Category Archives: Romance

A friend of mine and his wife occasionally have discussions about whom to invite for Friday night Sabbath dinners. She favors inviting old friends. He prefers inviting new faces because he wants to know those who are unknown. He prefers the unpredictability of new faces and feels that the good deed of inviting people to one’s home is better fulfilled when one does not know the guests beforehand.

Jewish tradition requires us to be hospitable, especially to those is need. Is this ethos of extending hospitality represented by inviting people we know or people we don’t know, or are there other criteria to keep in mind? The Israeli film Ushpizin, which means guests in English, suggests an approach to an answer.

It is the festival of Sukkot in Jerusalem in an ultra-orthodox neighborhood. The holidays require Jews to build a temporary shack and to live in it for seven days. There is also a commandment to wave a palm branch and a citron, together with a myrtle and willow, during the holiday liturgy. Moshe and Mali Bellanga, however, are impoverished and do not have money to buy a sukkah or to purchase the four species. And then “miracles” occur. A friend finds an abandoned sukkah for Moshe and an anonymous donor slips $1000 under their door.

These miracles, however, become tests. Moshe uses part of his money to purchase a citron at an extravagant price, upsetting his wife Mali, who wanted to use to money to pay off debts. Moshe knows that the truly happy person is the one who is content with little, yet he succumbs to his desire to acquire a citron far beyond his means when, in fact, he is not required to do so according to Jewish law.

Another test for them comes when two escaped convicts from Moshe’s past show up at this door. They apparently know Moshe from his previous life before he became religious, and Moshe and Mali debate whether they should welcome them as guests for the holiday. There are disadvantages. They are unsavory characters and their presence in the home may strain Moshe and Mali’s relationship. There will be no privacy and the guests may introduce a foreign lifestyle into their holy home. Moshe and Mali are people of deep faith, however, and they decide that these two men have been sent to them by God, creating a wonderful opportunity for Moshe and Mali to share the holidays with people less fortunate than them.

With each passing day of the holiday, the convicts bring more chaos into the Bellanga home, but Moshe and Mali continue to see each problem as a test of their religious faith. Their rabbi advises Moshe never to get angry, even when anger may seem justified. The life lesson that he imparts to him is to remain calm in the knowledge that all tests come from God. Facing a test and overcoming it refines our character and, by doing so, makes us better people.

Ushpizin depicts people living on the edge of poverty and not succumbing to negativity. Mali and Moshe do have arguments, but their different opinions do not shatter their abiding love for one another. They both recognize that whatever happens is ultimately the result of God orchestrating events from afar. Mali and Moshe always say “Thank God,” even when events seem to turn out badly. Moreover, they control their anger, allowing them to see things from the aspect of eternity. Their daily expressions of thanksgiving to God and their control of anger remind us of what it takes to truly be a holy person.

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I am 73 years old, and since coming to Israel six years ago, I am officially a vatik, a senior citizen entitled to discounts on the bus and to reduced admissions at sundry places. Some people actually offer me their seats on public transportation. It makes me uncomfortable to be the recipient of these kindnesses and to realize that, at least in the eyes of some, I am old. I always thought the other guy was old and I was not, but that illusion is now shattered.

When I immigrated to Israel in 2010, I was automatically enrolled in a 55-plus club, no longer considered a young man. In my conversations with other members of the group, no one ever expressed to me a desire to be young again. All my new friends desired was to be healthy and not be dependent on the kindness of others, even if they were one’s own children. Moreover, the married couples seemed to enjoy growing old together. It was a time in life free of posturing or acquiring more stuff and, instead, allowing love to flow freely between spouses and parents and children and to be satisfied with little. A perfect life was simply to grow old together in good health.

 The Age of Adaline presents a unique perspective on aging. Adaline Bowman was born in 1908, married, and had a daughter. No long after her husband died in a work-related accident while building the Golden Gate Bridge, she drives to her parents’ home. Snow begins to fall, making the road hazardous. Her car crashes and a freak electrical storm ensues, creating an unusual chain reaction that causes Adaline to remain 29 years old forever.

Adaline researches her condition but cannot find clues as to why she remains young as others grow old. After being accosted and frightened by local and federal authorities, she resolves to leave San Francisco and establish a new identity every decade.

All is calm until she meets Ellis Jones, a wealthy philanthropist, at a New Year’s Eve party. She at first rejects his advances. But Ellis persists pursuing her and finally convinces her to have a date with him. At the date, Ellis reveals much about himself, but Adaline reveals little of her past. Their relationship deepens and Ellis invites her to visit his parents on the occasion of their 40^th wedding anniversary.

When Ellis’ father, William, sees her for the first time, he instinctively calls her Adaline, for she reminds him of a woman with whom he had a past relationship and to whom he intended to propose marriage. Although Adaline informs him that Adaline was her mother, William is still puzzled at her stark resemblance to the love of his life so many years ago. The unraveling of the mystery of Adaline’s past and present life with William and Ellis makes us ponder the meaning of aging in our youth and old age.

The Ethics of the Fathers makes some important observations about reaching various stages of our life. The Sages tell us that at 5 years old, we should begin our study of the Bible, at 10 we should begin study of Mishna, the Oral Law, at 13 we begin to perform the commandments, at 18 we marry, at 20 we find a vocation, at 30 we are at our peak of physical strength, at 40 we understand life at a deeper level, at 50 we can give advice, and so the Sages continue until 100. At different ages, we are ready to experience different things, to develop ourselves in different ways, and to make our own unique contributions to society depending on our strength, our talents and our wisdom.

Adaline’s dilemma is that she is stuck at age 29. Life is imperfect because it stays the same. Finally, when her dilemma is serendipitously resolved, she notices a grey hair and her immediate response is “perfect.” Now she can grow old with someone she loves and now life becomes more meaningful because she experiences the phenomenon of change.

The possibility of change makes the present more precious. When we sense that life is transient, every day is cherished. When Adaline’s finally ages, it reminds us that growing old is a good thing for it makes us treasure each moment. Life now can be perfect.

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The Ethics of the Fathers tells us that one hour repenting and doing good deeds in this world is better than life in the world-to-come. Why? The Sages explain: we can only exercise our free will while we are alive. Therefore, we can choose to do good deeds only when we are alive. Doing good deeds is our mission on earth, so everything we do or don’t do influences our eternal destiny. That is why life in this world is so precious.

Once our life is over, we no longer have free will and our destiny in the world-to-come is fixed. This is the crux of Seth’s dilemma in City of Angels, a thought-provoking love story about an angel who wants to exercise free will in order to become human and share in the joys and pains of human life.

Seth is an angel whose job it is to observe mankind and be with them as they move from this world to the next. In some cases, he will protect them from harm; in others he will chaperone them to the world-to-come.

While observing a man about to die from cardiac surgery, Seth’s attention is captured by Dr. Maggie Rice, a surgeon, who valiantly tries to save the man’s life and is remorseful when her efforts do not succeed. Seth is genuinely touched by the beauty of her heart and soul, so much so that he wants her to physically see him.

Contrary to conventional angel protocol, he decides to become visible to her in some rudimentary way so that they can develop a friendship. In the physical presence of Seth, Maggie begins to inquire about his past. In spite of his evasive answers to Maggie’s basic questions such as where does he live and how he earns his living, their relationship blossoms.

Things take an unexpected turn for Seth when he meets Nathaniel Messenger, a patient of Maggie’s about to undergo surgery. Nathaniel can sense the presence of Seth because he, too, was once an angel who decided to become human to experience the joy of human relationships. Seth, after sharing his emotional turmoil with Nathaniel, considers the possibility of becoming human in order to actualize the love he feels for Maggie. The decision he makes will change his destiny forever.

In Jewish tradition, an angel is basically a messenger of God. They lack any will of their own, and they can only perform one task at the time. The Bible speaks of three angels who visited Abraham in the heat of the day when he was recuperating from his circumcision. Each angel had a specific mission. One was to inform Sarah that she would have a child. Another was to heal Abraham and save Lot, a mission of saving lives. The last angel was to inform Lot that Sodom would be destroyed.

In contrast to angels, humans have free will and can perform many missions. They can choose to do good or evil, and experience happiness and sadness in life. God gave his Torah, his book of instructions for mankind, to men, not to angels, because men, created in the Divine image, have free choice. It is in the arena of free choice that humans express their unique humanity.

The Hebrew word for Jewish law is halacha, which literally means “walking.” Choosing to follow God’s instructions for living is a dynamic journey fraught with perils, not simply a destination. It involves making many choices along the way; but where there is choice, there is great reward for choosing correctly. Seth, in The City of Angels, by deciding to become human, takes a risk that brings with it both the agonies and ecstasies of human existence.

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Growing up in the 50s and 60s, dating for marriage was a very straightforward process. You met, dated for several months, and then came the moment of truth. Do you propose marriage or move on to dating someone else?

Nowadays, the dating landscape is different, especially in very religious Orthodox Jewish circles. I have granddaughters who live in Orthodox communities in America; they tell me that they have to prepare resumes that are submitted to matchmakers, who then work on their behalf to find suitable matches. I do not know if the system works, but it is very different from my own experience many years ago.

Although good character is still the key factor in determining the suitability of a match, finances also play a role. Will the prospective parents of the groom and bride be able to support the couple for a few years while the boy continues his Torah studies before entering the work force and will the parents help with buying a home as the couple morphs into a family with children?

Arranged marriage figures prominently in Belle, the true story of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay, born in 1761, who was the natural daughter of Maria Belle, an enslaved African woman in the West Indies, and Captain John Lindsay, a British Royal Navy officer. When Belle’s mother dies, Captain Lindsay takes her to England in 1765 to live with his uncle William Murray, the first Earl of Mansfield and the Lord Chief Justice of England. Lord and Lady Mansfield raise Belle as a free gentlewoman.

As a mixed-race child in a white household, her marriage prospects are dim. That changes when Belle’s father dies and leaves her an inheritance of 2000 pounds a year. Suitors do not run to her door, but marriage now becomes possible. In truth, Belle is no fool and is not interested in marriage for its own sake. She understands that she has the money to remain independent. But a vicar’s son and apprentice to the profession of law, John Davinier, captures her attention with his sincerity and devotion to worthy causes.

Tension arises between Lord Mansfield and Davinier when Davinier pressures him to make a controversial ruling that would make moral sense but would put the nation at great economic risk. Belle becomes aware of the rift and works behind the scenes to help Davinier. She does this is spite of being torn between affection for Davinier and loyalty to her guardian Lord Mansfield. The story, a gripping footnote to black history in England, is the background for Belle’s efforts to marry for love rather than for financial convenience.

Judaism has much to say about arranged marriages. To be a matchmaker is a good thing, and parents were the primary matchmakers throughout much of Jewish history. To find the right marriage partner is God’s work, but parents were God’s surrogates in the quest for a suitable marriage mate.

The patriarchs of the Jewish people took a major role in finding the appropriate wife for their child. The Bible recounts in detail how Abraham appointed his trusted servant Eliezer with finding a spouse for Isaac. The focus was on the potential mate’s spiritual qualities and good character. Being wealthy was not one of the criteria they sought.

Belle provides a fascinating look at the marriage market in the eighteenth century. Considerations of wealth and political position were uppermost in the minds of parents looking to move up socially through the marriage of a daughter to a person of rank. However, sensitive parents were not immune to the entreaties of children who wanted to marry people of good character rather than people of prestige and economic power. Belle and Lord Murray ultimately see eye to eye on this most important of matters.

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I was born in Mt. Vernon, New York, a small bedroom community bordering the Bronx and only 25 minutes by train to Grand Central Station. To me Mt. Vernon was home. My family lived there as did many of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

The next major move in my life came when I was married. My wife and I moved to New York City where we lived in Washington Heights in upper Manhattan near Yeshiva University. New York City was now my home. A number of years later we moved to Atlanta where I had accepted a job as a synagogue rabbi and later as a school principal. I stayed there for 27 years and felt that Atlanta was now my home.

How does one define a home? Is it simply a specific location or is home a place where your loved ones are? Brooklyn, the emotional odyssey of Ellis Lacey, a young woman who travels to America from Ireland in the 1950s to chart a new direction in her life, considers this question.

The film opens as Ellis prepares for her journey. The family is on the brink of poverty and Rose, Ellis’s sister, has contacted a priest in the United States who will sponsor Ellis as a new immigrant. As she leaves on a ship, her sister and mother tearfully bid her farewell.

On arriving to America after an arduous sea voyage, she takes up residence in a girls’ boarding house in Brooklyn and finds a job in a department store. These early days of her American experience are filled with homesickness and anxiety, but she eventually finds her stride and even enrolls in a bookkeeping class in night school at Brooklyn College.

At a dance in the neighborhood, Ellis meets Tony, an Italian-American, who is infatuated with Irish girls. Their relationship blossoms over time as they share their dreams with one another. She wants to become a bookkeeper and eventually an accountant; he is a plumber who wants to develop a thriving business.

Tony asks Ellis to marry him. Then tragedy strikes when she receives the news that her sister Rose has died, leaving no one to care for their mother. Ellis feels she must go home to be with her mother even for a short time. It is here that a dilemma develops. Does Ellis remain in Ireland, her family home, and build a life there or does she return to America and forge her destiny there with Tony?

Real estate agents utter the mantra of “location, location, location.” They refer to being in the right neighborhood, but in a metaphysical sense the phrase resonates in Judaism. The Ethics of the Fathers states that a person should live in place that is a place of Torah, a place where a person can grow spiritually. That is the key determinant of where one should live. If being in one’s parental hometown does not allow one to grow spiritually, then one should relocate. A home is not just where you live; it is a place where you grow.

Judaism has many recommendations about where to live and all of them relate to intellectual and spiritual growth, not to material surroundings or comfort alone. It is important to live with good neighbors in a moral environment, to place a mezuzah on the door to protect those who live there, to bring books of Jewish learning into the home, and to place a charity box in a prominent location in the home. All the above testifies to living in a home where one can grow emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually.

In Brooklyn Ellis is compelled to decide whether a familiar, comforting environment trumps the new opportunity for love, connection, and growth. Her decision makes us evaluate our own ideal of what home should be.

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A friend of mine in his seventies was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s several years ago. At first it was indicated by minor forgetfulness; but over time, the symptoms became more severe. His wife confessed to me after a couple of years that her husband was no longer the person he once was. He barely recognized her or the rest of his family. Indeed it was a sad and disturbing reality that the family confronted.

This mental decline is the subject of Still Alice, the unsettling narrative of Alice Howland, a top-flight professor of Linguistics at Columbia University, who discovers she has early onset Alzheimer’s when she is 50 years old.

At first we observe her forgetting little things, sometimes losing her train of thought while speaking. Later she loses her sense of direction and gets lost after an afternoon run. When she goes to a neurologist for help with her memory problems, the doctor, after giving Alice a number of tests, concludes that she has early onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

Although she is loved by her husband and children, both have difficulty dealing with the reality of a wife and mother whose memory is deteriorating each day. There is no cure. The crisis in the family brings some of its members closer together, but it is a strain. At the end of the day, they must accept a difficult and painful reality.

Although Still Alice is about how one woman deals with a terrible disease that takes away memory, the film indirectly informs us how important memories are. Near the beginning of her mental decline, Alice gives a powerful speech to an Alzheimer’s support group, which captures the dissonance between who she is now with who she once was: “All my life I’ve accumulated memories – they’ve become, in a way, my most precious possessions. The night I met my husband, the first time I held my textbook in my hands. Having children, making friends, traveling the world. Everything I accumulated in life, everything I’ve worked so hard for – now all that is being ripped away. But it gets worse. Who can take us seriously when we are so far from who we once were? Our strange behavior and fumbled sentences change other’s perception of us and our perception of ourselves. We become ridiculous, incapable, comic. My greatest wish is that my children, our children – the next generation – do not have to face what I am facing. But for the time being, I’m still alive. I know I’m alive. I have people I love dearly. I still have moments in the day of pure happiness and joy. And please do not think that I am suffering. I am not suffering. I am struggling. Struggling to be part of things, to stay connected to whom I was once.”

In the English class I teach, we recently discussed how biographies are different from autobiographies. The key difference is that the author of the autobiography relies heavily on memory to write his life’s story. I shared with my students the background behind my first book, The One of Us, which recounted my year in Israel as a student over thirty years ago. I was able to write about it only because I saved all the letters (aerograms, in those days) that I wrote and that my mother sent me, and they jogged my memory about events that took place during that year. Memory allowed me to re-experience the past and make it meaningful in the present.

Judaism values memory. Each year Jews experience a cycle of holy days that remind us to focus on past memories in order to appreciate and understand the present, and to navigate the future. Remembering the past is what makes us who we are today. Without memory, we are adrift spiritually and socially. Memory connects us to our history and to each other. Shared memories are an expression of our human connections which transcend time and space. Still Alice reminds us to treasure our memories and the human connections that matter along our life’s journey.

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