mourner. With time, we do adjust to the loss and life continues; but the shadow still remains. It is felt particularly when we have something good to share with family members, and we suddenly realize they are no longer here to share the moment with us.

When I achieved my crowning academic achievement, a doctorate in English Literature, my mother and father had already passed away; and I felt their absence acutely, for they would have enjoyed the moment with me as only a parent can celebrate the good things that happen in the life of a child. This sense of loss was intensified when I suddenly lost my wife in January of 1989. This was a tragedy of a different kind. My world fell apart. It was my personal 9/11.

Let me share a strange yet normal memory. I remember very vividly having chicken soup at the home of a friend in Israel after the funeral in Beit Shemesh. The soup was so tasty that I asked my host for the recipe so I could give it to my wife. I could not comprehend that she was no longer here.

I still can make no sense of the tragedy that affected our entire family during those dark January days. Perhaps this is why I responded positively to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, a film that deals in a thoughtful, nuanced way with the loss of a husband and father on 9/11.

The film recounts the story of Oskar Schell, a young boy whose father perishes on 9/11 in the Twin Towers. Through flashbacks, we see the close and loving relationship that existed between father and son. When Oskar’s father dies, the loss is devastating and he is inconsolable.

A year later, he explores his father’s closet and discovers a key in an envelope with the name “Black” written on it. Oskar then sets out on a journey to find out what the key fits, thinking that it is a message from his father. The journey connects him with a wide assortment of people who listen to his story, often befriend him, and share life’s wisdom with him.

In time, Oskar comes to terms with the reality that some things in life never make sense. His mother, suffering her own emotional pain, remarks: “It’s never gonna make sense because it doesn’t.” That does not mean, however, that one cannot find comfort in the memories a loved one leaves behind, in the life lessons learned from a beloved spouse or parent who is no longer in this world. The mystical figure of a person falling to his death at the beginning of the film is reversed at the end. The falling image falls up instead of down, signifying that Oskar has matured, conquered his fears, and is now ready to move on with the memories of his Dad animating him as he transitions into adulthood.

What happens in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is in many ways a reflection of the Jewish mourning cycle. The initial seven day grieving period is intense. The mourner does not even leave his home. But at the end of the week, the custom is to walk around the block, to begin a new cycle as it were. The pain is still there, but God is telling us to keep going in spite of tragedy. We will never understand the reasons for tragedy, but Jewish tradition reminds us that tragedy should not be the only thing that defines us, nor should it paralyze us as we face an uncertain future.

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