"South of East Jesus" by G. Bernstein (2014)

The cover of Glenn Bernstein’s newest novel, “South of East Jesus”, speaks volumes about the dual nature of human beings. The silhouette depicts a man and a woman; one in portrayed in light; and the other in darkness. You can see through them both. Even the title contains a message of sorts; as if we are all a bit shy of the mark when it comes to perfection.

I don’t know whether my assessment has any validity to it, or if I have conjured up this explanation as a result of Mr. Bernstein’s tale, which explores these very questions. He does so through the character of Renny, a woman who finds herself alone and pregnant after the suicide of her husband Parker.

When an emergency terminates the pregnancy of one of her twins, Renny finds herself in the care of Dr. Thomas Ryan, a widower, and a man with a reputation to uphold. Renny, on the other hand, has nothing to lose and everything to gain as she finds herself drawn to this kind, empathetic professional.

But lines get blurred when simple acts of kindness become more than simple, and Renny stokes the fires of passion with her every move. Soon, they both face the biggest single dilemma of their separate lives. What happens as a result of having crossed those lines becomes something which consumes them both.

Steamy dialogue and fast paced writing make this a compelling read for fans of romance novels. I could hardly keep the book out of my wife’s hands long enough to read it myself, without searching for it each time I went to pick it up. This is Mr. Bernstein’s 2^nd book, and I would suspect that it will not be his last.

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Mickey Rooney - RIP

Word just came in that Mickey Rooney; iconic force of entertainment; has passed away at age 93. An accomplished professional in all aspects of show business, his passing represents yet another loss to the golden days of vaudeville, radio, movies and television. 

We shall not see the likes of him again; which makes you tube all the more worthwhile. For a good example of his powerful dramatic acting skills hit the following link;

http://robertwilliamsofbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-comedian-with-mel-torme-and-mickey.html

Nicodemus and Stymie

My first run in with the name of Nicodemus came through the Our Gang series. Seriously, a lot of credit for opening up the classics, as well as the Bible, came from the stuff on television. Of course you had to be open enough; and curious enough; to want to find out who they were talking about. In the case of Nicodemus, this curiosity began with Stymie; the black kid with the bowler hat; who was I believe looking for; or talking about; a cat. I could be wrong about the scenario, but it was Stymie.

Anyway, through the years I have run into the name Nicodemus on road signs, road maps, state maps; even ships are named for him. Often enough, most people have no idea who he was. Some even attribute myth like origin to his name. Even some regular church going people would be hard pressed to tell you just who he was, or why he is important. I attribute that to a lack of effort on the part of the average clergyman. But, luckily, you have Rooftop Reviews to enlighten you about this, and on a Sunday, no less!

Nicodemus was the guy pictured, or rather depicted, in the Pieta; the statue by Michelangelo shown above. That statue was displayed at the New York World’s Fair in 1964 and 1965. It was one of the Pope’s goodwill efforts in advance of his visit to the city the following year. Say what you want about the church, that move made quite an impression upon this Jewish kid from Brooklyn; not the least of which was based upon the fact that this hunk of marble was a Michelangelo all the way from Europe!

And, as if that were not impressive enough, the Pieta depicted my beloved Nicodemus, the same one who was introduced to me by Stymie in the “Our Gang” series, as I mentioned earlier. So here I was, the only one at the World’s Fair looking at this thing in connection with Stymie. But, I was awed. And the story of Nicodemus, and how he became involved in the story of Jesus Christ, is fascinating whether or not you believe in Jesus. I make that statement as a candle lighting, Sabbath observing Jew.

Nicodemus, who was later made a Saint, was a Pharisee who lived at the time of Jesus' death. As written in the Gospel of John, Nicodemus showed favor to Jesus, and appears with him three time. He visits Jesus one night to discuss his teachings, as written in John 3:1–21. The next time you read about him is in the portion covering the Feast of Unleavened Bread, John 7:45–51, where he discusses the law concerning Jesus arrest and imprisonment with the other disciples. And, the last time he appears in the Bible is at the Crucifixion, when he helps a man named Joseph (not Jesus' father) to prepare the corpse for burial, as told in John 19:39–42.

Nicodemus is not mentioned elsewhere in history, but he is one of the first Jews to be “born again” and his experience is considered to be the source of that expression. The Jewish Encyclopedia has traced the origins of this man to Nicodemus ben Gurion, who is mentioned in the Talmud as a wealthy and popular religious figure who possessed miraculous powers. In the Christian faith, Nicodemus is thought to have been killed in the 1^st Century and is considered to be a martyr.

And that, my friends, is the story of Nicodemus and how I became acquainted with his name. And they say nothing good was on TV when I was a kid!

Arthur Smith - RIP

Legendary guitarist, banjo player, fiddler, songwriter, TV host, radio personality Arthur Smith passed away on Thursday. He was 93 years old. His death marked the end of a long and stellar career making music in Charlotte, N.C. Although he was born in South Carolina Mr. Smith made Charlotte his home in the early 1940’s and never looked back.

His radio and TV shows were regional in their makeup, but had a worldwide effect on music. His iconic “Fuedin’ Banjo’s” would go on to be heard in films like “Deliverance”, for which he was given no credit whatsoever and had to bring suit in order to obtain any money for the use of his song. When Mitsubishi used the song again in the 1990’s he made some more money by taking them to court. But that is just a small part of who Mr. Smith was.

All over the country there were regional variety shows along the lines of the Ed Sullivan Show in New York. These regional shows highlighted the music and happenings in the local area in which they aired. I have often been envious of the people who got to watch these shows when I was a kid. Sure, I had Sullivan, but so did the people in the small cities. They just had something extra.

Guests such as Johnny Cash; who used to stay at Mr. Smith’s home in Charlotte when he came for a visit; Billy Graham and his wife Ruth, Andy Griffith, and a host of young guitar pickers from Nashville; including a very young Vince Gill; all made appearances on Mr. Smith’s show. Paul McCartney played 2 songs in 1958 which got him in the Quarrymen with John Lennon. One was Eddie Cochrane’s “Twenty Flight Rock”; the other was Arthur Smith’s “Guitar Boogie.”

Regional shows like Mr. Smith’s have gone by the wayside in the wake of the expanding global economy, but they will always be remembered for the joyful noise they made. The world was much less complex in those days when television was live and the performers even livelier. RIP Arthur Smith.

For more about Mr. Smith use the following link;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZ7IYL0qzrM 

Delaware - Among My Souvenirs (1985)

This is a story about the State of Delaware. It is also a story about my early driving habits. At the same time it a story about courting my wife long distance. And, it is also the story of my time working with my father, which was the result of a promise made to my dying mother. In short; this is a multi-faceted tale.

In late 1984 I left my job as a Merchant Mariner employed by Military Sealift Command; a civilian component of the United States Navy. I served honorably in the Navy and then worked for the Command as a civilian contractor. I left the job; according to my letter of resignation; “….in order to effect a more positive lifestyle.” I thought that sounded pretty cool. I still do.

My mother had just recently passed away and I had foolishly made a promise to her that I would come home and work for my father for a year; a promise I would come to regret.

At the time I possessed several different licenses in several different states. I used them like credit cards; jamming one up with points before switching to another one while the points fell off the first one. It was a system which suited me well. Sailors take some time to adjust to traveling on wheels, and so are entitled to some sort of accommodation as they find their land legs.

The ticket at the bottom is not related to the money order at the top. It’s essential that you understand that. The money order was for the ticket I got on the way home from Baltimore to New York on the 13^th. The second ticket was for going back to Baltimore the next night, which was Valentine’s Day! Well, actually the ticket wasn't merely for going back; I wasn't blacklisted or anything. I was just driving too fast, again.

The date(s) shown above indicate I was in Delaware on both the 13^th of February; which is when I was pulled over at about 3 AM doing about 90. I have always remembered that I was taken into custody because I had an outstanding ticket which I had never paid, not expecting to be pulled over again in Delaware. It was kind of like my own lottery. The hardest part was remembering which license I had used. I had a great many tickets during this period; about $10,000 in all. And, I still have all the receipts to prove it.

I arrived at the Justice of the Peace station following the State Trooper in my own car. Apparently I was not dangerous enough to require restraint. The location was a place called Willington. It would be my home for the next several hours.

At about 6 AM I phoned Sue to get some sympathy for having gotten locked up. After all, I was doing this for her. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch, but at the time I was looking for sympathy. I knew better than to ask her to send me money, as she didn't have any. That left me with only one recourse. I would have to call my father.

At the time I was working for him and he expected me to be ready in the mornings. I had promised my mother that I would give the arrangement a shot when I left the ships after 8 years at sea. This was her last request of me and I felt somewhat committed to it. So, in September of 1984 I left my job with Military Sealift Command and went to work for him.

My dad and I used to meet at his apartment in 1310 Avenue R. He lived in 2-H and I lived in 5-G. I was never late. But this morning I knew that I would be severely behind time, so to speak, and I owed him a call. Also, if I were to show up that day, I needed cash. Fast.

At the time there was a commercial on television which showed various people calling home for cash in different emergencies. One of them was of a teen aged son calling home from a phone booth on the side of the road in the middle of the night. There were police cruisers in the background, indicating some sort of trouble with the law. The son says something like, “Hey Dad, I need cash; FAST!” So I said something along those lines, got cussed out in the bargain, and then proceeded to wait on the money order. That’s his handwriting and signature on the money order application/receipt.

Now, the money order should have been available in something like 30 seconds and I should have been on the road again, but that’s not what happened. For whatever reason; and I have no memory of why; the magistrate would not send anyone to town to get the money order. He wouldn't even phone to see if it had arrived. I was deeply troubled by this as my father would be sure to make the day miserable for me on account of any further delay.

After about 3 hours or so I decided to leave. My keys were still in the car, and I was still unshackled, so what the heck. I simply got up and left. I got home in time to do a decent afternoon’s work and then I headed straight back to Baltimore. After all, it was now Valentine’s Day Eve and I'm a romantic at heart.

Had a great evening with Sue and the boys in Baltimore on the 13^th before heading back to Brooklyn early on the morning of the 14^th. Got as far as Delaware; blowing through at a discreet 75; when I got stopped again! Same town, same cop.

Now, this is the part where I realized that while I may have left on my own the morning before, they still had my license. I explained this to the officer and he was surprisingly nice about it, stating that since he knew who I was, my lack of a license was not that big of a deal. We exchanged pleasantries and he gave me a ticket, for which I thanked him, then I drove away.

When I got home it was already about 9 AM. I called the Justice of the Peace; who laughed at me when I asked him to send me my license. He was serious about it, too. No way was he sending me my license. I was however free to come in and get it. So, I paid the new fine with a check by mail and switched to a different license while I got a duplicate one from whatever state I was using at the time.

Well, I think I have covered everything I mentioned at the beginning of this account. My mother dying; my promise to work for my Dad; my driving habits; a long distance romance with Sue; and a few other things as well. Amazing what memories comes back to you while going through old papers. That must be why I saved them.

The Jews of Kaifeng (1990)

As promised here is the story about one of the last Jews in the town of Kaifeng, China. Like the article on the 2 Afghan Jews, this is also something from a newspaper which I clipped at the time. And, as with the other, it was kind of a surprise to find it after so many years. This one is actually a photocopy of the original article, which appeared in the Baltimore Sun on July 22, 1990.

It’s really kind of a Passover story in a way. But I thought I’d better get it done now, rather than wait the 2 weeks until Passover, as the article has been lying about for 24 years since I’ve clipped it and if I don’t do this now it could be another 24 years before I see the article again. As they say, there is no time like the present.

Zhao Pingyu is, according to this article, one of the last Jews in China. At the time of the article he was a 69 year old retired tax collector living in a one room house in Kaifeng. It is a far cry from the once thriving village which was home to a substantial Jewish population, even boasting its own temple. Stone markers placed by missionaries in the 18^th Century mark the spot where a hospital now sits.

The Jews first arrived as traders in about 900 A.D. They were traders traveling the old Silk Road, who numbered in the thousands and by 1183 had built their own temple. It was called the Purity and Truth Synagogue. They were known by the Chinese as the “sinew plucking people” due to the habit of removing the sinews from the meat they ate in accordance with Kosher dietary laws. They were also respected for their treatment of the poor. There are several tablets in the town, some dating back to 1489, which commemorate the high regard in which the Jewish people of Kaifeng were held.

As the years passed the Jews of Kaifeng assimilated into Chinese life, much as they would wherever they went. They took the Imperial Examinations; which were like our Civil Service Exams; and became trusted members of the society, some even rising to the height of Mandarins.

When the last of their Rabbis passed away about 1810 the community began to lose much of its Jewish roots and character. And as society changed the Jews of Kaifeng found themselves growing into poverty, selling many of their prized religious artifacts in order to survive. The Torah scrolls, the holy books, the candles all went to British missionaries. The once proud synagogue was allowed to crumble into ruins.

Mr. Zhao kept the faith alive even while not knowing much about it. When this news article appeared in 1990 he expressed his love for the Passover holiday. He lit candles in observance of it. He even told the story of people dabbing lambs blood on their door frames before eating a dinner of lamb and reciting prayers. He even lit candles each Friday evening at sundown, but he had no idea why.

"Spanish Harlem" - Demo (1960)

This recording of “Spanish Harlem” has just become my favorite version among the scores that have been recorded. And that includes the iconic version by Ben E. King. Why? Because it’s so bare and simple. With no marimbas or percussion, Jerry Leiber’s vocals (that’s him singing) really leap out and the beauty of the words is so much more apparent.

And the guitar playing, by Phil Spector, is a very pleasant surprise. He’s nuanced in his approach, in much the same way as Mr. Leiber is with his vocals. Mike Stoller apparently produced the session. Phil Spector and Jerry Leiber are the accredited songwriters.

Here are the lyrics- seeing them written down reinforces their beauty. And below that is a link to the Ben E. King version in its finished form. You be the judge.

There is a rose in Spanish Harlem

A red rose up in Spanish Harlem

It is a special one, it's never seen the sun

It only comes out when the moon is on the run

And all the stars are gleaming

It's growing in the street right up through the concrete

But soft and sweet and dreamin'

There is a rose in Spanish Harlem

A red rose up in Spanish Harlem

With eyes as black as coal that looks down in my soul

And starts a fire there and then I lose control

I have to beg your pardon

I'm goin' to pick that rose and watch her

As she grows in my garden

I'm goin' to pick that rose and watch her

As she grows in my garden

(There is a rose in Spanish Harlem)

La la la, la la la, la la la la

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zOoutJtMCi8

Jews in Kabul - 2002

This is a very unusual story that came out of Afghanistan in 2002. It’s a Chanukah story. It’s also a story of division; like that of the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s; where no one knows why the trouble started, but neither is anybody going to give in anytime soon.

I save unusual news articles; have for years. I used to keep them tucked into books and crannies; and a couple of nooks here and there. These days I scan them, but every now and again I find one while re-reading a book, or putting my many stacks of papers in order. And I’m almost always pleasantly surprised by what I find.

Not much for me to write here aside from re-capping the story. It’s all in the article above, and I haven’t really got anything to add to it. Basically the story is of two men; both Jews; living in Afghanistan around the time of the American invasion after the events of 9-11.

Ishak Levin; a Persian Jew; pictured above, was 72 years old at the time. As a Jew he was a rarity in Afghanistan at the time. He lived a few doors down from the only other Jew around, Zebulaon Simentov, 42 years old, who hailed from Turkmanistan. The only conversation they would have that years was to ascertain whether or not it was, indeed, the first night of Chanukah.

Then they went off to light their candles separately, with Levin remarking that their families have celebrated Chanukah for thousands of years, but never with Simentov. He claims it is “not possible.”

When you read a story like this you have to wonder if there is any real hope for humanity. Here’s 2 Jews; living in the midst of people who would love nothing more than to see them dead; yet they can’t seem to unite even for one night to pray together.

And if you think this story is good, wait until next week when I post the one about the last Jew living in a small town in China…