Sunday, January 20, 2013

1-20-2013
Dear Henry,
As I am currently in the middle of a seven hour journey, and am now somewhere over the middle of the United States of America, en route to California, I figure this is as good a time as any to check in. How have you been? As you know, I was recently in Israel, so I wasn't able to maintain my blogg while away. Anyways, while, in the Holy Land, I had many powerfully powerful experiences. Heck I even had several moving experiences- more moving in fact, than a U-haul truck in the streets of Boston on a brisk yet autumn mid-morning. One of these movingly-moving experiences took place, of all places, at a farm at a kibbutz in the South. Growing up in the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains, where I would go cow tippin' to stay out of trouble on the weekends, and where I would ski to school, and then put on my cowboy boots, with the metal spurs on the outside, wearing my jean-blue overalls, I always did view myself as a country-boy. But even though I viewed myself as a country-boy, I still never got into the whole gardening thing. Heck, in recent years I have made fun of my father, whose new passion is his garden. Truth be told, I never was so interested in his garden, even though I try to pretend to be interested when I hear about the new developments and how he is growing tulips. My uncle is even worse- each time I step in his apartment, the first thing he does is take me outside to his balcony garden, where he has baby lemons growing. I find this about as interesting as watching the traffic light turn green outside my house, and then red again, and then green. I find it about as interesting as watching my fingernails grow over the course of a 7 hour journey across the vast breadth of this great country of ours. Truth be told, dear Henry, I figured my father and uncle took such interest in their gardens, because, to put it bluntly, they are entering the middle of Middle-agedness. They aren't young any more, Henry. Cow tippin' just doesn't get it done any more- so I figure, they have this newfound interest in the garden.
And then, Henry, something unexpectedly unexpected happened. Despite my rapidly receding hairline- which is receding rapidlier than a Colorado stage 7 rapid-- I came to appreciate what uncle, and dad sees in their garden. While on this kibbutz, about 5 miles from Gaza, I came to appreciate the garden. You see Henry, as a Jew, anytime I eat a fruit or veggie, I thank G-d for the food with a blessing: Blessed are you, King of the Universe who Created the fruit of the tree. Honestly, I usually say this blessing without even stopping to think about what the Heck I am saying- kind of like a robot who is trained to do whatever it is that he does. But, Henry, when I stood at the foot of a tomato vine, and plucked -a plush red tomato, redder than strawberry koolaid, I had one of those special moments. I declared the blessing, thanking G-d for creating the fruit of the ground, and I dug my tea-stained teeth into this tomato. I realized how awesome it was- at some point a tiny little seed became this morbidy obese tomato, and now, it was gift-wrapped to me, from G-d himself. No packaging, no additives, just a tomato from its vine, just for me. G-d's awesomely Awesomeness hit very hard at that moment, and I now appreciate what my older-but wiser father and uncle see in their gardens. They see Godliness, and His Incredible natural wonders. it is now up to me, oh Henry, to have this concentration and intent everything I eat-- not just when I eat from the tree. Whatever food comes to my mouth, did so as a gift from G-d to me. And even though it is harder to sense this when I am not standing in the garden, it is every bit as true. The garden, dear Henry, is an expression and paradigm for Godliness in the world, and His steady presence at all times, even when it is hard to discern. to that end, Oh Henry, we should all be gardeners.
Indeed, We should all be gardeners.
Forever yours,
Danny Wolfe

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

1-8-2013

Dear Henry,
      I am admittedly an emotional fellow- heck, I dare say I might even be more emotional than my precious, adorable, absolutely delicious two year old daughter is after I say no to her when she asks me for her fourth cookie. I am more emotional even, than a panda bear is when he leaves his Panda cub family to disembark on a great journey to the Wild West. Years ago,  I have been known to cry during my favorite episodes of One Tree Hill. More recently, I recall sitting in Batteries Plus, bawling while reading Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis's "A Committed Life."
         Most recently, however, I felt the emotions while sitting on an airplane, approaching the Spiritual Center of the Universe. As I watched the video screen ahead of me, showing the tiny, kind of cute little airplane inching its way to the Land of Israel, I felt very real goosebumps develop on my skin- goosebumps larger than the highest moguls on your typical east coast "ski resort." I hadn't experienced goosebumps such as these since Tim Tebow's glorious strike to Demaryius Thomas in last years AFC Wild Card Showdown.
       And then, on this airplane, unannounced, even though I have been to Israel many times, as I stared at this little tv screen in front of me, I felt tears filling my eyes. Real, salty, wet tears. Tears every bit as real as Ray Lewis's tears will be after he plays his final NFL game in Denver this weekend.  And I realized how awesome, and special it is, to have the opportunity to be in the land of Israel. What would my great grandparents- murdered in the Polish deathcamps have done to have this opportunity? What would Moshe Rabainu- the greatest leader in Jewish History-- have done to tread foot in the Holy Land? The Torah tells us, he prayed to G-d 515 times for that exact opportunity.
      As we approached the runway, I thought how awesome it is to live in the times we find ourselves in, and I found myself longing for the day when I will be returning forever-- not only with my immediate family, but with the entire Jewish people, to celebrate the final rebuilding of our Holy Temple-- may it be rebuilt speedily and soon.

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe

Friday, January 4, 2013


1-4-2013
Dear Henry,
       As you know, I attempted to write a blogg 4 years ago, for my lovely wife's  web design project in her class at FIT. I figured my devoted readers would want to see this piece I published 4 years ago. Here you go.
Have a wonderful Shabbos. 
Forever yours,
Danny Wolfe
March 27, 2009
Dear Henry,
Since I don’t understand really how blogs work, and I do not read them, I think I will view it as the diary I never had. I always thought it would be fun to have a diary to whom I confided in everything, yet I never did. This is my chance. I am going to call you Henry. I think that’s a pretty sweet name for a diary.
Anyways, I wanted to share with you a little about my day yesterday. Yesterday, March 26, 2009 was an unprecedented day in my year and a half stay in New York this far. The day began like any other—except for the fact that I was able to walk outdoors for the first time in months without a coat—it was like any other day. As I strolled down the wide sidewalk on Bennett Avenue, I couldn’t help but marvel at the rather mild weather. I had a feeling that somehow, someway, for some reason, by hook or by crook, or even by crook or by hook, today would be special. And special it was. As I approached 184th I was faced with the dilemma I face every day: What should I listen to on Sara’s pretty, bright pink ipod? Should I listen to some Baruch Levine? Or should I listen to a shiur? On this particular day, at this particular time, at this particular moment, I opted for the latter, as opposed to the former. I approached the shuttle, and as I did, I pressed the play button the ipod on the shiur that I had decided on. Upon opening the door, I took a quick look, and saw that the only open seats available were in the back. So to the back I went. And that was precisely when everything changed. As I approached my seat, I admittedly was not expecting what was to follow. Before my very own pretty green eyes, I would witness something unprecedented. I was to witness something I had not witnessed in an extremely long time. There was no way I could have guessed what was to come—it was simply unfathomable. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for what I was about to see, in front of my beautiful sparkling green eyes. No one could have pictured that this would happen, because I believe that this had in fact never before happened. In my older age, I admittedly have come to expect the unexpected, but what was to come, is beyond unexpected. It was simply unheard of. What was to follow simply could not be pictured by the mind: As I approached my seat there was a fellow who looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s. He had a nice goutee that I wish I could grow—except for the fact that my family is incapable of producing such facial hair—and I knew I liked this guy from the beginning. As I settled into my seat, I saw he was moving his lips as if he were talking. As I was listening to my shuir, he just seemed like a talking, goateed man. I wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking. But then I realized the unrealizable: Maybe he was speaking to me: Despite the fact that I was a perfect stranger, and we had never met before, and it was 9:00 in the morning. I turned down the ipod. And yes, he was talking to me. At first I didn’t know what to think. Two immediate options came to mind: A) He was on something, or B) He was from out of town. After thinking for a couple seconds, I realized the latter was more likely, as opposed to the former. It was 9:00, and he looked like a respectable goateed man on his way to work. He must be from out of town. That would be the only logical explanation for how he could have started speaking to me. Indeed, he was from the great state of Texas. During the 5 minutes that were to follow, we talked about a myriad of topics. We discussed the intricate details of life, and why the world was created, what is the meaning of life, etc… If there is a topic, we covered it, all in 5 minutes.
That van ride brought me back to my youth, where I was raised in the great, majestic Rocky Mountains. It reminded my of when we had a group of us who would ski to school, and we would talk while skiing. It brought me back to the day my father first told me I could put spurs on my cowboy boots. It brought me back to the times we went to go tip cows on the farm across the way. It reminded me that neighbors used to convene on the street to talk about life. It reminded me of old roller hockey games and interactions with people that we do not get here. As I carry on this city, the City that never sleeps, I indeed will sleep better knowing this Texan fighting the good fight. As I disembarked from the van on that splendid day, on that momentous moment, at that wondrous time, I marveled at the miracles we see every day.
Forever yours,
Danny

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

January 2, 2013
Dear Henry,

       All the readers of this new up-and coming blogg might be wondering why exactly the blogg is called 12 Degrees. Well Henry, please allow me to explain. You see, this morning, as I was driving on the frozen tundra known as Albany, I could not help but notice the rapid decline of my car's thermometer. The temperature in my garage started out at 45 degrees. Then, as I kept putting the pedal to the metal on my seven minute drive, the temperature showed 30 degrees. Oh brother, I thought, today is going to be a chilly one! It might even be, as a wise philosopher once said, colder than ice cold -- and that is pretty cold-- If I can say so myself, and I can, since it is, after all, my blogg. 
As I reached the four minute mark in my seven minute journey, the temperature was still on the decline, now hovering at about 22 degrees. Oh BOY! Today might even be colder than the bone chilling stare I received in a Cleveland synagogue after making fun of their sports teams. WOW! Then, by the time I pulled into the icy synagogue parking lot this morning at 6:33 AM, (that's right, I was seven minutes early-- had to leave enough time to properly prepare myself to converse with my Maker--) the thermometer read, and now I quote "12 degrees" (But instead of degrees it had the little degree sign above the two). 
        As I stepped outside of my vehicle, I was overwhelmed by the bone-chilling, spine tingling frigid Albany air-- and I was walking very quickly to get inside. It was at this moment that an amazing epiphany occurred to me. You see, at that very moment, on this particular day, I was very perplexed about what to name my blogg. It all started last night-- actually, more accurately, it all started about 4 months ago, when I signed up for an amazing fundraiser, called walk2israel. (walk2israel.org, please go there, and donate money to my page). I received a fitbit ultra, a pedometer which counts my steps. So for the last month, I have been walking 10,000 steps a day--yet miraculously, didn't seem to lose any weight. The competition ended, so last night, when I was at about 2,000 steps for the day, my wife asked me why I wasn't furiously pacing around the house like a bull who wanted to chase down a squirrel who stole its dinner, like I usually do. I told her, that now, since the fundraiser is over, and I don't need to walk 10,000 steps, it would be pointless-- why bother? Anyways, my wife was wearing my fitbit ultra, so If I were to start walking around the house, would those steps even count? My fitbit wouldn't even be counting them, so it would be as if I never took those steps! Upon philosophizing about this with my lovely wife, I realized, I need a blogg--you, Henry-- to share my philosiphications with. (Stay tuned for a future blogg post for more on that philosophication). From that point, about twenty-fours ago (IE 9:12 PM 1/1/13) I was in an utter state of perplexicity and confusion about what to name this new blogg of mine. I was leaning towards calling you "Going Deep with Rabbi Wolfe" because this blog will be a forum for my deep philosophications, and I, as the captain of my high school baseball team, was the first player in Rocky Mountain Hebrew Academy history to hit a home run out of our new ball field at the Denver Campus for Jewish Education (DCJE) Not only did I hit one, but I hit two, in consecutive at-bats. I was very proud- My Saba saw it, as did Mr. Mate. So Going deep with Rabbi Wolfe would have made a lot of sense-- because I went deep many times as a stud baseball player. It would have made sense-- until that magical moment this morning, at 6:33 AM EST, or 4:33 Mountain time. 
        For at that very moment, I realized what 12 degrees meant. It was as if G-d gift-wrapped a message to me, and stuck it right in front of my face, to tell me what to name this special blogg. When I led my community swim team as a young 7 year old, I remember that during swim meets, the water is kept cold. The idea being that the colder the water, the faster we would swim, to get out of that water. If it would have been warm cozy water, then we wouldn't be in such a rush to go anywhere--- we would simply relax and enjoy the water. This yesod (fundamental lesson that I will call Life lesson number 3) applies to every day of our lives: We must live life at 12 degrees farenheit. If we live life as if we are in freezing cold water-- we will always feel the pressing need to advance ourselves, and to improve ourselves. If we are content in the warm water-- why would we bother advancing ourselves? Do we feel satisfied with where we are holding in our ethical  and spiritual lives? Judaism teaches that life is like a downward escalator. If we stay stationary-- happy with where we are-- we will only fall. We must keep climbing those steps, battling with the natural challenges that enter our lives, to improve ourselves, and continue advancing. To be sure, we certainly must be happy with what we have, and grateful for the gifts G-d has given us. But we must continually strive to become better people-- to become closer to the Almighty. This is precisely why I created you, Oh Henry. To encourage myself, and the many devoted readers out there in the vast expansive universe, to continue growing, and to keep climbing to greater heights. The moment we feel satisfied with where we are holding on a spiritual level will be the moment that we decrease our spirituality. We must always long for more. We must keep moving. We must live life at 12 degrees Fahrenheit. 

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe