Friday, July 9, 2010

The Black Rabbi in Our North Carolina Shul



My Grandpa, Bernie Szabo, would always spend time talking with Rabbi Levi Ben Levy when he would pop in from Linden, North Carolina, just 18 miles from our synagogue in Fayetteville…Beth Israel.  My brother Steven and I would linger nearby, studying the only black Jew we had ever met, listening in on the conversation.  Grandpa was a Holocaust survivor and one of the best storytellers I’ve ever encountered.  It was common for him to regale a visitor with stories of his life.  Rabbi Ben Levy was always attentive and smiled around him.

We watched him daven, listened to the difference in his unique pronunciation of the Hebrew words, and greeted him with deference, largely because of the honor paid to him by Grandpa Bernie.  He always gave us a kind “Shabbat Shalom” and strong handshake when we would see him. 

Rabbi Levi Ben Levy would pop into town from time to time, I suppose when he was visiting Linden, his birthplace, from his home in New York, and then later in life he would appear more often, after his retirement to North Carolina.  His beard was close cropped, manicured with precision, clean under the neck and he was always impeccably suited.  He was prestigious.

Occasionally, he would be joined by his family members.  His son, now a Rabbi, Schlomo Ben Levy, would often join him in our small chapel for Shabbos services on Saturday mornings.  There weren’t more than 15 people gathered in the shul. 

I always imagined that Rabbi Levy led a small congregation of black Jews, convening in a tiny room of a Brooklyn apartment.  It’s been over 10 years since he passed away, and I was pleased to read a NY Times article that Steven stumbled on today.  I was clearly small-minded in my thinking about his contributions to Judaism.

One NY Times article on Obama’s brother-in-law cites Rabbi Ben Levy as his spiritual source and Rabbi Ben Levy was the Rabbi credited with ordaining Funnye, “As his interest in Judaism deepened, Funnye was increasingly drawn to the more conventional teachings of a black, Brooklyn-based rabbi named Levi Ben Levy, the spiritual leader of the Hebrew Israelite movement. “He taught me that real Judaism isn’t mixed in with Christianity,” Funnye says.”

The Times also gave him a lovely Obit that we would all hope to deserve at the end of our lives.  During his life, our North Carolina black Rabbi, Rabbi Ben Levy, attended Ethiopian Hebrew Rabbinical College, founded Beth Shalom Ethiopian Congregation in New York, then Beth Elohim in Queens, and was the Chief Rabbi of the Israelite Board of Rabbis.  He also guided his two sons into the religious world, to his credit. 

So often, the stories of our neighbors and associates are hidden because our casual interactions cause us to miss these brilliant accomplishments.  I'm pleased, just in time for Shabbos, to learn the deeper story of our friend Rabbi Levi Ben Levy.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Ron English Breaks Records in Phillip's Film Auction

Ron English, the Urban Artist known for legitimizing the term 'Popaganda' has made it in the fidgety New York auction market, realizing $31k ($26k hammer + buyer's premium) for his 2009 screenprint of Marilyn Monroe.  At 3pm on June 24th, 2010, I watched online as a series of competing bids drove the price from an opening price of $7,000 (hammer) to a final record auction price of $26k (hammer) a few seconds later. 

Those of us who have been following Ron's work for years can tell you that he's produced far more major works than this ripe pair of Mickeys, so the sky is the limit for the works of this Billboard revolutionary.  Celebrity collectors have added English's works to their collection, and it's a well-known fact that musician Slash has several pieces of Ron's work. 

English's stock is on the rise.  Ron was featured briefly in the movie Exit Through the Gift Shop, a film directed by another artistic rebel, Banksy, the anonymous street artist whose works have sold through Sotheby's and Christie's for millions of pounds.  If you don't know Ron's story, add his documentary 'The Art & Crimes of Ron English" to your Netflix queue.  You won't be disappointed.  Here's a clip of the pre-documentary teaser reel:


Ron's work may have been hiding underneath our noses for a few years, but he's been there.  English was asked to illustrate Morgan Spurlock's eat-em-all hit Supersize me.  And during the HOPE campaign, you might have seen the Abraham Obama image that garnered media attention for morphing our now president into the iconic Honest Abe.  Contemporary art commercialist, Michel Roux, who envisioned Absolut Vodka's famous art campaign has been working with English for years.  Ron joined Motherwell and Warhol in designing his own Absolut ad, then painted the well-known Van Gogh'esque image used to promote Absente around the world.

He's a star, and I wish him well on his already impressive career...I think it's only the beginning.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

National Lampoon's New Vacation

Since I was old enough to define 'lewd' I was reading National Lampoon's Magazine.  Later I graduated to enjoying the series of National Lampoon's Vacation films beginning in 1983 with Vacation, and European Vacation in 1985 (25 years ago!).  Apparently, the franchise isn't done with Chevy Chase & Beverly D'Angelo just yet.

It's rumored that New Line Cinema is producing a new Griswold Vacation movie, apparently directed by David Dobkin, known best for his role in developing Wedding Crashers, the 2005 comedic insta-hit with Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson.   We'll keep our fingers crossed for as explosive of a hit. 

Confusing the rumors is a series of promotional shorts of Ellen and Clark Griswold (called Hotel Hell Vacation) commissioned by an online vacation property company (HomeAway.com).  This 14 minute Vacation video was released by HomeAway following a Griswold HomeAway Superbowl ad.  




Boris Vallejo was the artist tasked with designing the iconic images gracing the VHS boxes and movie posters for National Lampoon's Vacation and European Vacation.  The art for Vacation is buried in a celebrity collection, the other is making its way to auction this year - perhaps it will overlap with some interesting news about the newest Vacation flic?  In August 2010 Heritage Auctions (HA.com) is offering this painting from National Lampoon's European Vacation in an online/Live auction of Illustration Art.


BORIS VALLEJO (American, b. 1941)
National Lampoon's European Vacation, 1985
Oil on board
37 x 25 in.
Signed lower left
National Lampoon's European Vacation, original one-sheet movie poster illustration.

In any case, 2010 should be a good year for fans of Chevy Chase and National Lampoon's Vacation franchise...(insert favorite Griswold quote here).  

Friday, June 11, 2010

Fingers on a Common Hand


Fingers on a Common Hand

Fingers on the almighty hand,
was this the Master Plan?
That we would all be connected,
and not controlled,
by its command.

We live a life of reason,
and still we cannot see
that our fellow man
is just a finger on a common hand.

A complex enigma, a puzzling reality,
If I loved you,
would that mean I might marry me?
Do I lose my identity,
by recognizing that You are a part of Me?

If I am a part of You, how can We be anything but equal?
Why give us individual identities and call us people,
if we really are just You,
…only independent and doing exactly what we want to.

- Jared Green

Paul Stankard's Frozen Me in Glass

I never thought that I would be captured by what I have always considered a more dated form of art, art glass. A few contemporary artists have transitioned my thinking.   One of note is Paul Stankard, the oft-lauded Godfather of the art glass world.  Stankard has shown me that glass can attract collectors of contemporary art.  Art glass doesn't have to be a paperweight to fit on your Grandma's fresh-pressed doily.  It can be imaginative and curious, and make you wonder how'd he do that.

While other designers of glass paperweights struggle to achieve a thousand-dollar price-point for their pieces, 67 year old Stankard has flirted with auction prices topping $40k for some of his better pieces.  Premier auction houses have all carried his works, and continue to sell his pieces with strong results.

These two pieces sold at auction in 2007 for $41k and $27k respectively...despite an estimate of $5-$7k each.  Of course, these are two of his best exemplars, so that must be factored into appraisals of his other works. 

Stankard's pieces are incredibly detailed and amazing in that each piece of his composition, from buzzing bees to ornate flowers, is crafted out of glass.  No detail is ignored, and that attention is not lost on the collectors willing to pay top prices for a piece of Stankard's wizardry. 

Thursday, June 10, 2010

The Influence of MAD Magazine's Maddest Artists


When I was 11, I remember fumbling through my older cousin's stacks of magazines, eventually uncovering a trove of MAD Magazines.  I sat in the middle of his room reading them for hours, until I had to be physically removed.  The parodies made me a NY cynic far in advance of my first experiences in Manhattan...and the art, well the art made me want to draw, create and entertain.  I've had a lifelong fascination with the magazine and it's illustrators.  It's an 'obsession' that has shaped my life and career. 

In my late 20's I started collecting original art from the magazine, initially buying and trading on Ebay.  As I matured and could afford a few better pieces, I started shopping Heritage's auctions, looking for opportunities to upgrade my collection.  That would eventually lead to a management role with the auction house and would change my career entirely.  

My fandom led me to track down 'Fold-in' creator Al Jaffee in NY and enjoy a few minutes with he and his wife at his studio & home.  Al was such a mensch, he inked this piece for me after our meeting and sent it to me at my home...a trophy gag!

One of my favorite MAD artists is Mort Drucker, a sympatico with pen & ink, is credited with illustrating parodies of the most iconic American movies, ranging from the Godfather to Yentl.  Mort and his wife Barbara hosted me for an afternoon in their New York home, and I left with a few pieces, including the art for one of the last covers that Mort had illustrated for MAD. 

My first influence was Don Martin, who drew single-page gags for MAD and Cracked magazines.  I learned to draw cartoon faces by tracing his renderings onto notebook paper.  Don's are probably the most difficult to find of MAD artist's original works, but I've managed to snag a few.  Don passed away in Florida in '99 after parting ways with MAD after 40+ years with the magazine.  I never had a chance to meet him, but a few MAD writers (especially Dick Debartolo) have shared a few stories of the quiet but amusing cartoonist. 

In the field of cartooning, Sergio Aragones is considered the world's fastest artist, he pens his works in a matter of minutes.  If you've ever squinted trying to see his 1-3 panel gags littering the margins of MAD Magazine, you'll understand the brilliance of his brevity in humor.  He is also the nicest and most-beloved artist I have ever met. 

I enjoyed coffee with artist Angelo Torres in his Brooklyn flat 2 years ago and reminisced about the early days of MAD while rummaging through some of his more recent art.  Angelo and Drucker were always the featurists, illustrating the longer satires and parodies in the magazine.  Angelo is a great illustrator and such a pleasant man.      



In 2006 I was asked by DC Comics (a Time-Warner Company), to auction the remaining MAD artwork, then stored in the offices of Nick Meglin, former editor of MAD.  The $1m+ collection of original MAD art was only the beginning. What followed was an offering of the best art from MAD, collected by MAD's creator, Bill Gaines, himself.  In 2008, DC called me back to enlist my help and that of Heritage Auctions in selling the remaining 36 pieces, considered to be the holy grail of MAD Magazine.  We realized $750k for the 36 pieces, a newsworthy event, so noted NBC.  For that, MAD writer Dick Debartolo let me sit on his lap, next to former MAD editor, Nick Meglin (in the middle).

Some days are Madder than others, but I thank the writers and artists of MAD for all the madness they've given me.

Antanas Adomaitis...the next Dali

For years I've been following the works of Lithuanian phenom, Antanas Adomaitis.  A virtual unknown in the US, he's represented minimally in this country, but seems to have quite a following in Lithuania and throughout Eastern Europe.

The artist is a bit extreme from what I'm told, though I've never had the pleasure of speaking with him.  For now, I'll just envisage him from his picture and his paintings.  I've always thought that knowing too much about an artist could be a hindrance to appreciating their works. 

I'm including a link to a brief bio provided by my friend Harry Nasse at Ward Nasse gallery (one of the only Non-Profit art galleries in Manhattan) on A.Adomaitis: http://ward-nassegallery.blogspot.com/2009/08/members-antanas-adomaitis.html

I purchased the large piece below, entitled "Life is Beautiful" over 10 years ago, while living in NYC, around the corner from Ward Nasse.  I found it in one of the many art bins around the gallery.  It's been the topic of many conversations, and just about every person sees something different in the piece.  I saw an upside-down tortoise the first time I laid eyes on it, but everyone is different...some see gauges, others see bugs.

In short, Adomaitis makes your brain work in an odd way...and that, for an artist, is the highest compliment.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Greek Feather lands in Dutch Airspace

May 17, 2010

Being a feather in the wind is more difficult than it sounds in a self-help primer. Simply (hah!) detach yourself from concentrating on everything. Free in the wind means that you go where you are intended to go, not to the place that you’ve rationalized is the ‘correct’ place to go. This strategy is true of career, family and friends. I’m certain that history’s great men followed the signs that direct them to their futures. We are largely foolish if we ignore the energy of the world entirely and discount the world’s road signs as coincidence.

While I don’t believe in fate in its purest sense (that our life is a series of predetermined actions), I do believe that certain things happen for a reason beyond our immediate understanding. Giving power to that belief, I’ve chosen to follow my mind rather than my thoughts in many instances on this trip, often pleasantly surprised and mystified by the results.

At one point yesterday, I found myself seemingly lost in a maze of small streets. I had been roaming the city for hours, letting my mind wander as I passed the red light booths, trading glances with the flirtatious girls...I bobbed in and out of interesting stores that boasted everything from high fashion to the unmentionables that would make my parents blush. Each time I left a shop, I didn’t worry about where I was going or if I went back the same way I came. I made a decision early in the morning that getting lost was ok, even a healthy way to enjoy this city (and maybe life?).

The interesting facet of this story is that just as my feet started to get tired and I felt like a nap was in order, I began to feel concerned, maybe even a bit worried that I was a long way from the hotel and I would be completely worn and sore by the time I reached the hotel. Without thought, I proceeded in the direction I was headed, and in one block I was at the hotel. My mind was secretly looking out for me.

I think that our minds tend to look out for us often, but our thinking process tries to second guess instinct, which is where most of our own individual conflict arrises. Trust yourself doesn’t mean trust your thinking, it means trust yourself to make an action without over thinking and analyzing a situation. I’m quite captivated with the concept.

Our minds are our most powerful allies. This is true as long as we can keep our own thoughts from interfering with our true instincts. For those of us lucky enough to have our minds in proper working order, it’s important to recognize that the greatest triumph we can aspire to is in owning our own self and controlling none other.

All this is to say that my trip has happened largely on it’s own, in fact, planning for every stage in advance would likely have left me in dire straits, either stuck in a dangerous situation or accruing costly travel change fees as I adjusted and listened to my environment. I have moved from city to city with no plans or onward flights. This is fortunate, because I have been dodging rather significant world tragedies, starting with the violent red shirt protests in Bangkok. Just hours after I decided to abandon plans to visit that city, the first round of Thai violence erupted. In India, I flew through Bangalore, missing a failed bomb attack in the city center by a day. In Greece, I left Athens 2 days before rioting resulted in the death of 3 Greek men, and this was just 1/2 mile from my room in that city.

I cannot attribute the change in mentality to Yoga alone, but I did experience an inordinate number of good moments during my week in Crete. After 5 days of yoga, I woke up without pain in my back for the first time in 6 months. I performed an ambitious back bend that surprised most of the class along with a proper head stand. I juggled for the first time ever, despite years of trying. Midweek I took a ride to Spili, a small town 30 minutes from Triopetra...after 5 days of a macrobiotic diet, I was hungry for a small Greek lamb...heheh, that sounded funny, I have never been as happy eating lamb chops as I was that afternoon in Spili in front of about 14 jealous holiday vegetarians. I spent a confusing evening trying to find my chakras in order to both tune and align them, though I gave up after humming in concert for about an hour.

The retreat ended with a farewell meal at an incredible seaside restaurant that grew all of its own produce and ingredients for their meals. The next morning I woke up early to leave before most folks woke up. Fittingly, leaving my new friends to drive to the nearest town (Amounia), I picked up an old man, about 70, hitchhiking on the side of the very desolate road (I’d be surprised if 20 cars passed on this road in a day). He spoke no English, but despite that fact, he kept me from worrying about getting lost in an area that has absolutely no street signs. The major highway in Crete is simply called the ‘new road’, which should give some indication of the rural nature of the island. The old man invited me to join he and his friends for a cafe leche at the local coffee shop he asked for me to leave him at. I politely declined and continued on my way, just happy.

I drove into the town of Heraklion for a night to get a taste of a bigger Cretan city before my flight the following day. I found a hotel in the city center through a travel agent and then went out to see a movie - I saw Clash of the Titans (in 3D) in Crete...being at the heart of Greek civilization and watching Roman G-ds battle mythological monsters in 3D was perfectly timed. For local color, I’ll add that there was an intermission in the middle of the movie.

The next morning I headed to the airport for an early morning flight. I decided to make a trip to visit Sandra and John, the Dutch couple I had met in Goa a month earlier. They had offered a sincere invitation for me to come and visit if I could make it to Holland before returning to the states. I was thrilled that they were excited to have me as a guest as well.

On landing in a characteristically overcast Amsterdam, the pilot calmly offered, “Amsterdam is a wonderful city, but it should have a roof.” No doubt. The city was cold and dank, and I soon learned I was a few months shy of the summer weather I’d just left. First purchase, a trenchcoat and scarf to keep me warm over my summer travel gear, with socks and shirts layered in multiples. The streets of Amsterdam are the perfect setting to walk alone and enjoy the time with yourself thinking about nothing, just experiencing a quiet street.

Amsterdam also has the most incredible cigar store in the world, literally. The century+ year old Hajenius cigar store has everything that I could ever need to enjoy a good scotch and an expertly rolled cigar, even thin flecks of cedar to enhance the flavor while lighting the cigar. The 2,500 sqft. well-preserved relic evidences a much more beautiful and ornate time. The hardwood paneling covers most walls of the glassed-in smoking library, a sitting room, study area, a bar serving coffee & tea and most importantly, scotch. The display of pipe tobacco and mearsham pipes was presented like a first-rate museum. I would recommend this shop to anyone who appreciates these things.

John Franck picked me up in Amsterdam. We drove out to Nordweig, his residence and his birthplace. We took a tour through the coastal town, and he pulled me by Mr. Heineken’s home, where his surviving daughter now lives. Freddy Heineken used to walk around the town regularly when John was a boy until his kidnapping in the 1980’s. The kidnappers were paid the equivalent of about 20 million dollars. Since then, the Heineken family has maintained a lower-profile, primarily living inside the walls of their gated property.

My hosts were incredible, and I was extremely lucky to have them as my Holland guides. Within minutes of arriving at their home, tucked onto a classic Holland waterway, I was greeted by John and Sandra with fresh tomatoes, wine, beer, pate and crackers. They invited John’s brother, their neighbors and their buddy Matai to join us on the porch for appetizers and cocktails.

Matai was hilarious, the Dutch version of my buddy Rick, possibly the best friend any bachelor party could ever have. Matai is the type who could have written an even better and more raucous script for Animal House. This hulking Dutchman sleeps about 4 hours a night, drives motorcycles and deals in bottled water for a living. Despite the expectation that his sense of culture would extend as far as the keg, he proved to be more worldly than I could have imagined with fact from the streets of Amsterdam to the ashrams of Asia. The most interesting man?, certainly a close second.

The first morning, after a prepared breakfast, John showed me more of the city including the amazing gravestone for his father Cor Fraank that John had designed and commissioned a few months ago. John’s Dad had worked for Heineken for 40 years, and even today a production line at the Heineken plant is named for him.

Afterwards, I joined John on his day-trip to Utrect, a beautiful European city with tiny canals and small walking streets. I ambled through the small quiet city for an hour while he met with a client of his Healthcare business, and then we reconnected and headed to Leiden for a lunch of chicken gyros and fries hidden by glorious mayonnaise.

Knowing of my interest and career in Fine Art and Antiquities, John made appointments for me to visit with his friend Sebastian, a well-researched collector of Greek & Roman antiquities. He scheduled an evening meeting with another friend Aad, a collector/dealer in Dutch paintings. Both visits were interesting vignettes of unusually eclectic and unusual personalities.

Throughout my time with John I saw many similarities in our lives, our attention to family and friends, career ambition, and a healthy recognition of ourselves for both the good and bad. His friendship was a nice affirmation of my life progress.

Sandra was an attentive host, a prim and proper lady with the ability to stomach John and Matai’s Dutch humor. A good sport and kind woman in every way. She translated difficult words for John and I, and she made the perfect companion for our outings.

John and Sandra drove 30 miles to Amsterdam to see me off at a going away dinner at Nam Kee chinese restaurant. We had dinner and drinks and then said our goodbyes. I headed back to the Victoria Hotel to pack my bags before shipping off the next morning for a 22 hour journey to DC through London and JFK.

The challenge of being back in the US is in maintaining the outlook that I have worked so hard to incorporate during my travels. Focus on the now, allow myself to follow signs, and breathe deeply. These mantras seem much easier alone, under the instruction of a Yogi, or surrounded by 15,000 devout Hindu’s, but how will I react in comfortable situations where the status quo is long established?

My first leg of my US travels is in DC, visiting my cousin Geoffrey and Uncle Glenn, and my friend Sharon. Without strain or pressure, this new mindset seems to be working much better already. Blocking out concern with the future, or thoughts of the past, I find it so much easier to cultivate stronger relationships focusing on the moment and the conversations in front of me. There’s still room for my independence, though I’m still learning how this all plays out. My trip is not over, and I have a feeling my learning has only just begun.

Love from your ever-present friend,
Jared

Monday, May 3, 2010

Carefully Aligning Chakras in Crete

Monday May 3, 2010

In India I had asked around to see if anyone had a connection with any producers or celebrities in Ballywood (Bombay) so that I could be cast in an Indian film as the tall puffy headed white guy. No luck in India, but without prompting, my new friend Kostas volunteered the news that his friend was filming a movie in Athens in just 2 days time. He was scouting for extras and said that I was welcome to show up on the set early Wednesday morning.

I arrived Wednesday morning to a well-appointed set in an old theater building. The upstairs was stocked with coffee, tea, and sandwiches that the producer’s mum had made (with the corners cut off - it’s a little excessive, but I enjoy it no less). I was quickly outfitted with a green sleeveless shirt and told to wait upstairs in the dark smoke-filled room and sip tea until they were ready for us.

I made friends with some of the extras and we discussed the political situation of Greece...Nikos (a tall stocky fellow with tall hair and solid english) told me about his career in Journalism, which was recently cut short by the closing of two of Greece’s leading newspapers. Many of the young people in Athens are out of work, and the newly graduating undergraduate classes are coming into the workforce with joblessness at an all-time high and no viable opportunities to use their degrees.

Despite lovely weather in the 70’s, Athenians are garbed in long pants and jackets during the day. I’ve caught several groups stop to look at me awkwardly because I’m the only one in sight wearing shorts. Athenians are highly individual people, sporting unique styles, political opinions and tastes. They embrace their friends and kiss on both cheeks, they don’t seem to have much conflict in bars, and they respect their seniors tremendously. Out of the corners of my eyes I catch young people helping older people with little tasks like hailing a cab or pushing their grocery cart over a particularly difficult crease in the street. It’s refreshing to see young people extend patience and kindness for what will ultimately be the older versions of myself. Maybe I’ll come back here to get old.

Athenians also smoke like chimneys. One fellow, both a mountain biker and erotic photographer, said that he believed the Athenian diet and his extensive daily biking routine would keep him from contracting cancer. I assured him that he was wrong, but did suggest that the erotic photography might give him a few extra years.

I digress, back to my film debut, after 2 hours we were ushered downstairs to the set (a bar scene meant to be in Barcelona). I was in the background as the main players acted around myself and 30 other extras. We danced and mimed conversations with each other, mugging for a hopeful cameo in the film. When the main characters kiss, we freeze (like someone’s been shot) and look at them, post-kiss we run out in a frenzy. The indy movie is called ‘Dos’, like the operating system, and should be out in about 6 months. With any luck, it will make it to the Angelika back in the US and I’ll have a chance to share my memory with my friends. Sometimes these things just happen on their own...call it omens, fate, good luck or even the influence of G-d.

Wednesday afternoon I headed to an art supply store 3 blocks off the Omonia Square subway stop. I went in to buy some paints and paper, but somehow managed to find myself in a conversation with Costas Niarchos, a 60+ year-old drawing instructor at the art school next door. I invited myself to his class which was beginning in just 15 minutes. He obliged me and took me into the art studio. We had 10 minutes before class started, which was enough time for him to impart some world knowledge. He said “Life is not about Happiness, but instead about happy moments”. He credited me with sharing a happy moment with him. I agreed, it’s good to be welcomed as a friend in a foreign country, and it’s so much more meaningful than it would be in a familiar setting.

About 5 people showed for the class, and while I didn’t learn any new skills, it was good to be ‘arting’ in commune with other people again. I found it surprising that this classroom was the one place in Greece where there was no cigarette smoking, though there was a smoke break halfway through the class, and the entire room emptied out. By that time, the principal of the school had gotten wind of the English-speaking stranger in the school and encouraged the teacher to boot me, lest the school be inspected for illegal students or some such BS. I said my farewells and left happy to have gone to school and been kicked out in the same day.

I went to a theater performance in Plakka in Athens one evening. The production looked interesting albeit a bit dark from the pictures outside the box office. It was in Greek, but the attendant suggested that I would still enjoy it. A very impatient Jared sat through a very conceptual and confusing production, fighting a filling bladder and choking back yawns for 2 hours as the only exit was over the stage.

To deal with my impatient tendencies, I purchased a Kompoloi, a strand of worry-beads that Greek men play with incessantly while going about their normal routine. The term is made up of Kompos (knot) and logos (words), and the ideas is that playing with the beads can help work out kinks in conversation. So far, it’s just like a yo-yo for me, but I can see where it would be a helpful distraction.

Found my way to the Acropolis eventually (I’m not generally one for historical places - I’m generally more interested in pursuing my own adventures), but it had closed just moments earlier so I headed to the newly-constructed Acropolis museum just at the base. A decent museum, but the food was both delicious and inexpensive. I had a flan-like dessert and a pastry filled with gruyere cheese, walnuts and something else that made it taste wonderful. I will reiterate that I could easily eat my way through Greece. I have not eaten anything remotely resembling mediocre since I arrived in Athens. These people invented food, I’m sure of it.

I popped into a Yoga class in Athens (Nysy Athens) and worked on my moola banda - by the way, I thought this area was just below my naval, but was surprised to learn that it’s actually the perenium (yes, google that...for the curious). Which leads me to my present locale.

2 days ago, after an extensive Google search, I called YogaRocks in Crete to book a 1-week retreat to practice Ashtanga yoga in the Southern region called Triopetra. On Saturday morning I hopped a short flight with Aegean Air to Crete, rented a car and headed immediately to the Aquarium (one of my favorite sights in any city). I had a zen experience eye-balling an octopus (he started charging the glass at me) and then a large reef shark headed directly at my face. I must be giving off some cosmic magnetism.

The ride, which was supposed to have been 1 1/2 hours, stretched anxiously into a 4 hour saga as I missed the given route forcing me to rely on the back-dated navigation system that excluded any roads built in Crete in the last 15 years. The roads were as crooked and windy as the most insane roller-coaster ever conceived. I snaked through an inordinate number of small mountain towns situated precariously on the tops of cliffs and edged along 1-lane roads with on-coming traffic testing me every mile or so. I hate mountain driving and avoid looking over the edge, but it was near impossible to overlook the amazing views of the mountains and lush overgrowth and eventually, the bluest seas I have ever seen.

About 3 hours in I decided to stop for a Coke and a smile. I was a bit nauseas, hot and hungry. It was May 1st, a national work holiday and a Saturday, so finding an open store wasn’t so easy. When I found a spot, it was in a quaint town at a local gas station, I found snacks and soda in ample supply. When I got out of the car I noticed what sounded like live Greek music just a bit down the hill. After leaving the gas station, I decided to be adventurous and seek the source. I walked about 50 yards to the small bar finding that the live music was actually from the open car door nearby. About 7 men were playing cards and drinking inside the bar/living room. I went inside and asked for a Coke. All eyes were on me, I sensed that this town doesn’t get too many visitors now that a larger highway allows most people to avoid this twisted route.

The biggest guy in the bar, Mikos, told the waitress in Greek that my drink was on his tab. I resisted but he insisted, which led to a full conversation in absolutely no common language. He did understand that I lived in Dallas, to which he held up his hand, indicating a gun. I nodded, acknowledging that us Texans do have guns. Immediately he ushered me outside and went to the black BMW playing the Helenic classics and lifted the floor mat to reveal a 9mm pistol.

Mikos grabbed the gun and emptied 6 rounds straight into the air. The hot shell casings bounced off my head onto the ground. I started laughing, I suspected the worst was over so what harm was there in cracking up. We walked back in, and a call came in on the bar-owner’s phone - a neighbor wondering if everything was ok at the bar. I finished my Coke and left to my car after about 5 minutes. When I got there, I thought I needed to give this man something in exchange for his hospitality, which is exactly what it was, I have no doubt that he was showing off and not trying to intimidate me. I picked out the Duke hat that I purchased in honor of their recent National Championship win and brought it down to Mikos. I put it on his head...all of the folks in the bar cheered and laughed to see their friend with a baseball cap on his head. A bit more rattled than when I arrived, I hopped in the car and headed on my way, back on the crooked road to Triopetra.

Arriving was wonderful...the seaside building is not surrounded by anything except for mountains and a few distant houses.

I’ve been practicing yoga with 15 foreign women for the past 2 days. 6 Swedes, 6 Danes, 3 Brits and me, the US yoga novice. I’m not as bad as I supposed I would be, I can actually do the first grouping of poses without much prompting now. I am quite sore and everything cracks and creaks, but I’m told that will pass. Our meals are all macro-vegan concoctions, which I’ve read encourages concentration essential for meditation and yoga focus. Still, I’m hungry for another amazing Gyro like I had when I first arrived on Crete (Kreti).

Breakfast is at 7, meditation at 8am, then yoga for 2-3 hours immediately following. In the evenings is either a second yoga session or a meditation session (tonight is the first evening meditation).

I sweat like a pig-in-heat, which my classmates effortlessly glide between poses. I think I have glandular problem. I’m fairly certain that I’m detoxifying my body, as my sweat has ceased smelling like Indian entrees. There’s no alcohol or other mind-altering substances to impede or confuse our paths to enlightenment. The nearest town is about 40 minutes away, cutting distractions to a minimum. Everyone is very positive and encouraging. It’s a wonderful learning environment and I’m very happy to be here.

My new friend Binda is a strong Danish woman who was recently divorced from her husband of 40 years. She realized she had completely ignored herself in raising her children and caring for her husband. At 58-years old, her new life consists of scuba, golf and yoga. For some this is about fitness, some it’s about calm, and for a few of us, it’s about getting a bit more enlightened and improving our lifestyles.

In between classes I’m reading books on exploring the mind, hanging in one of the many hammocks around the building, or on the beach (the water is still frigid, so we only jump in and then immediately pop out of the surf).

Tonight I had an incredible meditation session. New breathing exercises brought me to some wonderful visualizations and I had an enormous grin on my face from an intense feeling of joy. It was almost as if I was attacked by a sea of tickle-monsters who could instantly make me happy by jumping on me. Mental images may not translate well to blogs, but let me just say that it was a moving and exhilarating experience. It’s 9:30pm and everyone has gone to sleep. I think I’m the first one to break and use a computer. Oh well, we’ll all have nirvana, I might just be the last one there:)

Monday, April 26, 2010

Asian Spiritualism to the Roots of Western Civilization

Monday April 26, 2010

Indian Enlightenment

I opted for another night at LeMeridien, an upscale hotel with amenities like A/C that make a Western traveller feel more civilized in a country where the term ‘amenities’ extends just short of toilet paper. I headed into Kochine to see some of the shops and came across this interesting silk shop where Indian women shops for Saris (click for video).

Hired a taxi to take me 2 hours to Thrissur to chase Amma’s tour of the Indian state of Kerala and meet her followers firsthand. Amma is to India’s Hindu population what the Pope is to the Christian world. I checked into Hotel LuLu, situated next to the Orphanage where Amma would be leading prayers tomorrow morning. After putting down my bags, I came down to the hotel cafe for a bit of lunch.

I felt like I was in a sea of angels. I wasn’t awash in revelation, I was just surrounded by 100 Westerners dressed in white cloaks. In the small cafe which served Palak Paneer and assorted chutneys it felt a bit like misplaced holiness.

I think that it was Maura who invited me to join her table for lunch that afternoon. She was frocked in white, like the other minions. When I see white people in white robes the effect isn’t the most promising...I think cult or klan, and neither instills much confidence. But Maura was nothing like what I expected. The Californian turned Amma-follower had been staying at Amma’s Ashram in India for a few weeks. My conversation with her was logical, and I sensed that I could trust that she would be a good guide for the next morning’s encounter with “The Mother of India”.

Over my 2 days in Thrissur I would share hours of conversation with Maura, visiting a n exhibition in town and talking about signs/omens that she believed she started receiving from Amma beginning after she had received Darshan (a hug and prayer) from Amma.

The stories were warm stories of tests of charity and selflessness that could find their way easily into a Reader’s Digest. They had endings that were happy, but were much different from what I thought they would be. One story began with her mentioning that she had always wanted to fly somewhere on a first-class ticket. A friend had offered her a trip to India with her on a first-class buddy pass. To take the trip, she had to had to decline a previous promise to a friend to travel with her to India. The friend was too weak to travel alone and would not be able to take the trip without Maura. The short story is that she felt Amma’s voice in her head and decided to decline the first-class passage and travel with the sick woman. She earned respect from both women and herself, and she sees all her good fortune as a result of similar decisions.

When you believe that you are receiving message from a divine power, be it a woman or g-d, you pay more attention to your gut and judge your own actions by a different measure entirely. You become more much more accountable. You also appreciate your blessings more when you believe they come as a result of those positive decisions. It would be easy for me to make an irreverent joke here, but the truth is I do believe in the power of spirituality and I think it’s wonderful to see people benefit from believing that they are a part of something more than themselves as an individual.

Maura told me that I would be receiving Darshan tomorrow and that I would need to be at the ceremony early in order to get a token to hug the saintly woman. At 6:30am I dudded-up in my white linen outfit and headed out in the 105+ degree heat to see Amma. The outdoor morning prayer lasted about 7 hours, consisted of heavy-duty repetition of mind-altering mantras, burning of camphor, placing of flower petals and burning oil, complete with the recitation of the 1000 names that the Hindus have for G-d. I was sweating profusely with 15,000 of my closest indian friends, waiting for my most treasured Darshan hug. (Click here for a video I filmed). I also believe G-d has a sense of humor, and this somehow got he and I even in some karmic poker game.

I was queued with the Westerners at the beginning of the line, I handed over my ticket and Amma gave me a big hug, the kind that only a person with some girth in their mid-section can offer. She said something like “My Darling, My Darling, My Darling” into my ear, and then it was done. The thing that make this different from my other encounters with large women is that she also handed me a small bag of ashes that she’d blessed. I’m told that mixing these with water offers some spiritual curing power. I would like to believe that it works as something more than a cure for a hangover.

I was assured afterward by a few friendly faces that often the effects of receiving Darshan are not always immediate, but I could feel different at any time. I’ll be sure to keep all apprised of when I feel my Darshan start working. While I am skeptical, I am also hopeful. Why not?

After Amma, I decided to have an Ayuervedic doctor press my spiritual buttons and work on my sore shoulder. He smacked the hell out of my back for an hour, treated me with healing oils and told me that I needed 14 more days of this treatment to be cured. He also recommended yoga. I’ll opt for yoga. Spent a few minutes comparing the US with India with the doc’s son...India has something like 13 languages while we only have 2 main languages (and we bitch like hell when we have to hit 2 for English, can you imagine waiting for your language if it’s the 13th option on the automated service?), and while India is smaller than the US, it’s population is 4 times that of the US. The Indians also believe that audible belching and flatulence is appropriate in public places. Gotta love it. Everyone one of my cab rides had included a few random burps to make things interesting.

The heat was still exhaustive and my stomach had returned to an intolerant state. The first signs of monsoon season were evidenced by the storms of the previous few nights. I booked a flight to Mumbai/Bombay for the next morning. I had no idea where I would go from there, but I knew I needed to get moving.

When I landed in Mumbai, I went to the airport travel agency to book a ticket out of Dodge. Asia was too hot, too wet, or had too much danger, and most of Europe was blocked by a volcanic cloud of ash from Iceland. “Sir, we have a flight to Athens tomorrow morning - Air Qatar through Doha.” I don’t think I’ve ever had such a complex series of self-rationalizing Q&A with myself. As a Jew I had to ask myself whether I would be ok if the clouds shifted and I was stuck in Doha. Would they let me in - I heard that Dubai restricted anyone entering who had an Israeli entry stamp on their passport. I’ve gone skydiving, scuba diving, and I’ve hugged saints, so ok, I’ll take it.

I stayed for one night in Mumbai, which was too much. The Holiday Inn was great, but every hotel had slums literally on their front lawn. The concentration of poverty was too much to bear, children begging on every corner and the worst auto emission problem and traffic I’ve ever encountered. Feelings of clausterphobia and disgust were overwhelming.

Air Qatar is pimp’d...who’d have known. The Doha airport is also pretty amazing. I’d never heard of Doha before, but the skyline has to have the most interesting high-rises I’ve ever seen. The flight to Athens was 10 hours from point to point, including the layover.

I am Sparta

I landed in Athens 4 days ago and fell in love with this city. Maybe it was escaping India that intensified the attraction, but nevertheless, Athens is wonderful. I checked into the Hilton (where I had a view of the Acropolis) and then hoofed it 10 mins to Syndagma square, just outside the parliament building. Walked through the contemporary shopping section of Plaka and then down to Monosteraki to see the many outdoor coffee shops that beautifully add to the landscape of the city. The weather has been in the 70’s during the day and the 60’s at night...perfect. I dined on fried anchovies and a delicious blended eggplant dish served with fresh bread. It would be the start of what is my gastro-tour of Athens. (Click for video of some bazookie players I filmed in Athens)

A full night’s sleep was welcomed after nearly 48 hours on 4 hours of sleep. I woke up and hit the city full-on, lunching in the gardens just south of Kolanaki (which has lots of neat shops and art galleries). I hadn’t sauntered anywhere in 3 weeks, so it was with a sigh of relief that I could comfortably enjoy a good saunter. The park has a turtle pond, a little animal sanctuary with small birds, rabbits and donkeys, I don’t know why the mules. The atmosphere was right for a small bottle of ouzo and some eggplant salad and a little time with the Alchemist (a must read).

I headed to services in Athens’ oldest synagogue, Beth Shalom, and enjoyed meeting a few of the 30 Jews that showed up for services that night.

I decided I would setup camp here for awhile, so I’ve rented a very small modern flat in the Kolanaki area for a week. It has a great view of Athens, with a roof deck that would make most back yards jealous. I can feel like I have a neighborhood and some roots for a week.

Athens is in a state of flux right now, Greece was basically declared bankrupt and the IMF is bailing out the country with billions in funding. Anarchists protest daily and officers in riot gear are in high-alert in every major area of the city. I feel safe, but several Greeks have confessed to me that for the first time they feel insecure in Athens.

Yesterday I made some new friends at a t-shirt shop after I ran out of clean clothes. I befriended Konstas, the shop owner, who introduced me to his group of friends, in particular, his friend Tess who’s very involved in the art world here in Athens. I joined her for lunch - I had another incredible dish of eggplant with toasted goat cheese, and a few glasses of red wine to help enjoy the sunny afternoon in Athens. Tess and I began plotting art projects for Athens. We met up with Konstas and his other friends at a Jazz bar, where we all drank and danced outside with about 20 other people until 3am. The party reached it’s climax of sorts when a group of 10 Parisians started stripping to their skivvies to some French song. It turned the party up a notch.

Today I took a city tour on the open-topped tourist bus. I stopped to see the meat market and buy some fresh olives. Now I’m sitting in a quaint covered outdoor cafe enjoying a glass of wine and some snacks. Tomorrow will be another day that will evolve as it’s supposed to. Planning to leave Athens on Saturday, maybe to Santorini or Milan.

In very good spirits,
Jared

Sunday, April 18, 2010

A land of Milk and Honey

4.17.2010

In a country where sacred emaciated cows roam busy streets like stray cats, I decided it would be appropriate to restrain from meat for awhile. Frankly, it doesn’t look like there’s enough meat on the bone for a good meal in most cases. It’s been a week, and I don’t have a strong desire for a burger, so I think I’ll keep up this veg cycle for awhile. My stomach has finally settled, it seems, but I’m still reticent to return to the indian breakfasts of spiced masala. I’m quite satisfied with my favorite indian breakfast, masala chai tea and buttered wheat toast with honey. It’s a comforting way to enter the uncertainty of each day.

The heat is bordering on unbearable. Yesterday, in Delhi, the temperature reached a 52-year high of over 110 degrees (43.7 fahrenheit). Being further south and closer to the Arabian sea, I’m taking in similar temps with more humidity. My new world smells of cardemom, sweat and petrol (gasoline) emissions...which is fortunate, because it means that my own scents are lost in the atmosphere.

India cracks me up, though. From what I can tell, there’s not much joking about sexual topics, but there’s ample laughs from bodily functions...I saw this ‘poop’ ad on tv this morning (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwyLAo3DJGY) and had to share it.

After a few days in Goa, I rented a scooter for the day. I’m an idiot. I say that partially for the benefit of my Mom who will certainly remind me after she reads this. I rode 15km south from Candolim beach where I was staying to the main port town of Panjim, a bustling market city, perhaps something you might see during a crowded market chase scene of a Bond movie. There are no speed limits, stop signs or traffic lights in 99% of India, they drive on the left side of the road, and onward traffic passes in your lane within inches of your forward-moving vehicle. It is harrowing as a passenger in a taxi, a white-knuckled tourist realizes why this is the most religious country in the world. All scooter drivers invoke the name of their favorite deity - Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Shiva, G-d. I only exhaled when I arrived back at the hotel several hours after leaving.

In Panjim, I explored a small outdoor market, and briefly lost my scooter in a sea of other parked bikes. They all look alike and there’s no button to press to make it beep like I’ve grown accustomed to with my car. Fortunately, it had some characteristic scratches that I remembered.

While walking, I was approached by some young children asking for money. I offered a few candies to them and the women who quickly approached. At the same time, a very thin and quite senior swami walked by and I offered him a candy. He happily accepted, showed appreciation, and continued walking. I quickly joined him, asking if I could walk alongside in rudimentary sign language. I took a brief walk with the swami, walking through town. We exchanged positive energy, and few words besides that. It was a warm feeling that I was very happy to have experienced. I half expected that he would be walking somewhere existential like a holy temple...he was just catching the bus. Oh well, all omens can’t lead one directly:)

Back in Candolim in Goa, I made friends with a great couple, John Frank and his girlfriend Sandra, who live in Holland outside of Zandvoort, a town I had visited with my buddy Marc several years ago to see the Formula 1 racetrack outside of Amersterdam. We’ve enjoyed several meals together and have made tentative plans to connect soon. John’s invited me to join him in Turkey for a brief business trip in May, and the couple invited me to stay in Holland with them for a few days if it works into my schedule. Right now flights into Europe are grounded due to the Iceland volcano ash, so it’s anyone’s guess when that might be a possibility. It’s a real problem here, as 16,000 flights have been grounded...none going into central Europe in the foreseeable future.

Two days ago I flew into Cochin in the Indian state of Kerala, flying from Goa through Bangalore (a great airport). On arrival, I had little idea where I might stay. I went to the travel office at the airport, and asked for recommendations. While at the desk, and Indian fellow with a British accent asked where I was going. I told him that I was heading to Ft. Cochin, and he said that he was heading to the same area (about 30km from the airport).

Very quickly I established that my new pal Taru Goel lived in NY, about a block from my old NY apartment on Sullivan and Houston, where he worked in the private equity market. Taru had also been planning on going to Bangkok (but came to India because of the protests) and we were months apart in age. Another omen...I invited him to share the cab with me and offered to find a hotel with him. Midway into our drive we decided to abandon the shipping fort and try to coordinate a back-water overnight boat tour from Alopee, about 1 1/2 hours from where we were heading.

Between Taru and I, we were the ultimate urban boyscouts. We could make plans and negotiate rates in record time. We found a good 2-bedroom waterway boat with a captain, chef and mate for about $50 p/person for the night. Our meals were spectacular, and cooked according to our tastes. We talked through the afternoon and night while riding down the river about spirituality and relationships (he was just married to an American in the nearby country of Rajistan).

In our conversations about religion Taru mentioned a woman named Amma, considered the spiritual equivalent of the Pope to Hindus. Her hugs are considered to hold great emotional power. Apparently this mention was also an omen. The Divine Right retreat I had planned on visiting here turned out to be a prayer retreat rather than meditation and yoga, so I needed to find an alternative. I looked up Amma’s organization, and found that she would be returning to Kerala today from her worldwide tour. Tomorrow I will be driving to meet her at a 2 day program that she will be attending and meeting individuals. I’m told that I should expect 10-15,000 people at the program, but that I would likely have a better opportunity to hear her as a Western traveler. I hope to give Amma a hug...my Oma gave great hugs! Amma’s hugs are said to cause emotional release and many are known to cry - one person described her hug as knowing unconditional love and a feeling of pure selflessness. She is known as a living saint for her charitable work and spiritual importance (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/3136524.stm). I’ll be sure to let you know if I got a hug and whether it was memorable in the same way.

Taru and I woke around 7am to the bright sun rising out of the Alopee river. I jumped into the warm water from the side of the boat, the first from our boat in the water. The staff followed to the stairs with their small bars of soap to take their morning baths. I brought my shampoo and soap over. I cleaned off and washed my hair and then introduced the crew to the joy of shampoo. They washed their moustaches, very likely improving the smell of their entire day. Tomorrow will be a different story for them, I’m sure as the scents of india are again infused in their facial hair.

Breakfast was a nice continental feast with papadum (the crispy indian bread wafer) and toast. Our driver from the airport actually stayed on the boat with us and we were off for Ft. Cochin by 9am.

We toured the village and went to see the 500 year old synagogue on Jew Street on Shabbos morning. We had just missed services and the doors were closed. I was pointed in the direction of a woman manning a shop that said Shalom in the window. Through the window of her shop I could see her praying the daily tehilim (prayers) laying on her bed. I met Sarah Cohen, an 80 year-old Jewish woman, who said that the shul was being taken care of by she and only 2 other men in Ft. Cochin, the remains of a 500-year old Jewish community here. Here is more about the present state of the Jewish community in Jew Town (http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/16fe46/). Sarah said that the only thing that I might do for her is to send good chocolates from home. If I can find the address, I know that she would appreciate words of kind encouragement and a few treats from the US if anyone is so inclined.

I’m nested at Le Meridien hotel in Cochin - Taru has taken off for Delhi to close down the family’s apartment before leaving for New York. The food here is incredible, we had a great Indian buffet after spending a few hours at the Oberon mall observing what Indians find fashionable. I’m here writing for the morning after enjoying a great breakfast. This afternoon I’ll check out more of the city and prepare to travel tomorrow.

Still debating where I might go next. Perhaps to Thailand or somewhere a bit cooler. A lot will depend on world situations. My travels are increasingly being guided on their own, and I am enjoying living in the moment that these omens bring me to.

Mazel Tov to David and Lisa Frist, and the Barry family, on the birth of my new cousin Alexis yesterday. I am told she is doing well.

With love for my friends and family!

Jared