Category Archives: Movie review

My wife and I have been blessed with many new friends since coming on aliyah to Israel. But there is nothing like an old friend who has known you for many years. For example, my friend Harvey, who I have known since I was 12, gave me two important pieces of advice or insights that have proven to be invaluable to me. When I was struggling in my Torah learning in 1966, he suggested I come to Israel where I could develop my learning skills and be free of secular distractions. Later on when I was about to enter the rabbinate, he told me that the most important thing for me to do is to love people. If people sensed that I truly cared for them, I would be successful.

The nature of friendship is at the core of The Killing Fields, which takes place in Cambodia in the mid-70s. The country is in the midst of a civil war between the Cambodian national army and the communist Khymer Rouge as a result of the Vietnam War spilling over into its borders. The two central characters Sydney Schanberg, a New York Times reporter, and Dith Pran, a Cambodian interpreter, form a deep friendship as they document in stories and photos the tragic plight of the Cambodian people who are caught in the crossfire of a war on its periphery.

Because of the mounting instability in the country, Pran’s family is evacuated with other international diplomats, but Dith Pran stays with Schanberg in spite of the risk. Pran’s situation worsens when the Khymer Rouge demand that all Cambodian citizens in the French embassy be turned over. Forced to live under its totalitarian regime, he uses all of his resources to stay alive. Meanwhile, Sydney returns to New York and launches a campaign to find him. Years pass with no word from Dith Pram; but in 1979, he is located in a Red Cross facility in Thailand.  Sydney flies there to see him and immediately asks for his forgiveness for not encouraging him to leave safely when he had the chance. Dith Pram tells him that there is nothing to forgive. They embrace as John Lennon’s “Imagine” plays in the background and the Cambodian victims of war look on, mystified by the show of friendship between these two different men from different lands. The lyrics resonate as we watch Cambodian and American embrace: “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday, you’ll join us. The world will live as one.” Friendship means thinking of the other as part of you. It is the one of us.

I once enlisted the aid of a rabbi older and wiser than I to come to Atlanta to strengthen the Torah program of the Yeshiva of which I was principal. Surprisingly, the rabbi said he would come, but he told me something that sticks in my mind to this day. He was sensitive to the political undercurrents of my situation, and he said he would come only if I was sure it would be helpful to me. If at any moment I had second thoughts about my invitation, it was okay for me to change my mind. There was no self-interest on his part. This is what true friendship is all about.

The Ethics of the Fathers underscores this when it praises the love between the Biblical characters Jonathan and David. They loved one another and wanted to do what was in the other’s best interest. This is the kind of friendship we should all strive for, friendships where we ask ourselves what can I do for my friend, not what’s in it for me.

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For a number of years as a synagogue rabbi, I officiated at funerals and gave thoughtful and comforting eulogies. But it wasn’t until my mother passed away that I really understood what loss meant. I had spoken to her on a Thursday night right after Passover in 1976; the next morning I received a call from my father who was crying, telling me at the same time that Mommy had died. I felt an emptiness within; and at the funeral service the following Sunday in Mt. Vernon, New York, I was speechless and could not sing her praises. I could only share with the officiating rabbi my strongest memories of my mother, and the rabbi in his eulogy gave voice to my thoughts.

After that seismic event in my life, my sensitivity towards mourners who had just suffered a loss was more heartfelt. Loss was not just a sermon topic; it was something that changed my perception of death, which made me more empathetic, and more understanding of what it means to be a loved one left behind.

There is a line in Good Will Hunting uttered by Will Hunting’s therapist, Sean, which expresses the difference between just learning or hearing about tragedy and experiencing it.  Sean tells Will, an arrogant, cocky, but brilliant, young man, that “You’re just a kid. You don’t have the faintest idea of what you are talking about.” Furthermore, he doesn’t know about art, about love, about war. All he possesses is book knowledge, not wisdom that emerges from the crucible of life experience. Sean has lost his beloved wife to cancer, and Will casually presumes to know everything about Sean because of a painting he saw in Sean’s office.  Sean responds to his facile remarks stridently: “You don’t know about real loss because it only occurs when you’ve loved someone more than yourself,” and clearly Will is self-absorbed. To sharpen his observation of Will, Sean, aware that Will is an orphan, declares honestly: “You think I know how hard your life has been because I read Oliver Twist?”

In the book of Exodus, we are told that Moses went out to see the suffering of his brethren. Until that time, he was isolated from them and did not comprehend their pain. Witnessing first-hand the beatings they were receiving at the hands of the Egyptians gave him a different perspective. He identified with them and so began his odyssey of redemption. Seeing things from the balcony may be academically satisfying, but it is only through the shared life experience that one learns to understand human tragedy and become more empathetic.

There is another challenge Will has to overcome:  low self-esteem. This is nurtured by a cohort of friends who spend all their free time drinking beer, carousing, and engaging in the language of the gutter. Will is unable to see beyond his lowly origins. Only through his friendship with Sean, who does not abandon him in a time of crisis, does Will begin to see his future differently.

The Ethics of the Fathers states that sitting among the gatherings of the ignorant remove a man from the world. Association with the philistines of society makes you one of them. It is only when you separate from them that you can begin to create your own independent identity and soar.

Good Will Hunting implicitly suggests to us that a life of meaning is based on shared human relationships. It also reminds us that sometimes we have to make a clean break with the past to have a bright future.

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None of our children are alike. Over the years, I have understood more and more the wisdom of King Solomon who instructs parents to “educate a child according to his way,” which implies that parenting is not a cookie-cutter skill. Rather, effective parenting involves understanding the uniqueness of each child and recognizing that success in life can be measured in many different ways. For one, it might be getting an advanced degree; for another, it might be being a very skilled plumber. All we can do is teach children how to navigate life, give them freedom to choose their own path, and pray for the best results.

But, life, like a river, is constantly moving and we can’t always see what is at the bottom. There is a mystery that we cannot penetrate and unpredictable things can happen after the best parenting efforts. You can do everything right, and your child may still make bad decisions. Your hopes and dreams for that child may never be realized. How do you relate to that child and how do you integrate that outcome into your own life?

A River Runs Through It offers suggestions. It is the autobiography of Norman and Paul, brothers who grow up in 1920s Missoula, Montana. Their father, a Presbyterian minister, does his best to parent them while at the same time recognizing their need to follow their own hearts. Fly fishing is the activity that bonds the generations, and is the film’s lyrical metaphor for achieving perfection in life.

Norman and his father have an affinity for poetry. When Norman discovers his dad reciting a Wordsworth poem, Norman chimes in and reads alternate verses; thus they achieve a perfect synchronicity of souls. They truly are on the same wave length.

While Norman achieves academic success, Paul achieves success as a newspaper reporter and fly fisherman, who demonstrates a level of artistic perfection as he catches fish in Blackfoot River. Catching a huge fish in the midst of being pulled by a powerful current is a special moment for Paul and his father, who is unaware of Paul’s addiction to gambling and carousing. We sense that this brief moment of perfection in the life of father and son will not last. As Norman narrates the story of his family as an old man, he observes that “life is not a work of art.” He recognizes that in spite of our best efforts, outcomes are beyond our control.

A classic phrase in Jewish prayer is “Our Father, Our King.” When we ask God for help, we appeal to two aspects of the Divine persona. He is our King, the one who makes the rules, and He is also our Father, always there with unconditional love in spite of our shortcomings. This is the Jewish paradigm for parenting.

Reverend Maclean, father of Norm and Paul, says it eloquently in a sermon: “Each one of you will at one time in your lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the question: we are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don’t know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is that those we live with and should know, they still elude us. But we can still love them; we can love completely without complete understanding.”

This is a Jewish sensibility, to be present always in the lives of those we love most, both when they make us proud and when they encounter uncertainty or failure.

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My sister Carol had Down’s syndrome. As a little boy, I would fantasize about becoming a doctor and being able to transform Carol into a normal person; but as I grew older I understood that my hopes for Carol were only a dream. Over the years I tried to be a dutiful brother, especially after my parents passed away. When my own children were of age, I explained Carol’s situation to them and they were always warm and accepting of their aunt, who always had a sweet smile for them whenever she saw them. I often reminded my kids of how fortunate they were to possess a normal intellect, with the potential to learn so much knowledge. Why things happen is ultimately unknowable, and we need to reflect that there but for the grace of God go I.

Rain Man tells the story of two siblings, Charlie Babbitt who is normal, and Raymond Babbitt, an autistic “savant,” who has been institutionalized. Charlie is very self-absorbed, immersed in a world of money and materialism. When Charlie learns that his estranged father has died, he travels to Cincinnati for the funeral and to settle the estate. There he learns that all he will receive from the estate is a classic Buick Roadmaster, while an undisclosed beneficiary will inherit three million dollars. The beneficiary turns out to be the mental institution where his brother Raymond lives, a brother of whose existence Charlie was never aware. Charlie kidnaps Raymond from the institution in the hope of forcing the trustee of the funds to make a settlement with Charlie for half the inheritance. Thus begins their cross-country trip together.

In the course of their trip, Charlie observes Raymond’s fixation on ritual as a calming mechanism in the face of change. Raymond must watch certain TV programs, he must go to bed by 11 PM, and he must have pancakes for breakfast on specific days. At first Charlie thinks this is a massive charade and feels he can correct Raymond’s behavior. Over the course of their journey, however, he learns that Raymond’s autism is not subject to a quick fix. His routines provide stability, and any deviation potentially creates chaos for him and those around him. For example, Raymond refuses to fly on an airline unless it is Quantas, which has a zero crash record. The problem is that Quantas does not fly from Cincinnati to Los Angeles. This is the catalyst for the car trip across America, a shared experience that bonds the two brothers together, ultimately resulting in Charlie’s recognition that, in spite of his brotherly love, the people and the institution in which Raymond lives are best equipped to care for him.

As a young rabbi, I remember my own naïve arrogance when I thought that I could fix all problems. In retrospect, I realize the delusion of my youth. It was not until years later and encounters with people in the real world that I understood that there are occasions when I did not have all the answers and that I had to call a professional for guidance.

Perhaps one of the lessons we learn from people with disabilities of all types is to be appreciative and grateful for our own normality. In fact, I told my children that when we see people with a visible abnormal appearance, we recite a blessing: “Blessed are You, God of the Universe, who makes creatures different.” It could be that the Sages who formulated this blessing wanted to convey the message that all humans, no matter what their intellect or appearance, are creations of God imbued with an essential sanctity and infinite value. Rain Man reminds us of this truth.

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