Jane Eyre (2006, PBS version), directed by Susanna White

When I was in ninth grade, my Torah teacher told me what I should look for in a wife. He said that while outward beauty was important, it was not the critical ingredient for marital happiness. He urged me to stay away from girls who wore lots of make-up and who were acquisitive. For long-term happiness, you need a girl with good character, who is kind and understanding, soft in deed and word. His words made an impression on my young mind and I generally found myself dating those kinds of girls.

In secular literature, it is hard to find such a concern for good character when looking for a marriage partner. For example, in Jane Austen’s classic novel Pride and Prejudice, the parents of Elizabeth Bennett want her to marry a person of means. The key ingredients for marital bliss are wealth and eligibility, not good character. In Henry James’ Washington Square, Morris Townsend, the suitor of Catherine Sloper, is portrayed as a fortune hunter, interested in Catherine’s assets, not her character. In fact, Dr. Austin Slope, Catherine’s father, sees beneath Morris’s façade and forbids Catherine to marry him.

One notable exception to this pattern is Edward Rochester’s oblique pursuit of Jane Eyre in Charlotte Bronte’s famous novel Jane Eyre, which has inspired a number of film versions, the best of which is the PBS production directed by Susanna White and starring Toby Stephen as Edward Rochester and Ruth Wilson as a luminous Jane Eyre.

After ostensibly courting the wealthy and attractive socialite Blanche Ingram, Rochester finally confesses his love for Jane, whom he regards as a pure, simple, and virtuous soul.  Clearly, he values substance over form, good character over physical charm and beauty. It is of interest to note that Rochester is many years Jane’s senior, a person with much more life experience than Jane. Similarly, the Biblical courtship of Isaac for Rebecca, which is the topic of an extended narrative in the Bible, describes a relationship where the man is much older than the woman. But the age difference counts for little when the two lovers are on the same spiritual wavelength.

The quest to find a wife is a major task of Jewish men. To find one’s bashert, one’s destined one, a person must exert great personal effort and may also need to consult with many friends and relatives, including, of course, one’s parents. In the Bible, Abraham is actively engaged in finding a wife for his beloved son Isaac. He charges his trusted servant Eliezer with this responsibility and to travel to Aram-Naharaim, where Abraham’s family lived. There Abraham hopes that Eliezer will find a wife for Isaac.

Eliezer journeys there with ten of his master’s camels. The great explicator of Biblical text, Rashi, observes that the camels were identifiably those of Abraham because they were muzzled. Abraham’s camels would go out muzzled because of his concern for theft. He did not want his animals to graze in the field of others. Honesty was paramount to Abraham. For such a man, the litmus tests for a suitable wife were truthfulness, sincerity, and kindness, not the possession of wealth.

Eliezer, the trusted servant who came from the home of honest Abraham, determined that the woman who not only gives him water but his camels as well will be the one for Isaac, for she has demonstrated that she cares for all living creatures.

The story of Isaac’s quest for a wife is an early precursor of Rochester’s love for Jane. Both courtships remind us that, in the final analysis, wealth and beauty are passing. What remains is good character that lasts for a lifetime.

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Neil Young: Heart of Gold (2006), directed by Jonathan Demme

In the 1970s when I assumed the principalship of Yeshiva High School of Atlanta, part of my job was to raise money for the school. One of the ways I did it was through establishing a band that would play for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs. I was blessed to have a number of talented adults who were willing to donate their services for this project. We named the band Matzah since we saw ourselves as the Jewish version of Bread, a popular rock group of the seventies.

I recall that the most difficult part of being in the band was setting up my drums and the sound equipment. Playing the drums and providing the vocals was easy. What was difficult was shleping all the heavy and unwieldy equipment up the various hotel freight elevators, arranging the placement of my drums and positioning the sound system. My experience of being in this band for close to 15 years made me especially sensitive to a band’s preparation for an event. This is perhaps why I enjoyed a superb documentary chronicling the premiere performance of Neil Young’s album “Prairie Wind.”

Elvis Presley, Elton John, Billy Joel – these were my musical icons as I grew up. I had never even heard of Neil Young. But there was one student at Yeshiva High School who was a big Neil Young hasid, and did a spot-on imitation of him that captured the imagination of his fellow students. This student, now a successful Atlanta attorney, introduced me to his music. But it was not until 25 years later that I gave serious attention to this classic troubadour, when he was the subject of the Jonathan Demme film Neil Young: Heart of Gold.

The film opens as Neil is driving through Nashville, getting ready for his “Prairie Wind” concert in the celebrated Ryman Auditorium. It is fascinating to meet the other members of the band, all of whom, like Neil, are now senior citizens, along in years but young in spirit. Each member of the band has special memories of how they first played with Neil, about their first recording session, about the unique place of the Ryman Auditorium in the annals of rock music. Yet what is remarkable is their excitement about playing new music together. Singing and playing together re-establishes their community of old. At that moment, they are no longer old men; they are young men, mellowed by a lifetime of experiences, infused with wisdom and hope.

Interestingly, we learn at the beginning that Neil is going to New York after the concert to have an operation on a life-threatening brain aneurysm. Moreover, in the course of the concert, Neil reflects upon the recent loss of his father and his dad’s dementia. He also talks about his daughter in college. All of this banter reminds us the Neil is no longer the hippie icon but rather a mature and creative singer/ songwriter. He values each moment of life and the opportunity to still be creative into the twilight of life.

His focus on being in the moment and sharing the creative muse with his long-time friends and family calls to mind the Biblical examples of Abraham, who is described as being active until the very day of his death, and Moses, about whom the Bible tells us at his death, “his eyes were not weak, nor his strength gone.” In fact, Moses concludes his final oration at the end of his 120 years with a song of faith and optimism about the future. Song, in truth, is a metaphor for the soaring human spirit. Singing a song, particularly in the twilight of life and singing with others, connects us to our past and future, and reaffirms our eternal ties to the community of man.

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War Horse (2011), directed by Steven Spielberg

Many years ago when I was in elementary school, I was an outstanding student, always coming home with good grades. But in sixth grade, my neighborhood changed with the building of low income housing only a block away. The school’s population also changed. Soon I was the only Jew left in the neighborhood since my parents could not afford to move.

Gradually, I made new friends. I now wanted to be cool, not just smart. Unfortunately, coolness prevailed and I became a mediocre student during junior high school, and stayed mediocre when I attended a high school in a different area of the city even though this school had a large number of very bright students.

Because I came from a low-performing school, teachers always saw me as average and I was invariably placed in classes with students of average ability. Fortunately, my mother and my local rabbi perceived me as a serious and intelligent student, and it was their encouragement that motivated me eventually to shed my cool exterior and focus on academics later in life. Both were present at critical points in my life, encouraging me to spread my wings and fly intellectually. They believed in me and in my potential.

I thought of this as I watched War Horse, a poetic narrative about a boy and the horse that he trained from childhood. Although War Horse is about a horse, metaphorically it is about learning to cope with new situations and having people in your life who believe you are capable of being successful despite the odds.

The story begins in England in 1914. Ted Narracott needs a plough horse to work his farm, but impetuously buys a racing horse, using the little money he has to seal the deal. When the landlord comes to collect his rent for the farm, he cannot pay and is in jeopardy of losing his farm. Albert, his son, offers to train the horse, named Joey, to plow the field and, miraculously, Joey does it. Although born to be a race horse, Albert believes Joey can meet the challenge and, under Albert’s caring and gentle instruction, Joey becomes the plough horse that is needed, saving  Albert’s family from poverty. Moreover, when war breaks out, Joey is recruited as a war horse to transport heavy armament. Albert’s belief in Joey’s adaptability and innate strength enable Joey to survive and to endure adversities that cripple other horses.

Switch to the human metaphor. It is a truism that negative experiences often create opportunities; and to paraphrase an author who has written a self-help book, we become stronger at the broken places. What at first is a disappointment may in hindsight be a blessing that enables us to grow and be strong to face a future challenge.

What emerges from War Horse is a valuable message.  Setbacks are a part of life, but we can use them to make us stronger if we believe in ourselves and in our potential. Sometimes, a friend helps us through the darkness to return to the light. There is a powerful story in the Talmud about Rabbi Akiva.  Akiva, an illiterate 40-year old shepherd, worked for a wealthy man, whose daughter Rachel saw something special in Akiva. She offered to marry him if he began to study holy texts. She believed in him and Akiva became one of the greatest of Talmudic sages.

Sometimes we need a friend to encourage us to fulfill our potential. The friendship of one who believes in you, mentors you, and is there for you at the time of crisis can be transformational. Joey has this in Albert and others who care for him when he is in danger. When people believe in you, you can often do what you thought was impossible.

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Incendies (2010), directed by Denis Villeneuve

Many, many years ago when I was a student in an afternoon Hebrew school, we would misbehave and cause grief to our well-intentioned teachers. I remember vividly that one day when the teacher left the room, we started to have a catch not with a ball, but with a tefilin bag with tefilin inside of it that gave the bag weight. Our teacher suddenly returned and his face turned ashen when he realized what his charges were doing in his absence. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. We were desecrating that which he felt, and what we should have felt, was holy.

Later we found out that our teacher was a Holocaust survivor, and we immediately sensed the folly of what we had done. He had never spoken about his past; we just assumed he was another teacher to harass. That indelible scene of so many years ago still lingers with me today, and I recalled that event of long ago as I watched Incendies, a film that reminds us of how little we know of the many people who occupy our lives.

Incendies opens with the reading of the will of Nawal Marwan, a Christian woman raised in a turbulent Middle East, where Christians and Moslems war with one another. She has lived in Canada for the past eighteen years as a legal secretary working for one employer, yet her employee barely knows her other than as a loyal and dependable worker. He is now functioning as the executor of her estate and informs her twin son and daughter, Simon and Jeanne, of an unusual request made by their late mother. Her mother wants them to deliver two letters, one to their father, whom they have never seen, and one to their brother, about whom they have never heard. Although her son, Simon, considers this request a sign of his mother’s madness, her daughter sees it as an opportunity to uncover the truth about who her mother really was. She accepts the assignment from the executor and this sets in motion a journey to a war torn country in the Middle East to discover the past of Nawal Marwan.

When Nawal’s son dismisses his mother as unstable and reclusive, he naively assumes that he knows who his mother was. Because of his youthful arrogance and insensitivity, he does not yet understand that his mother’s quiet demeanor, her silence, may have been her strategy for survival.

As the narrative unfolds, we discover that Nawal’s life consisted of unspeakable horrors, and yet she somehow survived and outwardly lived a normal life. Her demons continued to haunt her and her response was silence, never confiding in her children or revealing to them anything about her past.

Jewish tradition echoes her response of silence in the face of tragedy. The mourner in his first meal after the death of a loved one eats a hard-boiled egg, perfectly round, without an opening, without a mouth as it were. This reminds the mourner that in confronting the finality of death, the most appropriate response is silence. There are no words to make things better.

One of my teachers, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, gave me another perspective on silence that relates to Narwal’s reticence to reveal secrets to her children. Sometimes silence will contribute more to a situation than speech, and that it is often wise to “strangle the shout” than to engage in a conversation, the consequences of which are unclear. Our Sages tell us that “there is nothing better for a man than silence,” implying that sometimes it is through restraint from speech that our goals are best accomplished.

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Ferris Beuller’s Day Off (1986), directed by John Hughes

I remember the meeting well. A teacher discovered a student who had plagiarized a paper and gave him a failing grade. The father of the student demanded a meeting with me, the teacher, and his son. He opened the meeting with a line I will never forget: “My son never lies.” The teacher, a woman with a sterling reputation for excellent teaching, exemplary character, and an abiding concern for the welfare of her pupils, was stunned by the implicit assertion that she either had lied in making the accusation or made a terrible mistake in evaluating the student’s work.

Having worked with students for many decades, I, like most teachers, always assume the best of students. But when confronted with incontrovertible evidence of cheating, I accept the reality that students, even good ones, occasionally may do dishonest things. The teacher in question broke down in tears from the baseless accusation. I, of course, defended and supported her. Several months later, the father apologetically confided in me that his relationship with his son was very rocky, and he felt a need at our meeting to be publically supportive of his son even if he had doubts about the veracity of his statements.

This kind of misguided, naïve parenting is at the heart of Ferris Beuller’s Day Off, a comic but true perspective on teenage life in the 80s that still resonates today. The plot, such as there is one, revolves around high school senior Ferris, who decides to cut school on a beautiful spring day and enjoy the day in downtown Chicago. He enlists his girlfriend Sloane and his buddy Cameron to join him on his self-declared vacation day.

The day begins with a lie as Ferris fakes an illness to his fawning and naïve parents, who believe everything he says. It is clear that they are preoccupied with their own lives; parenting to them is a diversion, not a mission. Cameron’s dad is never seen in the film. We only see his polished Ferrari, glistening in the family’s hillside garage. It is an emblem of parental neglect and a reminder of his parents’ total preoccupation with material things. In fact, almost all the adults in the movie are out of touch with children. Whether it be parents, teachers, administrators, all are self-absorbed and only peripherally aware of the children with whom they interact.

Two insights emerge from Ferris. First, parents need to be present in the lives of their children. They need to spend quality time with them and not be so preoccupied with business that they are clueless about what makes their child tick. Second, Ferris’s visit with his friends to the Chicago Art Museum suggests that kids need more than mastery of rote knowledge to succeed as human beings. Ferris, Sloane, and Cameron engage the modern art they view with creativity and wonder. The classroom is boring, but the museum, which houses a major collection of abstract art, unleashes a creativity that speaks to their curious and active teenage minds.

Proverbs tells us “to educate a child according to his personality.” This means that it is the job of parents to know their children well and to provide opportunities for them to develop their own unique talents. The patriarch Isaac, according to some Biblical commentators, erred in educating his children Jacob and Esau with the same parenting tool box. He failed to recognize that each one required a different parenting approach, one that recognized their different personalities and intellectual and spiritual inclinations. It may be easy to do more of the same when it comes to parenting, but it may be wiser to do something different that takes into account the way each child learns.

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On Golden Pond (1981), directed by Mark Rydell

As a youngster, I often found it hard to see how older people can be in love in the conventional romantic sense. After all, physically they were often overweight, had sagging skin, and possessed grey or no hair, hardly the attributes I would consider beautiful. But when I myself got older and also began to manifest those same characteristics, I realized that seniors could be deeply in love, and physical attributes were not important. Love transcends the physical in happily married couples. In time, I understood the wisdom of King Solomon in Proverbs who, in praising the woman of the house, reminds us that “outward grace is deceitful and beauty is vain,” and that the basis of enduring love is a shared life vision based upon a common spiritual destiny, not the smoothness of one’s skin or the size of a waistline.

This is one essential message of On Golden Pond, a story of a loving couple in the twilight of life.  Norman and Ethel Thayer, masterly played with great honesty and sensitivity by Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn, return to their summer home on Golden Pond. Norman is beginning to lose his memory and in a tense and disturbing moment runs back to his cottage without finishing the errand on which Ethel sent him. He confesses to her: “You know why I came back so fast? I got to the end of our lane. I couldn’t remember where the old town road was. There was nothing familiar. Not one damn tree. Scared me half to death. That’s why I came running back here to you. So I could see your pretty face and I could feel safe and that I was still me.”

Spouses married for many years view love in ways that are impossible for newlyweds to understand. The ebbs and flows of life, the sharing of joys and sadness, bring loving couples closer together. Each represents a safe harbor to the other, a place of refuge from a world that is shutting down around them, when mortality is not an abstract concept, but an ever-approaching reality. This deep connection only develops over time, and does not come about instantaneously.

Another message of On Golden Pond relates to Norman’s relationship with this daughter Chelsea, from whom he has been estranged for many years. Chelsea calls Norman by his first name, which underlines the emotional distance between them. She returns to the summer cottage to celebrate her father’s 80th birthday, but she still carries baggage with her. She remembers all the times her father was absorbed in his own pursuits, and not present for her emotionally.

Her mother finally rebukes her: “Don’t you think that everyone looks back on their childhood with a certain amount of bitterness and regret about something. You’re a big girl now. Aren’t you tired of it all? It doesn’t have to ruin your life.” This is a valuable life lesson:  get rid of old, unpleasant memory tapes; look with fresh, unbiased eyes at your old relationships and begin anew.

Chelsea eventually does this and, after many years, calls her father “Dad,” not by his first name, suggesting that she is now prepared for a new relationship with her father.

In Jewish law, a child is forbidden to call a parent by his first name. This implicitly instructs the child to be constantly aware of a parent as someone who is a source of authority, guidance, and love, not just another buddy. On Golden Pond reminds us to revisit our parental relationships, repair them if needed,  and create new memories that will bind together generations in the future.

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In the Line of Fire (1993), directed by Wolfgang Petersen

When I was going through a number of professional challenges many years ago, I questioned the motives of those who were undermining my position as Head of School. I aired my feelings in front of a small group of people, and I regretted it soon after. My critical comments did not improve things; in fact, they made me feel smaller. I had spoken about somebody negatively and it gnawed at me. The full realization of what I had done hit me many years later. The person to whom I attributed these base motives was no longer living in the city and our professional paths were totally different. In time, I forgot about my offensive remark; but, strangely, about 20 years later, as I was reciting the confessional of Yom Kippur, my offensive behavior of many years ago surfaced in my mind. I resolved to see if I could locate the person I maligned and ask for his forgiveness. Fortunately, I was able to contact him and ask for his forgiveness, which he readily granted. As often occurs, he did not even remember the incident which had been haunting me and was gracious towards me throughout the conversation.

My motive in finding him was to do teshuva, to repent. In Jewish tradition this means to stop the offensive behavior, ask for forgiveness from the injured party, and resolve not to commit the sin again. The ideal setting for teshuva would require you to be in exactly the same place as before, and choose to do the right thing. Instead of succumbing to ego and personal hurt, you would respond differently and not make the ethical mistake that you did in the past. If the exact same situation did not present itself, then you would still follow essentially the same protocol of repentance.

In the Line of Fire is an action thriller; but at its core, it is a narrative of repentance. Frank Harrigan, a veteran Secret Service agent, is haunted by his failure to protect President Kennedy from assassination. He continually relives the incident in his mind and questions whether he did his best to guard the president from Oswald’s fatal bullet. Did he not protect him adequately because he feared for his own life? He wonders: “I don’t know why I didn’t react. If only I reacted, I could have taken that shot. That would have been alright with me.” Here lies the crux of the film: Frank is given an opportunity to protect another president from a threat to his life, and to redeem himself. He has a chance to do teshuva, to repent, in the ideal sense by facing the same challenge, but now he can make the right decision that will enable him to emerge whole again.

Things, however, are different now. He is older and wiser but physically he is weaker. He pants and sweats as he runs after the killer, and we wonder whether he possesses the physical stamina to protect the president. The climax of the film takes place in a large hotel where the president is scheduled to speak. Frank has to locate the killer and neutralize him or stand between him and the president and take the bullet intended for the president.

In the Yom Kippur liturgy, we ask for forgiveness for the sin we might not have remembered. Frank Harrigan’s story reminds us to remember the mistakes of the past, and to try to find a way to correct them even many years later. Confronting the past in this way allows us the freedom to move forward, knowing that we have done our best. The ghosts of the past will then no longer haunt us.

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The Green Mile (1999), directed by Frank Darabont

Over the years that I have been a school principal, I have observed many different supervisory – management styles. The majority of my colleagues are sensitive souls; they are fair-minded, thoughtful, and not quick to rebuke a teacher. Uppermost in their minds is doing what is in the best interest of the students, not in acquiring more power or prestige for themselves. I regrettably recall one exception.

Very uncomfortably, I watched a principal observe a class and then submit his written report to the teacher later in the day. The teacher was given no opportunity to respond. The report was overwhelming negative, severely affecting the teacher’s self-perception, so much so that the teacher shortly thereafter left the field to begin a career in computers. Postcript: the principal a few years later was fired and did not last more than a year or two in subsequent positions. He who gave rebuke to others was now the victim of negative reviews himself. What goes around comes around.

The Green Mile provides an example of a person who aims to hurt others both emotionally and physically: Percy Wetmore. His comeuppance, after a number of shocking cruelties to prisoners waiting on Death Row, is greeted with cathartic satisfaction when it finally arrives.

The Green Mile is not Percy’s story, however. It is the story of Paul Edgecomb, a Louisiana prison guard in the 1930’s and inmate John Coffey, a huge black man incarcerated for the murder of two little girls. Paul is surprised when he discovers that, in spite of his enormous size, John belies an innate meekness, communicating with the simplicity of a child afraid of the dark. The story is told in flashback, as Paul recounts his experiences to another resident of the retirement home in which he lives.

What emerges from the narrative is the stark difference between how Percy treats the prisoners and how Paul treats them. Knowing that they are all scheduled for execution by electric chair, Paul treats them humanely knowing that it is better for the prison system and for the prisoner if the condemned man can retain his equanimity in the face of certain death. In spite of their alleged crime, Paul recognizes their essential humanity.

Examples abound of his sensitivity to the men who have to walk the “green mile,” a green patch of linoleum leading to the execution site. He allows a prisoner to keep a pet mouse, he gives one man a gift of his wife’s corn bread, and arranges to show the Fred Astaire film Top Hat to a condemned man who has never before seen a movie.

In contrast to this humane behavior is the cruelty committed by Percy, who in one of his many sadistic moments, deliberately does not wet the sponge that is to be placed on the head of the condemned man as the electric plate is tightened before the release of electric current to his body. It is a grisly scene, which accentuates the stark contrast between Paul and Percy.

Proverbs tell us that when our enemy falls, we should not rejoice, lest God be displeased and He turn His wrath to us. Moreover, our Sages advise us not to see someone at the time of his degradation. The point of these instructions is to be sensitive to people in distress. We do not in any way excuse criminal behavior, but we do not gloat over their punishment. It may be necessary, but it is not joyful.

The Green Mile is a movie that has a lot to say about life, about how we treat others, and how we need to recognize and appreciate the humanity of all men.

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The Sugarland Express (1974), directed by Steven Spielberg

When I was in ninth grade, my friend Sammy, a self-proclaimed songwriter, very seriously attempted to start a musical group. I was invited to join because I had a reasonably good voice, was an aficionado of rock and roll, and had Elvis sideburns and lots of hair, which made me a very cool persona back then. Our group of four vocalists practiced for a couple of months and then Sammy told us that an agent was coming to audition us. We sang and had visions of stardom. The audition was brief; after one song, the agent told us in polite but clear words that we were not up to professional standards. Sammy was devastated because the project was his baby. For me, the rejection simply meant I now could move on to other things that interested me. I was not invested in the fantasy so I could easily move back to reality.

I was reminded of this teenage memory as I watched The Sugarland Express, which tells the story of two adults who think like kids, and build a future around a fantasy that will not materialize. Lou Jean, mother of baby Langston, had been in prison for committing petty crimes. The state welfare agency has awarded custody of her child to foster parents in Sugarland, Texas. Her husband, Clovis, presently in prison also for petty crimes, is scheduled to be released in four months. Lou Jean, now out of jail, is desperate and compels Clovis to break out of prison before his scheduled release to help reunite her with her baby in Sugarland. She has a one-track mind and refuses to see the complex reality that awaits her. Buoyed by initial success through taking a state trooper hostage, she naively assumes that she will be able to take back her baby.

The journey to Sugarland is filled with humorous and dangerous detours and Lou Jean and Clovis become folk heroes along the way. Captain Tanner, the law enforcement officer in charge of the pursuit, sees them as misguided kids, and encourages them to surrender and release their hostage before bad things happen. But their inability to separate fantasy from reality prevents them from seeing the truth.

Being positive and optimistic does not guarantee success. Outcomes are often determined by other factors. Although optimism in the face of troubles is a Jewish mode of thinking, optimism is usually grounded in some reality. Jacob’s ladder is directed toward the heavens, but the ladder is firmly planted on the ground. The Sages clearly tells us not to rely on miracles. It is wonderful if they come, but it is not part of an intelligent strategy. Certainly we should pray for positive outcomes, but we cannot depend on prayers alone, nor should we be devastated if our prayers are not answered. We cannot presume to see things from the aspect of eternity and sometimes our requests, however sincere, are denied.

King Solomon observes that foolishness results from a youthful, short-sighted approach to life, an approach which presumes that just because we make the effort, the desired result will follow. Proverbs somberly states that a person who wanders from the intelligent way will ultimately rest in the congregation of the dead. This is the kind of sobering wisdom Captain Tanner tries to impart to Lou Jean, who insists on believing in her alternate reality. The Sugarland Express reminds us of the possible pitfalls of single mindedness, and to always consider the real obstacles in front of us.

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The Boxer (1997), directed by Jim Sheridan

 

Many, many years ago, when I was in junior high school, I met Dolly, a sweet and very personable girl with whom I enjoyed spending time. She went to a different school and one day I invited her to visit my school, an institution in which I took great pride. Those were innocent years, and nothing seemed nefarious about my asking a girl that I knew to tour my school. In truth, the tour was excellent except for one small problem. A school janitor saw me in the building after hours with her and reported me to the principal to make him aware of my inappropriate behavior. The visit was innocent, but the next day I was summoned to the principal’s office where he lectured me about the appearance of impropriety. It was a speech that had a lasting impact and today I am grateful for it. I learned early on to be sensitive to how my actions might appear to others.

The appearance of impropriety is the catalyst for much of what happens in The Boxer, the story of Danny Flynn, a former Irish prizefighter who comes home to Belfast after serving 14 years in prison. There he reconnects with Maggie, an old girlfriend, now married to an imprisoned IRA man. A paramount value amongst the IRA is that wives remain loyal to their husbands even when they are sent to prison for long terms. The IRA fighters view with disdain the slightest impropriety. They know that if an IRA member were to feel that incarceration would lead to the breakup of his marriage as well as prison, it would become increasingly difficult to recruit members. Furthermore, for many it would be too high a price to pay for their rebellion against the English.

Against this background, Danny meets with Maggie, his old flame. They originally intended to marry, but life intervened. Danny went to prison as a convicted terrorist and Maggie reluctantly moved on, eventually marrying and having a child.

Their love for one another persists, however, in spite of the long separation. Seeing each other after so many years rekindles long suppressed feelings of love, and they reveal their innermost thoughts to one another. Their private talks, however, soon become public knowledge, and their destinies are changed. Once others become aware of their surreptitious encounters, nothing can remain the same.

In truth, nothing immoral occurs between them. They confess their mutual love, but do not consummate it any way, respecting the unwritten code of the IRA. However, the specter of adultery looms large. Eventually it becomes the excuse for Danny’s enemies to torpedo Danny’s plans to live in peace and open a non-sectarian boxing club, in which both Catholics and Protestants can participate. Violence erupts leaving innocents murdered and maimed. The future of peace between the Irish and English is jeopardized. Moreover, the suggestion of inappropriate behavior between Danny and Maggie motivates Liam, Maggie’s son, to burn down the town gymnasium where the boxers train.

Judaism has much to say about marit ayin/the appearance of impropriety. For example, the Torah tells us that if a woman is alone with a man other than her husband, the appearance of impropriety might trigger a crisis of trust between spouses, which might lead to the dissolution of the marriage.

The appearance of impropriety plays out in many life situations. Judaism encourages us to be sensitive to how our behavior looks to others. We may technically be innocent of crime, but our actions may give a different impression. It is wise at times to see our behavior through the eyes of others.

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