After several months, I'm resuming my blogs.
There is no particular order - this one is topical.
Judith allocates the readings of haftarot at her synagogue. I have asked her to allocate the reading to me, when the subject is rheumatological = the vision of the dry bones of Ezekiel 37 - one of my favourites.
To support her, I offer to step in when she cannot find a willing volunteer.
That happened for yesterday's service. Too many services in the week and nobody available. However, the Reform calendar have their own list, often different from the designated haftarot. So instead of the official listing for Shabbat Shuvah / Ha'azinu [David's prayer of thanksgiving from II Samuel XXII] they stipulated some verses from 3 prophets. Not very impressive.
So I decided that I would choose my own: 2 Samuel chapter 11, v.1-15. My reasons were -
# it is on the subject of planned sins and crime - to be atoned for on Yom Kippur;
# it's related to my forthcoming oneg on Bathsheva with some lovely slides,
# it's a brilliant literary episode.
Our rabbi is quite lenient, and he agreed to my suggested choice.
To save you the trouble of searching, I have included the passage [in italics] - I modified my translation to be as accurate as possible. The key words are, of course, 'hara anochi'. Judith said that my reading of it was very good. Ahh, I love this episode: but for the grace of God... If I was younger, and we had a flat roof, and there was a horny young neighbour whose husband was absent...
At the end of the year, when kings go forth to battle, David dispatched Joav [his army commander] to war, together with his servants, and with all Israel. They destroyed the Ammonites and laid siege on Rabbah.
But David stayed in Jerusalem.
Towards one evening David got up from his bed and strolled upon the roof of the king’s house. And from the roof he saw a woman washing herself. And the woman was very beautiful. David sent to make enquiries about the woman. And someone said, ‘is this not Bat-sheva, daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?’
And David sent messengers and fetched her, and she came to him, and he lay with her. She had been purified from her uncleanliness.
Then she returned to her house.
And the woman conceived; and she sent word to David and said 'I am pregnant' [hara anochi].
And David sent word to Joav [his commander] 'Send Uriah the Hittite to me'. And Joav sent Uriah to David.
And when Uriah came to him, David enquired how Joav was, and how the men were, and how the war was progressing. Then David said to Uriah, 'Go down to your house and wash your feet’. And Uriah departed from the king’s house, followed by the king’s gifts.
But Uriah lay down at the entrance of the king’s house, together with all his master’s servants, and did not go down to his own house. And they told David ‘Uriah has not gone down to his house'.
David said to Uriah ‘Have you not come from a journey? Why did you not gone down to your house?’ Uriah said to David ‘The Holy Ark, and Israel, and Judah, all sit in tents, and my master Joav and my master’s servants are camped in an open field – shall I, then, go into my house to eat and to drink and to lie with my wife? Upon your life, and upon your soul, I shall not do such a thing.’
David said to Uriah: ‘Stay here today, and tomorrow I shall dispatch you.’ So Uriah stayed in Jerusalem that day and the following day. And David invited him, and he ate and drank before him, and he made him drunk. And in the evening he left – to lie on his bunk together with his master’s servants. But he did not go down to his own house.
And the following morning David wrote a letter to Joav and sent it by the hand of Uriah. And he wrote in the letter as follows: ‘Place Uriah opposite the fiercest fighting, and then retreat from behind him, so that he shall be hit and he will die.'
When we toured Hittite sites in central Turkey, I entertained our fellow passengers on the coach with the story of this mercenary Hittite, whose wife had 'got a bun in her oven'. One of our fellow-travellers later checked his Bible and was impressed by my accuracy.
In my planned oneg, I'll elaborate some further points:
#' Bath-sheva' in Hebrew cynically refers to her marriage oath to Uriah, an oath which she broke.
# 'feet' in the Bible is often a euphemism for 'genitals'.
# I hope you'll agree that their adultery was initiated by the woman, and not by David.
# Uriah clearly knew of their adultery, and by staying away from his wife, he refused to accept paternity.
# Therefore he knew that he was now doomed to die - he did not have to read David's letter to Joav.
# It is interesting, that Uriah's wife did not come to see him during his visit to Jerusalem. I seem to remember some Talmudic law about such duplicate intercourse being forbidden.
# The Bible leaves out David's 2 obvious questions:
1. 'Are you sure that you're pregnant?' [-'My period is late, and I'm sick each morning'].
And 2. 'Are you sure your pregnancy is mine?' [-'I lay with nobody else, and you will see that the baby will have red hair'. Like Pricess Diana's second son?].
Nowadays there is science: a urine test detects pregnancy, and DNA will establish paternity.
But that's not the end of this particular Bible narrative. Read on!
.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Monday, 15 March 2010
63. A Weekend of celebrations and more
After a time in the doldrums, things were looking up. It started towards the end of February, when Heather began to celebrate her birthday/month: it's never just a day. Her friend Sally suggested secretly the creation of a book of contributions and photos - and it succeeded brilliantly. Heather had no idea until it was actually presented to her. This took place at the National Gallery. She had invited about 30 of her friends for an hour's guided tour of four paintings from different centuries - from ven der Weyden to Turner, followed by a meal in a reserved section of their restaurant. What her friends did not know was that Heather would be the guide.
A week before, we had gone to listen to a rehearsal and she did very well on the day. In fact some casual gallery visitors joined her guests to listen. The book organized by Sally is a brilliant summary of her life. You will not be surprised that I am quoting here just my own contribution:-
About Heather
Recording memories about Heather is hard - I'm getting old and do not remember a lot. And I'm also getting forgetful. She is my favourite youngest and tallest daughter, and now she is forty... kilograms - no, forty inches - no, forty something. Ah, years. I had been sure that our babies were going to be boys and therefore I would choose the name: William, in memory of my grandfather. So Judith chose Daphne for the first baby. And when we made the same agreement for our second child, Judith told me when I came to visit that she had chosen the name Ruth. For the third baby we agreed to choose the name together. Still no William. The Forsythe Saga was on television and the character of Irene was a lovely person. But we already had a close relative called Renee. At Westminster hospital one remarkable ward sister was called Heather, and Judith agreed. I cannot remember the conception or the pregnancy. Heather was born at Mile End Hospital. We refused a single room, because it was less safe for calling help in an emergency. The other 3 women in Judith's ward were all unmarried mothers. Judith's father was quite amused. Heather's birth was induced - we suspect that this was because the obstetrician was due to go on leave. With her first breath Heather inhaled a very keen cockney bargaining talent - unlike her elder sisters. From Judith, Heather inherited much tact and common sense. And an excellent talent for cooking. From me she inherited an overcrowded dentition that needed correction, but not the myopia - that went to Ruth. Her judgement and analysis of peoples' characters are superb. She has also inherited my sense of humour - and I'm telling everybody.
Alas, Sally herself herself was highly pregnant and could not come.
The next happy event was Jeffrey's upgrade of my computer. There were snags and setbacks, and required several visits, but with a new motherboard and a faster processor life now is certainly vastly less frustrating.
Lastly, the weekend just past. On Saturday we attended the Bat Mitzvah of Hannah, the daughter of David, the son of Judy's cousin. It took place in an orthodox synagogue. Therefore, for a girl, the ceremony took place after the conclusion of the Sabbath service, without prayer shawls, and with the women now sitting (separately) down in the main hall. Hannah gave her dissertation in a clear loud voice, pausing brilliantly between paragraphs: she is a clever girl. The rabbi praised her and presented her with a prayer book, but gave no blessing. After hospitality in the synagogue hall, we walked to the nearby parental home for a lovely fish-based meal. Naturally there was grace after the meal and an entertaining poem written and recited by David. They really are a lovely family.
Then, on Sunday, we attended the celebration of Harold's 90th birthday - in the premises of our [former] reform synagogue. Another tasty fish-based meal, and some humourous speeches. No grace after the meal, of course. Unfortunately there was live music throughout, which made conversation almost impossible. But it facilitated the post-prandial dancing - at which point we thanked Harold and Betty and departed.
Later we discussed our impressions and agreed that we would certainly not wish to celebrate our own possible event in that format. But there is still plenty of time.
A week before, we had gone to listen to a rehearsal and she did very well on the day. In fact some casual gallery visitors joined her guests to listen. The book organized by Sally is a brilliant summary of her life. You will not be surprised that I am quoting here just my own contribution:-
About Heather
Recording memories about Heather is hard - I'm getting old and do not remember a lot. And I'm also getting forgetful. She is my favourite youngest and tallest daughter, and now she is forty... kilograms - no, forty inches - no, forty something. Ah, years. I had been sure that our babies were going to be boys and therefore I would choose the name: William, in memory of my grandfather. So Judith chose Daphne for the first baby. And when we made the same agreement for our second child, Judith told me when I came to visit that she had chosen the name Ruth. For the third baby we agreed to choose the name together. Still no William. The Forsythe Saga was on television and the character of Irene was a lovely person. But we already had a close relative called Renee. At Westminster hospital one remarkable ward sister was called Heather, and Judith agreed. I cannot remember the conception or the pregnancy. Heather was born at Mile End Hospital. We refused a single room, because it was less safe for calling help in an emergency. The other 3 women in Judith's ward were all unmarried mothers. Judith's father was quite amused. Heather's birth was induced - we suspect that this was because the obstetrician was due to go on leave. With her first breath Heather inhaled a very keen cockney bargaining talent - unlike her elder sisters. From Judith, Heather inherited much tact and common sense. And an excellent talent for cooking. From me she inherited an overcrowded dentition that needed correction, but not the myopia - that went to Ruth. Her judgement and analysis of peoples' characters are superb. She has also inherited my sense of humour - and I'm telling everybody.
Alas, Sally herself herself was highly pregnant and could not come.
The next happy event was Jeffrey's upgrade of my computer. There were snags and setbacks, and required several visits, but with a new motherboard and a faster processor life now is certainly vastly less frustrating.
Lastly, the weekend just past. On Saturday we attended the Bat Mitzvah of Hannah, the daughter of David, the son of Judy's cousin. It took place in an orthodox synagogue. Therefore, for a girl, the ceremony took place after the conclusion of the Sabbath service, without prayer shawls, and with the women now sitting (separately) down in the main hall. Hannah gave her dissertation in a clear loud voice, pausing brilliantly between paragraphs: she is a clever girl. The rabbi praised her and presented her with a prayer book, but gave no blessing. After hospitality in the synagogue hall, we walked to the nearby parental home for a lovely fish-based meal. Naturally there was grace after the meal and an entertaining poem written and recited by David. They really are a lovely family.
Then, on Sunday, we attended the celebration of Harold's 90th birthday - in the premises of our [former] reform synagogue. Another tasty fish-based meal, and some humourous speeches. No grace after the meal, of course. Unfortunately there was live music throughout, which made conversation almost impossible. But it facilitated the post-prandial dancing - at which point we thanked Harold and Betty and departed.
Later we discussed our impressions and agreed that we would certainly not wish to celebrate our own possible event in that format. But there is still plenty of time.
Sunday, 17 January 2010
62. MOONFLEET
.
After some 65 years I have read again Moonfleet by J M Falkner, written in 1898. Although I still remembered all the main events, it was as exciting to read as the first time round and I finished the 250 pages in two days.
Young John Trenchard's peaceful life with his aunt in the Dorset fishing village of Moonfleet ends dramatically when he discovers an underground passage leading from some tombstones in the churchyard to the burial vault of the Mohunes under the church. Soon he is drawn into a dangerous world of smugglers and contraband, and the mysterious legend of the Mohune's cursed diamond.
The plot and the narration are very well constructed, with a mixture of gripping descriptions and very touching emotions - all ending happily, of course, despite the killings and the tragic drownings. I agree with the blurb, that the story is 'as exciting to read today as it was when it first appeared in 1898'.
But I now realize that our primary school English teacher Miss Frankel actually read us a very simplified version [ see my post # 60 ]. So the verses which indicate the location of the diamond are much more cleverly compiled in the full text than the simple wording that I remembered; and the language and nautical terms are those of Falkner's times of 1898. But then, my English has improved too. My intention was to give the book to the children of my niece in Seattle and my nephew in Israel - but I now realize that they are still far too young.
.
After some 65 years I have read again Moonfleet by J M Falkner, written in 1898. Although I still remembered all the main events, it was as exciting to read as the first time round and I finished the 250 pages in two days.
Young John Trenchard's peaceful life with his aunt in the Dorset fishing village of Moonfleet ends dramatically when he discovers an underground passage leading from some tombstones in the churchyard to the burial vault of the Mohunes under the church. Soon he is drawn into a dangerous world of smugglers and contraband, and the mysterious legend of the Mohune's cursed diamond.
The plot and the narration are very well constructed, with a mixture of gripping descriptions and very touching emotions - all ending happily, of course, despite the killings and the tragic drownings. I agree with the blurb, that the story is 'as exciting to read today as it was when it first appeared in 1898'.
But I now realize that our primary school English teacher Miss Frankel actually read us a very simplified version [ see my post # 60 ]. So the verses which indicate the location of the diamond are much more cleverly compiled in the full text than the simple wording that I remembered; and the language and nautical terms are those of Falkner's times of 1898. But then, my English has improved too. My intention was to give the book to the children of my niece in Seattle and my nephew in Israel - but I now realize that they are still far too young.
.
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
61. Second Bar Mizvah
.
NOTE: I have been advised not to divulge names in my blogs. To quote captain Mainwaring in Dad's Army, 'Don't tell him, Pike!'. Some readers will still guess, presumably, who Z.G. and D.V. are.
We attended Mr.Z.G.'s party to celebrate his second bar mitzvah. The scriptures mention 70 years as a full life span - so if you add another 13, you've qualified for another bar mitzvah celebration when you're 83. It's an excuse for a meal and over the years more and more people live long enough to achieve it.
We did not plan to attend the synagogue service on the Saturday, when he would read his original Haftarah portion and receive the current rabbi's blessing. But we had been invited to the party on Monday evening - a cleverly lettered invitation to dinner at Me Tsu Yan restaurant [it means 'excellent' in Hebrew] in Golders Green. The web site confirmed that it serves strictly kosher Chinese food - and it's quite expensive.
It was purely and typically Chinese, a multitude of quite delicious dishes too numerous to list. The 'spare ribs' were of course not pork but sheep or lamb, and the final dish was sorbet, and not milky ice cream. And tea was without milk either. The waitresses were, what Prince Philip would call, genuine 'slit-eyed', and most efficient. The chopsticks on their porcelain rest configured a 'John the Baptist' type cross, but nobody commented.
Z had taken over the entire restaurant for the evening and we were 60 people. Judith and I knew absolute nobody: neither his relatives - he has 2 children, and a sister in law, all with their numerous families. Nor did we know any of his friends from Israel or in the UK. We were invited because of our long term friendship. Z and I both speak Hebrew, and we were active in the British Association of Palestine-Israel Philatelists (BAPIP). Z used to supply me with Israeli stamps, and I gave him some advice and support when his wife developed cancer and later died - about 7 years ago. Best of all, D.V. had not been invited. I was told at the time that he had blocked my nomination to honorary membership, at the conclusion of my editorship of the BAPIP Bulletin.
Z assured me that dinner jackets were not required - just shirt and tie. In the event, we could recognize the Israeli guests. Despite the bitter cold, they came without ties. I had brought my skullcap - but half the men did not wear one. So my worry about an orthodox separation of the genders for seating was unfounded, and I also guessed correctly that there would be no blessing before the meal nor grace afterwards.
When I wrote to accept Z's invitation, I had made one of my customary 'bad' jokes. I had suggested that Judith could tutor Z on his Torah reading - as she does for the bar-mitzvah children at her synagogue. Naturally I knew that there was no need. I also tried to frighten Z by offering to give a 'speech' at the dinner. That one, Z accepted in part - he suggested, 'could you tell a joke when there is a gap between courses?'
Z was wearing a splendid embroidered Bokharan gown and matching skull cap. In due course, he invited me to tell my 'story'.
I chose the Catholic story that I had used some years ago, about Norman Leonard's imaginary 'audience' with the Pope in Rome. I converted it to an Israeli Jewish setting.
Stop me if you know it.
Visiting his barber, I began, Z told him of one of his planned regular trips to Israel.
On this occasion, Z told the barber, his friends had managed to get him to meet the President.
The barber was not impressed.
'You are flying El Al? - Oh dear, It's the worst air line. Never on time. Rude stewardesses.
And you are booked into the King Solomon hotel? - Oh dear, It's a dump.
And your friends have arranged for you to meet the president? - Take binoculars, you won't get near him...
Still, enjoy your trip.'
At his next haircut, after Z had returned, the barber remembered his conversation about Z's journey. 'Well, how did it go?' asked the barber. Z had been quite annoyed by the pessimistic advice that he had received. But now he was able to get his revenge, as he reported: 'Not only was El Al on time, but there were some free seats, and they chose to upgrade me to first class. Very comfortable. And the king Solomon hotel has been renovated and raised one more star rating.'
'Yes, yes' asked the barber, 'but did you see the president?'
'There were only 5 people present. We had a very pleasant talk: he is a very nice man.'
'But what did the president say to you?'
Z imitated the president's Israeli accent: 'He took one look at me and said, ''Meester G, where did you get this awful haircut?'' '
They liked it. And Z had explained that in addition to the age of 70 (plus 13), also 80 years plus 13 can be celebrated - offering a third bar mitzvah at 93. So Z gave us notice of his intention, but I doubt whether anybody will invite me then as an after dinner speaker... if I'm still alive... and whatever the food.
.
NOTE: I have been advised not to divulge names in my blogs. To quote captain Mainwaring in Dad's Army, 'Don't tell him, Pike!'. Some readers will still guess, presumably, who Z.G. and D.V. are.
We attended Mr.Z.G.'s party to celebrate his second bar mitzvah. The scriptures mention 70 years as a full life span - so if you add another 13, you've qualified for another bar mitzvah celebration when you're 83. It's an excuse for a meal and over the years more and more people live long enough to achieve it.
We did not plan to attend the synagogue service on the Saturday, when he would read his original Haftarah portion and receive the current rabbi's blessing. But we had been invited to the party on Monday evening - a cleverly lettered invitation to dinner at Me Tsu Yan restaurant [it means 'excellent' in Hebrew] in Golders Green. The web site confirmed that it serves strictly kosher Chinese food - and it's quite expensive.
It was purely and typically Chinese, a multitude of quite delicious dishes too numerous to list. The 'spare ribs' were of course not pork but sheep or lamb, and the final dish was sorbet, and not milky ice cream. And tea was without milk either. The waitresses were, what Prince Philip would call, genuine 'slit-eyed', and most efficient. The chopsticks on their porcelain rest configured a 'John the Baptist' type cross, but nobody commented.
Z had taken over the entire restaurant for the evening and we were 60 people. Judith and I knew absolute nobody: neither his relatives - he has 2 children, and a sister in law, all with their numerous families. Nor did we know any of his friends from Israel or in the UK. We were invited because of our long term friendship. Z and I both speak Hebrew, and we were active in the British Association of Palestine-Israel Philatelists (BAPIP). Z used to supply me with Israeli stamps, and I gave him some advice and support when his wife developed cancer and later died - about 7 years ago. Best of all, D.V. had not been invited. I was told at the time that he had blocked my nomination to honorary membership, at the conclusion of my editorship of the BAPIP Bulletin.
Z assured me that dinner jackets were not required - just shirt and tie. In the event, we could recognize the Israeli guests. Despite the bitter cold, they came without ties. I had brought my skullcap - but half the men did not wear one. So my worry about an orthodox separation of the genders for seating was unfounded, and I also guessed correctly that there would be no blessing before the meal nor grace afterwards.
When I wrote to accept Z's invitation, I had made one of my customary 'bad' jokes. I had suggested that Judith could tutor Z on his Torah reading - as she does for the bar-mitzvah children at her synagogue. Naturally I knew that there was no need. I also tried to frighten Z by offering to give a 'speech' at the dinner. That one, Z accepted in part - he suggested, 'could you tell a joke when there is a gap between courses?'
Z was wearing a splendid embroidered Bokharan gown and matching skull cap. In due course, he invited me to tell my 'story'.
I chose the Catholic story that I had used some years ago, about Norman Leonard's imaginary 'audience' with the Pope in Rome. I converted it to an Israeli Jewish setting.
Stop me if you know it.
Visiting his barber, I began, Z told him of one of his planned regular trips to Israel.
On this occasion, Z told the barber, his friends had managed to get him to meet the President.The barber was not impressed.
'You are flying El Al? - Oh dear, It's the worst air line. Never on time. Rude stewardesses.
And you are booked into the King Solomon hotel? - Oh dear, It's a dump.
And your friends have arranged for you to meet the president? - Take binoculars, you won't get near him...
Still, enjoy your trip.'
At his next haircut, after Z had returned, the barber remembered his conversation about Z's journey. 'Well, how did it go?' asked the barber. Z had been quite annoyed by the pessimistic advice that he had received. But now he was able to get his revenge, as he reported: 'Not only was El Al on time, but there were some free seats, and they chose to upgrade me to first class. Very comfortable. And the king Solomon hotel has been renovated and raised one more star rating.'
'Yes, yes' asked the barber, 'but did you see the president?'
'There were only 5 people present. We had a very pleasant talk: he is a very nice man.'
'But what did the president say to you?'
Z imitated the president's Israeli accent: 'He took one look at me and said, ''Meester G, where did you get this awful haircut?'' '
They liked it. And Z had explained that in addition to the age of 70 (plus 13), also 80 years plus 13 can be celebrated - offering a third bar mitzvah at 93. So Z gave us notice of his intention, but I doubt whether anybody will invite me then as an after dinner speaker... if I'm still alive... and whatever the food.
.
Friday, 11 December 2009
60. Death
.
My first English teacher in primary school in Jerusalem was Miss Fraenkel - her father was a professor of mathematics at the university. She was a pleasant person. Later she developed pulmonary Tb and had to drop out. Once we understood some English, at the end of each lesson Miss Fraenkel would read to us, as a treat, installments of a simplified version of 'Moonfleet' by John Falkner [1898]. After more than 60 years, I still remember the poem on the scrap of paper the boy found in the tomb:
man may live some Sixty years
his Feet walk Down a path of tears
use your life Well for death comes soon
from north or South at night or noon...
After some guessing they noticed the words written in capitals and worked out that these revealed where the diamond was hidden: 'sixty feet down well south'. A clever idea!
I loved that story. Soon I bought the paperback and read ahead.
In recent years, a growing number of our relatives, friends and acquaintances have 'walked down' that path. Sometimes their path was medically fairly obvious to me, and sometimes treatments have been effective. Others were killed by their chemotherapy. The BMJ obituaries [which I always read first] usually give the cause of death of former colleagues: mainly strokes, heart attacks, and cancers. My own current afflictions are somewhat disabling, but not lethal - so far. Nevertheless, I have obviously given some thought to my own death.
My own death may not be rapid but lingering. So if I start to suffer intolerably, I shall commit suicide. The religious ministers of Judaism and Christianity claim falsely, that they forbid it, but the Bible in fact does not criticize it: prior to explosives, Samson was a 'suicide killer' and king Saul tried to fall on his sword - although in the end his servant had to help him. And Judas, the disciple of Jesus who has betrayed him for 30 pieces of silver, hanged himself. Nobody complained - only the cock crowed...
I will have no need to travel to Switzerland to be helped to commit suicide: A choice of medicaments is available to me at home - as long as I am not discovered prematurely and saved. A recent BMJ issue pointed out the risks to someone who might assist me in any way - they can be accused of murder. So it will need some very careful planning in secret, on my own.
It may still come as a shock to Judith, to my daughters and to some of my close relatives. But by now at least I'm not too young to depart. And I am absolutely sure that there are no after-life or reincarnation: the end is final. The disposal of the dead body is not important. Quite possibly the only comment said during that activity will be that ''he did love cheese''.
For some years I have been fully paid up for cremation. Unlike David Hulbert, I am not worried about the pollution caused by the fumes of mercury from the amalgam in my fillings. The undertaker can extract them first - as the Nazis did for gold. And unlike the widow of king Mausolus, whose passion for him made her eat some of his ashes every day, my ashes can be dumped unceremoniously on the nearest tip. Ruth thought that I might fancy having them scattered on the sea of Galilee. But there may be security, customs and public health obstacles. For me that would be a wasted journey: I'd rather visit once more, while I'm still alive. (*See end-note)
My father is buried in Jerusalem and my mother in Bat Yam, near Tel Aviv. The distance between them after death is irrelevant, and I have not visited either grave in more than 35 years. Yet I do not remember them less, just because I cannot touch a slab of stone. But one of my second cousins finds my attitude shocking.
When I ordered the grave stone for my mother, the stone mason asked what type I had in mind. I replied: 'the heaviest'. He did not comment. But he told me that his own occupation was actually based on a Jewish ritual deception: he was a Cohen, who was not allowed to enter cemeteries. So he had changed his surname - and nobody knew...
I regard the undertaking industry as profiteering from the bad conscience of the relatives. Embalming, elaborate coffins, funeral masses, family plots and matching tombstones are all a waste of money. By then it is too late for the deceased to benefit from their generosity.
Why not be kinder to them during life, or endow a memorial lecture instead?
When Daphne was little, we found a dead chick that had fallen out of the nest overnight. We put it in the dustbin. Daphne understood: ''When daddy dies, I'll also put him in the dustbin''.
I agreed.
--------
*note (27.03.10): I've just had a comment from my cousin in Israel - in Hebrew, of course. Amos enjoyed reading this blog post but he doubts the possibility of scattering my ashes on the sea of Galilee. By that time, he remarks, there will no longer be water in the lake. That depends on my survival, and the survival of the lake.
I am sure that Israel is now trying to slow down the depletion of the water. Formerly, despite available technology and abundant sunshine, for many years they neglected action to de-salinate sea water. It is my personal view that they preferred to keep up the pressure on Syria and Jordan, stopping them from using more of the water that they were obliged to pass to their Israeli enemies.
.
My first English teacher in primary school in Jerusalem was Miss Fraenkel - her father was a professor of mathematics at the university. She was a pleasant person. Later she developed pulmonary Tb and had to drop out. Once we understood some English, at the end of each lesson Miss Fraenkel would read to us, as a treat, installments of a simplified version of 'Moonfleet' by John Falkner [1898]. After more than 60 years, I still remember the poem on the scrap of paper the boy found in the tomb:
man may live some Sixty years
his Feet walk Down a path of tears
use your life Well for death comes soon
from north or South at night or noon...
After some guessing they noticed the words written in capitals and worked out that these revealed where the diamond was hidden: 'sixty feet down well south'. A clever idea!
I loved that story. Soon I bought the paperback and read ahead.
In recent years, a growing number of our relatives, friends and acquaintances have 'walked down' that path. Sometimes their path was medically fairly obvious to me, and sometimes treatments have been effective. Others were killed by their chemotherapy. The BMJ obituaries [which I always read first] usually give the cause of death of former colleagues: mainly strokes, heart attacks, and cancers. My own current afflictions are somewhat disabling, but not lethal - so far. Nevertheless, I have obviously given some thought to my own death.
My own death may not be rapid but lingering. So if I start to suffer intolerably, I shall commit suicide. The religious ministers of Judaism and Christianity claim falsely, that they forbid it, but the Bible in fact does not criticize it: prior to explosives, Samson was a 'suicide killer' and king Saul tried to fall on his sword - although in the end his servant had to help him. And Judas, the disciple of Jesus who has betrayed him for 30 pieces of silver, hanged himself. Nobody complained - only the cock crowed...
I will have no need to travel to Switzerland to be helped to commit suicide: A choice of medicaments is available to me at home - as long as I am not discovered prematurely and saved. A recent BMJ issue pointed out the risks to someone who might assist me in any way - they can be accused of murder. So it will need some very careful planning in secret, on my own.
It may still come as a shock to Judith, to my daughters and to some of my close relatives. But by now at least I'm not too young to depart. And I am absolutely sure that there are no after-life or reincarnation: the end is final. The disposal of the dead body is not important. Quite possibly the only comment said during that activity will be that ''he did love cheese''.
For some years I have been fully paid up for cremation. Unlike David Hulbert, I am not worried about the pollution caused by the fumes of mercury from the amalgam in my fillings. The undertaker can extract them first - as the Nazis did for gold. And unlike the widow of king Mausolus, whose passion for him made her eat some of his ashes every day, my ashes can be dumped unceremoniously on the nearest tip. Ruth thought that I might fancy having them scattered on the sea of Galilee. But there may be security, customs and public health obstacles. For me that would be a wasted journey: I'd rather visit once more, while I'm still alive. (*See end-note)
My father is buried in Jerusalem and my mother in Bat Yam, near Tel Aviv. The distance between them after death is irrelevant, and I have not visited either grave in more than 35 years. Yet I do not remember them less, just because I cannot touch a slab of stone. But one of my second cousins finds my attitude shocking.
When I ordered the grave stone for my mother, the stone mason asked what type I had in mind. I replied: 'the heaviest'. He did not comment. But he told me that his own occupation was actually based on a Jewish ritual deception: he was a Cohen, who was not allowed to enter cemeteries. So he had changed his surname - and nobody knew...
I regard the undertaking industry as profiteering from the bad conscience of the relatives. Embalming, elaborate coffins, funeral masses, family plots and matching tombstones are all a waste of money. By then it is too late for the deceased to benefit from their generosity.
Why not be kinder to them during life, or endow a memorial lecture instead?
When Daphne was little, we found a dead chick that had fallen out of the nest overnight. We put it in the dustbin. Daphne understood: ''When daddy dies, I'll also put him in the dustbin''.
I agreed.
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*note (27.03.10): I've just had a comment from my cousin in Israel - in Hebrew, of course. Amos enjoyed reading this blog post but he doubts the possibility of scattering my ashes on the sea of Galilee. By that time, he remarks, there will no longer be water in the lake. That depends on my survival, and the survival of the lake.
I am sure that Israel is now trying to slow down the depletion of the water. Formerly, despite available technology and abundant sunshine, for many years they neglected action to de-salinate sea water. It is my personal view that they preferred to keep up the pressure on Syria and Jordan, stopping them from using more of the water that they were obliged to pass to their Israeli enemies.
.
Sunday, 18 October 2009
59. Medical Gloom
This week's BMJ contains an excessive dose of sad or worrying news. And a lot of the problems are insoluble.
It begins with an editorial on obesity. Fat people suffer more anxiety and depression, and depressed or anxious people get fatter. Antidepressants cause weight gain - and the manufacturers do not warn of this, as it would reduce their sales.
We are all aware of cases of sudden infant death syndrome - SIDS. There have been some notorious cases, including the enigmatic statements in court by professor Meadows. Yet mothers remain ignorant: they continue to sleep together with the baby, especially on a sofa; they smoke, and they drink. Avoiding these factors would reduce SIDS by more than half. Furthermore, mothers' smoking during pregnancy increases stillbirths by 38% and infant deaths by 31%. Perhaps, at the funerals, the priests should tell the parents that it was their fault?
Fraud and greed in medical research is frightening. All journal editors have just agreed on a stricter honest and transparent disclosure of their competing interests'. But greed is likely to continue. The bribes involved are enormous. For example, the US government compelled manufacturers of prosthetic hip and knee joints to declare all payments to doctors in 2007. They compared this with the payments from these manufacturers that were declared by orthopaedic surgeons at their annual meeting in the following year, when these products were discussed. Sixty doctors concealed payments of 12 million dollars in total !
In Germany, another scam is being used. Drug companies pay GPs up to £1,000 per patient for prescribing their new drug - and providing them with documentation of its effect. It is estimated that 25% of all German GPs take part in such 'trials', on more than 200 drugs. The patients are not aware, that they are being used as guinea pigs without their consent; and that they are providing the GP with a lot of extra income. Furthermore, the patients, or their insurers, have to pay for these often expensive drugs - they are not donated by the manufacturers.
Corruption goes deeper still. Dr Hurlstone, an award-winning consultant gastro-enterologist at Sheffield university, has just been discovered falsifying results and forging the signatures of co-authors in 3 published papers since 2007. Such dishonesty does not emerge suddenly: How was he not unmasked during more than ten years of his career progression?
And inevitably, fraud by drug manufacturers continues. GlaxoSmithKline are being sued in Philadelphia. They appear to have concealed their research findings, that the antidepressant Seroxat caused serious birth defects in infants of mothers who took it during pregnancy. Remember Thalidomide?
Sometimes the fraud is discovered almost by chance. GlaxoSmithKline (the same) manufacture 'ready-to-drink' Ribena in cartons. They boast that it contains 'four times as much vitamin C as oranges'. Two girls aged 14 in a school experiment found that Ribena in cartons contained almost no vitamin C. They received a 'brush-off ' from GSK but went to a newspaper and a TV company. They won, and in court GSK were fined a hefty sum. The two girls have now been voted New Zealanders of the Year.
Among all this gloom, there is one column-inch of good news. Recently a kind and caring nurse exposed poor standards of care at the Brighton and Sussex university hospitals NHS trust. She was tricked by television to give some innocent particulars. For this, the nursing and midwifery council struck her off: she lost her income and her career. [Later addition: I have just watched this council's spokeswoman explain their verdict: the bitch was brazenly defending the cruelty and incompetence of the Brighton hospital management's mistreatment of these helpless old people!]
So I was delighted to read that after appealing to the high court, the nurse has been allowed to return to work.
I know what I think of the nursing and midwifery council... and of the drug manufacturers... and of some academic researchers... and greedy German GPs... and of some members of our parliament...
It begins with an editorial on obesity. Fat people suffer more anxiety and depression, and depressed or anxious people get fatter. Antidepressants cause weight gain - and the manufacturers do not warn of this, as it would reduce their sales.
We are all aware of cases of sudden infant death syndrome - SIDS. There have been some notorious cases, including the enigmatic statements in court by professor Meadows. Yet mothers remain ignorant: they continue to sleep together with the baby, especially on a sofa; they smoke, and they drink. Avoiding these factors would reduce SIDS by more than half. Furthermore, mothers' smoking during pregnancy increases stillbirths by 38% and infant deaths by 31%. Perhaps, at the funerals, the priests should tell the parents that it was their fault?
Fraud and greed in medical research is frightening. All journal editors have just agreed on a stricter honest and transparent disclosure of their competing interests'. But greed is likely to continue. The bribes involved are enormous. For example, the US government compelled manufacturers of prosthetic hip and knee joints to declare all payments to doctors in 2007. They compared this with the payments from these manufacturers that were declared by orthopaedic surgeons at their annual meeting in the following year, when these products were discussed. Sixty doctors concealed payments of 12 million dollars in total !
In Germany, another scam is being used. Drug companies pay GPs up to £1,000 per patient for prescribing their new drug - and providing them with documentation of its effect. It is estimated that 25% of all German GPs take part in such 'trials', on more than 200 drugs. The patients are not aware, that they are being used as guinea pigs without their consent; and that they are providing the GP with a lot of extra income. Furthermore, the patients, or their insurers, have to pay for these often expensive drugs - they are not donated by the manufacturers.
Corruption goes deeper still. Dr Hurlstone, an award-winning consultant gastro-enterologist at Sheffield university, has just been discovered falsifying results and forging the signatures of co-authors in 3 published papers since 2007. Such dishonesty does not emerge suddenly: How was he not unmasked during more than ten years of his career progression?
And inevitably, fraud by drug manufacturers continues. GlaxoSmithKline are being sued in Philadelphia. They appear to have concealed their research findings, that the antidepressant Seroxat caused serious birth defects in infants of mothers who took it during pregnancy. Remember Thalidomide?
Sometimes the fraud is discovered almost by chance. GlaxoSmithKline (the same) manufacture 'ready-to-drink' Ribena in cartons. They boast that it contains 'four times as much vitamin C as oranges'. Two girls aged 14 in a school experiment found that Ribena in cartons contained almost no vitamin C. They received a 'brush-off ' from GSK but went to a newspaper and a TV company. They won, and in court GSK were fined a hefty sum. The two girls have now been voted New Zealanders of the Year.
Among all this gloom, there is one column-inch of good news. Recently a kind and caring nurse exposed poor standards of care at the Brighton and Sussex university hospitals NHS trust. She was tricked by television to give some innocent particulars. For this, the nursing and midwifery council struck her off: she lost her income and her career. [Later addition: I have just watched this council's spokeswoman explain their verdict: the bitch was brazenly defending the cruelty and incompetence of the Brighton hospital management's mistreatment of these helpless old people!]
So I was delighted to read that after appealing to the high court, the nurse has been allowed to return to work.
I know what I think of the nursing and midwifery council... and of the drug manufacturers... and of some academic researchers... and greedy German GPs... and of some members of our parliament...
Friday, 2 October 2009
58. Bible Names, Translations and Transliterations
Reading Hebrew is complicated by the fact that its basic spelling, as it appears in the Torah, and in modern books and newspapers, has no vowels. One has to decide from the context, for example, whether the word 'DG' should be understood and pronounced as 'dig', 'dog', or 'dug'.
The rabbis exploited this feature to create their midrashim - as I did in my post #52. Their midrash might claim, for example, that during repeated copying of the sacred text the letter 'N' got omitted by accident. The complete word was actually 'DGN' pronounced 'dagan' - wheat, or 'Dagon' - the Philistine deity.
When I started to use an English translation of the Bible, a further obstacle appeared: translators misunderstood the Hebrew meaning. One classical example is the description of mining in Job chapter 28. The translators were quite ignorant of the technique of loosening by fire the quarried rock-face. But the earliest misleading translation originates from the Septuagint - see details of Jonah below.
Many of the personal names in the Old Testament have symbolic explanatory meanings, that are lost in translation. Thus we are told that Adam was formed 'from dust of the ground' - because earth is adamah in Hebrew. Without knowledge of Hebrew, this will not be apparent. Moses is Moshe in Hebrew and originates from 'limshot' - to pull out of water - he was pulled from the Nile by Pharaoh's daughter.
Some names have a meaning that is not immediately obvious: one has to search the background. The Hebrew meaning of Bathsheba is 'daughter of a vow'. She was the wife of Uriah the Hittite, and her name reminds us that she broke her marriage vow to commit adultery with king David.
Sometimes the name's meaning was clearly derogatory, such as the son of king Saul: Ish Boshet means man of shame, or man of genitals. That must be an editorial insertion by the opposition. Likewise the name Naval, which means villain. He was the miserly and wicked husband of the clever and beautiful Abigail - and she did explain his name to David.
Some women were never given a Biblical name at all: the wife of Lot - who disobeyed instructions, looked back at Sodom and turned into a pillar of salt; Lot's two daughters, who each committed incest as well as rape with their drunken father; and the wife of Potiphar, who tried to seduce Joseph.
The names of places often also have Hebrew meaning: Babylon - Bavel in Hebrew - derives from balal - 'mixing' - which refers to the confusion of languages that stopped the builders of its tower. Bethlehem is named after its principal crop - Beit lechem means house of bread. The river Jordan - Yarden in Hebrew - derives from yored - to descend - referring to its descending course. Jezreel - Yizreel in Hebrew means 'God will sow'. Usually, none of these explanations are included in our translated Old Testament texts.
The earliest important translation of the Old Testament was into vernacular Greek. The Septuagint - the 'seventy' in Latin - was created in Alexandria from the 3rd to the 1st centuries BCE by seventy-two Jewish scholars. But these scholars were not botanists. In the book of Jonah we read that a plant grew to provide shade for Jonah: a 'KIKAYON'. The scholars decided to 'translate' this into a similar-sounding Greek word - 'colocynthis' - gourd.
So since the 3rd century BCE, Jonah's kikayon is erroneously translated and illustrated as a gourd. But in fact, it is the castor-oil plant, Ricinus communis in Latin. Castor oil is a powerful remedy for constipation; and a protein extract of the castor bean is one of the most potent poisons known - Ricin. It was injected in Fulham in 1978 by a KGB agent as a pellet from a modified umbrella into the thigh of Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian dissident. He died after 3 days.
The Septuagint has caused another major problem, that has also penetrates the English translation of the Old Testament: the Greek hardly uses the Hebrew consonants for 'V' and 'W'. Avraham becomes Abraham - thus losing the meaning of 'father' for the 'Av'; Naval and his wife Avigayil (mentioned above) become Nabal and Abigail; Batsheva becomes Batsheba, and there are scores more examples.
But these distortions are aggravated further by arbitrary British mutilations of the Hebrew names and their pronunciations. So Biblical 'Yerushalayim' becomes 'Jerusalem' and king 'Shlomo' becomes 'Solomon'. The pronunciation of the town of Lachish has been changed by eminent British scholars to sound like 'Lake-ish'. I grew up in Palestine and I am fluent in the Hebrew Bible. During lectures and in texts, I find it difficult to follow these anglicised pronunciations.
Orthodox Jewish publications tend to avoid these English mutilations. They will refer correctly to the prophet Eliyahu, rather than the anglicised Elijah. And the Israeli post office are making an effort for correctness in their printed cancellations of place names: For some time now, they have been using the correct Hebrew-sounding 'Yerushalayim'.
But at other times the post office are still struggling. To sound like Hebrew, the anglicised 'Safed' should probably be spelled as 'Tsfat': but I have noticed three other versions in their handstamps: CFAT [1.8.51]; SAFAD [1.9.54]; and ZEFAT with underlined 'Z' [30.9.57] - and there may be more. They resort to a hook above the 's' to signify 'sh', and an underlined 'h' to signify 'ch' [as in loch]. The transliteration committee are aiming to design a race horse - but so far they have produced a camel.
The latest attempt at Hebrew transliteration appears in the new Reform prayer book, issued last year. It requires a detailed preliminary study of its rules of correct pronunciation. Once you have mastered this, you can struggle with these transliterated passages - while everybody else in the congregation follows the Hebrew prayers. And by providing this aid, the children do not have to learn to read Hebrew any longer. The consensus is that this is an expensive unnecessary edition - an ego trip for its editors, that was forced on some communities against their majority votes.
-
The rabbis exploited this feature to create their midrashim - as I did in my post #52. Their midrash might claim, for example, that during repeated copying of the sacred text the letter 'N' got omitted by accident. The complete word was actually 'DGN' pronounced 'dagan' - wheat, or 'Dagon' - the Philistine deity.
When I started to use an English translation of the Bible, a further obstacle appeared: translators misunderstood the Hebrew meaning. One classical example is the description of mining in Job chapter 28. The translators were quite ignorant of the technique of loosening by fire the quarried rock-face. But the earliest misleading translation originates from the Septuagint - see details of Jonah below.
Many of the personal names in the Old Testament have symbolic explanatory meanings, that are lost in translation. Thus we are told that Adam was formed 'from dust of the ground' - because earth is adamah in Hebrew. Without knowledge of Hebrew, this will not be apparent. Moses is Moshe in Hebrew and originates from 'limshot' - to pull out of water - he was pulled from the Nile by Pharaoh's daughter.
Some names have a meaning that is not immediately obvious: one has to search the background. The Hebrew meaning of Bathsheba is 'daughter of a vow'. She was the wife of Uriah the Hittite, and her name reminds us that she broke her marriage vow to commit adultery with king David.
Sometimes the name's meaning was clearly derogatory, such as the son of king Saul: Ish Boshet means man of shame, or man of genitals. That must be an editorial insertion by the opposition. Likewise the name Naval, which means villain. He was the miserly and wicked husband of the clever and beautiful Abigail - and she did explain his name to David.
Some women were never given a Biblical name at all: the wife of Lot - who disobeyed instructions, looked back at Sodom and turned into a pillar of salt; Lot's two daughters, who each committed incest as well as rape with their drunken father; and the wife of Potiphar, who tried to seduce Joseph.
The names of places often also have Hebrew meaning: Babylon - Bavel in Hebrew - derives from balal - 'mixing' - which refers to the confusion of languages that stopped the builders of its tower. Bethlehem is named after its principal crop - Beit lechem means house of bread. The river Jordan - Yarden in Hebrew - derives from yored - to descend - referring to its descending course. Jezreel - Yizreel in Hebrew means 'God will sow'. Usually, none of these explanations are included in our translated Old Testament texts.
The earliest important translation of the Old Testament was into vernacular Greek. The Septuagint - the 'seventy' in Latin - was created in Alexandria from the 3rd to the 1st centuries BCE by seventy-two Jewish scholars. But these scholars were not botanists. In the book of Jonah we read that a plant grew to provide shade for Jonah: a 'KIKAYON'. The scholars decided to 'translate' this into a similar-sounding Greek word - 'colocynthis' - gourd.
So since the 3rd century BCE, Jonah's kikayon is erroneously translated and illustrated as a gourd. But in fact, it is the castor-oil plant, Ricinus communis in Latin. Castor oil is a powerful remedy for constipation; and a protein extract of the castor bean is one of the most potent poisons known - Ricin. It was injected in Fulham in 1978 by a KGB agent as a pellet from a modified umbrella into the thigh of Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian dissident. He died after 3 days.
The Septuagint has caused another major problem, that has also penetrates the English translation of the Old Testament: the Greek hardly uses the Hebrew consonants for 'V' and 'W'. Avraham becomes Abraham - thus losing the meaning of 'father' for the 'Av'; Naval and his wife Avigayil (mentioned above) become Nabal and Abigail; Batsheva becomes Batsheba, and there are scores more examples.
But these distortions are aggravated further by arbitrary British mutilations of the Hebrew names and their pronunciations. So Biblical 'Yerushalayim' becomes 'Jerusalem' and king 'Shlomo' becomes 'Solomon'. The pronunciation of the town of Lachish has been changed by eminent British scholars to sound like 'Lake-ish'. I grew up in Palestine and I am fluent in the Hebrew Bible. During lectures and in texts, I find it difficult to follow these anglicised pronunciations.
Orthodox Jewish publications tend to avoid these English mutilations. They will refer correctly to the prophet Eliyahu, rather than the anglicised Elijah. And the Israeli post office are making an effort for correctness in their printed cancellations of place names: For some time now, they have been using the correct Hebrew-sounding 'Yerushalayim'.
But at other times the post office are still struggling. To sound like Hebrew, the anglicised 'Safed' should probably be spelled as 'Tsfat': but I have noticed three other versions in their handstamps: CFAT [1.8.51]; SAFAD [1.9.54]; and ZEFAT with underlined 'Z' [30.9.57] - and there may be more. They resort to a hook above the 's' to signify 'sh', and an underlined 'h' to signify 'ch' [as in loch]. The transliteration committee are aiming to design a race horse - but so far they have produced a camel.
The latest attempt at Hebrew transliteration appears in the new Reform prayer book, issued last year. It requires a detailed preliminary study of its rules of correct pronunciation. Once you have mastered this, you can struggle with these transliterated passages - while everybody else in the congregation follows the Hebrew prayers. And by providing this aid, the children do not have to learn to read Hebrew any longer. The consensus is that this is an expensive unnecessary edition - an ego trip for its editors, that was forced on some communities against their majority votes.
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