America's REAL Heros

7-17-2013


Dear Henry,

       I worked at Jeff's Diner as a waiter for about 6 months when I was 16, and I can tell you, its hard being a waiter. Its darn hard. Its probably harder than being a paint salesmen, but its not as hard as being a youth director. But in any case, its hard. You might be asking, oh Henry, whats so hard about being a waiter? The answer is that when you are a waiter, you have to deal with hungry people, and when people are hungry, they aint so rationale. They just want to eat. And when I worked at Jeff's Diner, a kosher restaurant, people REALLY wanted to eat, because they were fellow Jews, who really enjoy eating. And many times, these people bring in their elderly parents and grandparents and great grandparents, which becomes very difficult, because if you put the tomato on the wrong part of the sandwich, grandma is not so happy with you, and she lets you know it. In short, working in a kosher restaurant is one of the hardest things to do, because not only are you dealing with hungry people, but you are dealing with well-meaning Jewish hungry people, who are often elderly.
       With that lengthy introduction, oh Henry, I want to tell you about my night tonight. I went to an assisted living home where the elderly go when they advance in age. We went for dinner, to eat with my wife's precious, sweet, lovely grandmother. Grandma, however, is a little bit forgetful. As the ladies were serving us, waiting on us, I was very impressed, because they were dealing with hungry, elderly and forgetful Jews. How did that manifest itself? Grandma asked the nice lady for a slice of onion. By the time the nice lady finished taking all of our third and fourth requests for more applesauce, another fork, more water, two cups of orange juice, another cup, and an extra straw, as she was walking away, not sixty seconds more than the first request-- grandma called her back, to request another slice of onion. With a smile on her face, and not the slightest bit of agitation, the woman readily agreed to get grandma more onion.
       This seems like a simple story, but I believe it teaches us two fundamental life lessons. The first life lesson, is a lesson clearly taught in the Torah, and that is that we should not judge anyone until we are in their shoes. For many middle-aged folks, it is annoying when their parents start forgetting things. However, before we get annoyed, we should think what it would be like to be in our parents' shoes, being so forgetful. What would it be like if I did not remember what I did five minutes ago? What would it be like if I was nervous I would forget my apartment number? What would it be like if I didn't know who came to see me today, or what my plans were, or what day it was? It would be terrifying.
Before being annoyed that our grandparents forgot our name, or who we are, or where we live, we ought to first put ourselves in their shoes. And we should also cherish our own minds and memories, and be grateful for our ability to remember and have a mind that works properly.
        But what I really wanted to do in this blogg post was to give proper props to the incredible individuals who work at these old-age homes.  In a world where we idolize athletes, fame, and wealth, these people who work with the elderly very well might go unnoticed. My jaw literally dropped, as I saw these individuals return to our table, each time taking orders from all of us and Grandma, and responding with more patience and love than the previous time. I remembered the saintly women who dealt with my own grandmother during her last days in this world. My grandmother was afflicted with a very serious form of Alzheimer's, and she totally had lost her mind.  Yet it became crystal clear to all of us, that the women who worked there deeply cared for, and loved her. These people's deep patience and love is something that we all need to strive for.
       Life Lesson number two here, is that we need to evaluate who our heros are. Why are they are heros? Should we idolize individuals because certain unique individuals-- like myself-- were blessed with incredible super-human athletic talent? Or should we look around, and identify and give proper props to those people who really act in a heroic manner?
      Lets stop trying to be football stars--and start trying to be waiters in old-age homes.
   

My New Hero

7-7-2013
Dear Henry,
      I am sorry it has been so long since we last spoke. I think its been a solid two months. I imagine when my thousands of devoted readers wake up every morning, the first thing they do is check their email, facebook, or twitter feeds, for news of my upcoming blogg post, and so to my dear readers, I also apologize.
      There is so much I want to write to you about, but for now, I want to tell you about an incredibly moving story that happened to me this morning. This morning, I woke up a little bit later than usual, which meant that I would go to the latest minyan (prayer service) in town, which started at 8:30 AM. Everything was going great, speaking with the Almighty, connecting to Him and getting close. Then, as I took off my phylacteries a sweet elderly man sitting across from me began to speak to me.
Him: "You think they have this late 8:30 again tomorrow?
Me: "I wish, tomorrow is only 7:50 :-( "
"What's your name?"
"My name is Danny aka the D Train Aka Da Da Da Da D UNIT."
"Where are you from?"
"Originally from Denver, now Albany. How about you?"
"Belarus."
      At this point, this sweet man began telling me his life story. The short version is he is 90 years old, he survived the Holocaust, but his home and property were taken away, his brothers who were in the camps with him were murdered, as were his parents, and he has 12 grandchildren and several more great grandchildren. He then told me how every morning he goes to shul at Chabad (as they have the latest week-day minyan in town, 8:00 AM), and on Shabbos he goes to an earlier minyan close to his house (as despite being 90, he is walking to shul every week.)
     As I was speaking to him, I noticed the rest of the crowd had cleared out- the only people that remained were the ones who it took the longest to take off their phylacteries (tefillin)-- this ninety year old man, and the man next to him, who seemingly suffers from Parkinson's. At this juncture, I told myself to remember that while usually I am very good about attending minyan every morning, there are inevitably those mornings that I miss minyan once in a while. But, I asked myself, how can I allow myself to miss a minyan, when these two individuals come every single day? I, who thank G-d get around without any delays, who am blessed with youth and good health, how can I not come, when these special individuals come every day despite the enormous difficulty involved? And so I vowed to myself, (albeit not with taking an official vow) to try my hardest to ALWAYS come to shul in the morning, and to not allow even for that rare exception.
     But Henry, that aint even what I wanted to focus on during this lovely Sunday morning in July. What I wanted to dwell more on, was an incredibly powerful idea I heard from a Holy lady named Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis, who herself survived the Holocaust. Just to put matters in perspective, I was once reading a story in her book, "A Committed Life" while waiting for my wife in Batteries Plus, and right there, in the middle of this store, I started bawling uncontrollably. I had the unique opportunity to hear her speak live at an Aish Conference once, and she concluded her tear-inducing speech with a very powerful blessing.  She told us, that she had heard from a Chassidic Master, who himself survived the Holocaust, that if someone lived through the hell of the Holocaust, and yet somehow managed to retain his or her faith and closeness to G-d, a blessing from that individual will come true, and be very very powerful. Rebbetzin Jungreis then blessed all nine hundred of us, listening intently in the audience, and very few eyes remained dry. I recalled this story this morning, as I was talking to my new hero. As we went into the hallway, I told him what this Rebbe had said, and how I have so much admiration for him, and it would mean a lot of he could give me a bracha. As tears welled up in both of our eyes, he gave me one of the most powerful blessings I have ever received.
     Tonight the Jewish people enter into a very difficult month- the month of Av. The Talmud teaches us, that when the month of Av comes in, we reduce our level of happiness, as it has been a month that has been brutal for the Jewish people, beginning from when our Holy Temples were destroyed.  Paradoxically, the name Av, also means father. Somehow, this month which has been so difficult for us, means "father." It is our job to somehow try to remember that everything comes from our Father-- both blessings, and difficulties. Sometimes my children ask me for things- but I know it is not really in their best interest- so sometimes I say no-- and they don't understand, nor are they happy about it.  We have to remember that although we don't always understand everything going on in our lives, our lives are not random- they are closely guided by a loving Father, who loves His children more intensely than any love we can fathom. In this massive, scary world, we must remember that we are never alone.
     The holy man I met today, who despite suffering tremendously, witnessing horrific events, still clings to his Father. We collectively as a people have suffered over the years enormously, and yet we are still here because we continue to cling to our Father. This month of Av, we should cling to our Father-- not because of terror, sadness, or fear, but out of incredible happiness. We should all merit to get closer to our Father, in our holy city of Jerusalem, celebrating at the Beis Hamikdash, may it be rebuilt speedily and soon.
     May the blessing this tzadik (righteous man)  gave to me this morning, come true for the entire Jewish People:
May Hashem bless us and Protect us.
May His face shine light upon us and may He bestow grace upon us.
May Hashem lift His Face upon us, and may He grant us peace.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

My Better Half

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Dear Henry,
       I am very sorry that I left you in suspense last week. It's just that sometimes I get a little too verbose- heck I even get a little too wordy. So I had to stop. However, if you recall correctly, I had left off with Rav Yaakov Schorr shlita, who saved the day by properly installing a battery into my alarm- something that not I, nor 5 firemen, could figure out how to do.
    What I wanted to write about on this lovely afternoon in the month of May, was the feeling I had on Tuesday morning, the day my lovely wife was going to be coming back. I vividly remember (as it happened not even two weeks ago) feeling an excitement, that could only be compared to the excitement a schoolgirl feels right before her first day of school. I felt more jubilant than a college-aged Jewish American Princess prior to shopping at Century 21. I was more delighted than a frat boy delights over a Corona, and more pumped to see her than a meat head is pumped to drink an expensive protein shake after getting brolic in the gymnasium.
To put it simply-- I was darn excited.
        You see dear Henry, I was not expecting to miss her so intensely, as she was only out of town for three days. But the reality is, that I missed her much more than JR smith and Melo missed the hoop last night, when they fell to the Celtics in Game 5 in MSG. I Missed her more than Michael Bay missed the mark, when he made Pearl Harbor. I missed her more than that movie missed the mark- and that's an awful lot girl. Normally, after the children go to sleep every night, I work-- I take care of the office-work aspect of my job. Truth be told-- me and my wife don't even get to bond as much as we should-- she is doing things in the kitchen, listening to Torah lectures, and I am tending to the IPad and computer. When the work is done, I feel more tired than a chimpanzee feels after climbing a large tree in the Denver Zoo. But, Henry, even though we don't actively communicate as much as we should during these nights, we still very much feel each other's presence. Even if I am in another room, I know darn well she is running the house, from a room away, and this is an awesome feeling.
      However, those nights when she was away, once the kiddies were sleeping, I felt a profound sense of loneliness. Knowing she was one state away was very depressing, and lonely. Usually during the nights, as well as during the early mornings, I try to study the Lord's Good Book. I try to make it my priority that the last thing I do before taking a shluff is studying His Good Book, and before I go to synagogue at 6:40 AM every day, I arise at 5:20 AM so that I can start my day off on the right foot, Learning His Torah. Heck- starting the day off with a a heavy dosage of Torah, is like starting a race in Thailand two thousand and fifty meters ahead of the starting booth-- it provides a monumental boost. When my wife went away, I assumed this routine would continue. Interestingly, however, I simply sensed no motivation. I was too tired at night, and when my alarm started beeping at 5:20 AM, I couldn't get out of bed. Every other day of the year, it is not a problem-- but somehow, now, I wasn't able to get up early to learn. I experienced something very profound that the Kli Yakar, a commentator on the Torah teaches us from last week's Torah portion. The Kli Yakar writes that a Jewish woman is her husband's sustainer. If I bring home wheat, that is very nice, but who turns it into the delicious challah I eat every Shabbos? If I bring home wool, that is lovely-- but who spins it, and eventually turns it into the clothing on my back? On a deeper level, a man's wife turns him into a man-- she takes his raw materials-- and develops him into a better person, someone who can achieve his purpose and fulfill his mission. She inspires and helps give him meaning and a drive to succeed. As I once heard quoted from a movie I didn't see, she "makes him want to be a better man." I realized that every second I am around my wife, I am refueling my spiritual gas tank-- her mere presence gives me the very real feeling, that there is nothing in the world that I cannot accomplish.
       Therefore, it came as no surprise, that when my alarm started buzzing at 5:20 AM, the first morning after she returned, I jumped out of bed quicker than a fire truck zooms down Western Avenue on a Thursday night.
      My Better Half returned.
   

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

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Stay at Home Dad

4-24-2013

Dear Henry,

       Long time no speak. Its definitely been way too long. I actually wanted to share with you a little bit about my week! My week was more interesting than my drunken tweets. But Henry, my week was not only interesting-- for it was also informative. Heck, it was more informative than a mall directory, which informs me where Lidz is, so that I could go ahead and purchase a new lid. I am so frustrated that I looked in the whole store, and I didn't even find one lid-- I only found ball caps! Go figure! As Christopher, AKA Chris Rock once famously said, "That Aint a Right!" But I digress. Anyways, I think I will now go ahead and share with you what I did this week, from the very beginning...

      At my own strong urging, my wife agreed to go to a Rebbetzin's aka. (Rabbis wife) three-day conference. When I had encouraged her to go, I was very excited for all the inspiration she would take. I figured she would even be half as inspired as a person who has the privilege to hear Yours Truly dazzling an audience with a life-changing lecture. Interestingly enough though, it did not occur to me that if she would be away for three days, then it would necessarily mean that it would be I who would change every single diaper. It never once dawned on me, that with her away for three days, it would be me who would be cleaning up the house. It never occurred to me that it would be I, who cooked dinners, packed lunches, washed dishes, and worked out carpools and took out carseats.

     I began to get an inkling of what I was in for when we-- Yours truly, The Eldest, and The Princess pulled into the garage after dropping off Momma and the baby at the rental car place. The Eldest gave a mighty, thunderous sneeze, and then clutched his ear in agony. He started crying, telling me how much his ear was hurting. I figured this would be a little stage that he was going through for like 3 minutes, and by the time we got upstairs, he would be out of the kvetching-about-my-hurting-ear- stage. To my horror and dismay, when we got upstairs, he did not start playing with his cars, or color, or even draw, or do finger paints,  but he lay down on the couch, all the while grasping his ear in agony. I didn't find all that amusing that he had never had such an ear ache before, and the first  time he had such a thing, my wife was almost in New Baltimore (20  LONG miles away). 

      I quickly called the doctor, who said they weren't open on Sundays, but maybe I should go to an urgent care center, or just wait till tomorrow. I then looked in every cabinet and drawer I could find, hoping against all hope I could find that silly kiddies tylenol bottle-- and then I remembered that I am a male, who cannot even find where the forks go. I grabbed The Eldest in one hand, The Princess in the other hand, and before one could say "Bunny Bunny", we were back in the car. I sped out of the drive way to CVS, and grabbed not one, but the first two bottles I could find. As soon as  I paid, and put the kids back in the car, I gave the little man some tylenol to sooth the pain. With the help of the Al-mighty, his ears were as good as new by the time we got to the grocery store 13 minutes later. Phew!

     Everything was going great from that point on-- I went to the gym to become Brolic and Dikembe Mujumbo, and when I got home, for dinner, I even made the kids eggs and quinoia, (Im good-- I know) and as I put them to sleep, I reflected how cool it was that tonight, I would get a solid night sleep, as my 6 month old baby was with the Mrs. at the conference 150 miles away. 

      Everything was going great-- until about 3 AM. My slumber was suddenly, rudely, and abruptly interrupted by obnoxiously obnoxious chirping sounds, which sounded once every 47 seconds from my Carbon Monoxide alarm.  I got up, googled how to stop it, and it seemed like maybe the battery was low. I switched out the battery, and the darn thing kept chirping. I googled it again, and saw a suggestion to call the fire department to come take a CO reading-- and that is exactly what I did. So at 3:20 AM I had 5 firemen in my house, with their tools, checking things out. Again, with the help of the Lord Above, there was no CO whatsoever-- as it was either battery problem or the alarm was defective. So I tried again to fix the battery, but to my dismay-- the darn thing kept chirping. I gave up, and by 4:00, went back to sleep. For the next two and a half hours I would sleep for 46 seconds at a time before I would rudely be interrupted at the 47th second, until 6:30 when The Eldest woke up. The chirping continued all day long,  until my dear friend and esteemed colleague, Rabbi Yakov Schorr came over, and properly installed the battery-- something one would thing a college educated, ordained rabbi like myself could figure out how to do by himself. 

       For the next day and a half, as I made the kids lunches and cooked them dinners, (as my devoted tweeter followers know, I made them one night, fries and hashbrowns), I realized how awesome it was to be able to give so intensely to my kids, whom I love more than anything in the world. I felt closer to them than ever before, being able to give so much to them, who were relying exclusively on me. And it just confirmed to me something that our rabbis teach-- That the Torah requires that each person love their neighbor like they love themselves. The obvious question is, how in world can the Torah require an emotion? Either you love someone, or, you don't! One answer given is that the hebrew word for love is "AHAV." The word "hav" also means "give". So we learn that when someone wants to love someone, they should give to them, and they will come to love them. I never saw a more profound example of this, than when I was providing so much for my precious children. It made me feel so close and connected to them. I wanted to be a fly on the wall, to watch their little faces when they discovered the treats I snuck in their lunches. It made me feel something that I didn't think was possible-- an even deeper, and more profound love for those precious little buggers. 

      Henry, you have been a good listener. But I am not done. But this piece is already to long. So the rest will have to wait-- and it will have to: TO BE CONTINUED.....

                    Sincerely,

                    Danny Wolfe, AKA Rabbi D TRAIN aka Rabbi D UNIT

Mi K'Amcha Yisroel-- Who is Like You Oh Israel- Reflection on a KidneyTransplant

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Dear Henry,
       I know that usually, when I write to you, I have a tendency to use a light, almost humorous tone. Let me warn you, dear Henry, that today will be a bit more of a serious tone. I wanted to write to you about an experience, as I escorted my friend to the hospital as he donated his kidney to a person he had never before met. My experience undoubtedly was one of the most profound experiences of my entire life.
      The profoundness of the day actually began as soon as we walked into the hospital. As I sat with my buddy in the waiting room, I looked around at everyone around me, wondering why was each one of them there. Some were undoubtedly awaiting the results of very risky surgeries. As I looked around and saw the agony and suffering in their faces, I began to get an inkling of how much we take our lives for granted. Some of us complain because we have a lot of stress in our lives. Some of us looking for jobs; others stressed out about term papers or tests. Spending time in a hospital waiting room is all that one needs to do to realize the triviality of it all. Spending time in a hospital is all it takes for one to wake up, and actually appreciate all of the gifts that one really does have.
    The most powerful moments of my life has been the first moment I met each one of my children. Standing in a hospital room, with my wife, and a nurse, three of us in total, and then, all of the sudden, when there is that cry from my baby, and now suddenly, there are four of us in the room-- that moment is beyond words, and is to me, a clear proof of G-ds incredible existence. However, right up there, as one of the most meaningful moments of my life, was when I had the privilege to watch my friend meet the recipient and his lovely wife and children, for the first time, shortly before the surgery. My friends incredible heart-felt love for this man was palpable-- as was his, and his family's-- love for my friend. Everyone around had tears streaming down their faces as we realized in this world of pain and suffering, what man is capable of. We realized, as one family member observed, that G-d has angels that He uses to carry out His plan, and my friend, is one such angel. I later tried to describe this interaction to someone else, but could not get the words out, as I became too emotional.
    I was further impacted on this day, after my buddy and I went to a different type of waiting room, called the "bikur cholim." Shortly after arriving at the hospital, they told us we could go wait in the bikur cholim. The Bikur cholim is a lounge which is stocked daily from donations of various Orthodox Jewish communities around the NYC area. It is food that the community donates for the sake of the sick patients, and the family members. In addition, there is a synagogue, with daily minyanim (prayer quorums of 10 men) which is made up of patients, family members, and Torah-observant doctors. It was here that I stayed throughout the duration of the 5 hour surgery, praying for my friend's successful surgery. Seeing this Bikur Cholim, and seeing the volunteers constantly returning to restock the fridge and the supplies reminded me of how special our People is-- a nation unlike any other.
    As I sat there, awaiting the results of the surgery, I thought to myself how appropriate it is that this happened right now, a week before Passover. During the Passover seder we say, "B'Chol Dor vador chayav adam liros es atzmo k'ilu hu yatzah m'mitzrayim." "In every generation a person is required to view himself as if he himself left Egypt." Therefore- on the seder night, each one of us has a mitzvah to experience a transformation whereby we leave from a state of bondage to a state of freedom. Our great Rabbis teach us that this is very difficult to achieve-- to relive the exodus. We are currently living in the comfort of the 21st Century, with tremendous freedom. How are we supposed to relive the exodus? I thought to myself, that each one of us has our own personal Egypt- we all have our personal struggles and challenges and our job is to overcome them. Then I thought, that for this recipient- this amazing man-- what would he be thinking on Pesach? Perhaps it would be easier for him to relate to this mitzvah-- he is leaving the misery and pain of life on constant dialysis- tremendous suffering and repeated hospital visits. This Pesach- he can G-d willing experience, a true form of physical freedom- a true personal redemption.
     Yet another profoundly impactful  moment was watching the doctor relay to the family the good news that the operation was successful. That sight is a sight I never want to forget- seeing the pure joyful exuberance and delight, and the demeanor of all of the family members. Such pure, unadulterated joy and delight. And I thought about it, and I asked myself, what are they rejoicing over? They are rejoicing over the fact that G-d-willing their holy father and husband will be granted a longer life, and a life with no more pain and physical anguish. Then I asked myself- do we ever take pleasure, joy and delight in the mere fact that we are alive? Do we take pleasure in the fact that we are not constantly experiencing physical pain and anguish? Do we ever actively celebrate the fact that our kidneys function properly, and we are able to relieve ourselves unassisted? In Judaism we have a blessing called Asher Yatzar, which thanks G-d for the ability to go to the bathroom. How often do we say this blessing? For those of us who do, do we feel the exuberance that should naturally come with it?
    On a similar note, another impactful moment was the first question my friend asked me in the recovery room, when he was drugged, and in pain-- "Did the transplant work? Is the other man okay?" His only concern was not with himself, but with the person to whom he gave his kidney.
    I had the zechus (merit) to assist my buddy in the hospital the night after the operation. I slept pretty well on a reclining chair, and the next day my friend told me what a miserable night of sleep he had. He told me that because of the incision, he was physically unable to sit up, when he couldn't sleep-- so he was stuck, laying on his back, waiting for the long night to end. The next morning he told me, that he never in his life was so appreciative for the ability to physically sit up. He told me how terrifying it was to be confined to his back, how helpless it was to not be able to move. And I realized, that as a rabbi, I often teach people how to appreciate everything we have. But even I never considered the enormous blessing we have with the ability to sit up in bed. What would a paraplegic give for the opportunity to sit up? Have I ever stopped to appreciate the awesomeness that comes with being able to move my limbs and my body? How fortunate are we for this incredible gift?
    As the man who runs this organization that facilitated the transplant left home at about 8 PM, (after having facilitated two transplants that day) I though about the conversation he would have with his wife that evening. "Hi honey, what did you do at work today? "Not too much- just saved two lives today." We should all do work that we can take pride in, and that gives us joy and satisfaction.
     Yet another impactful moment, actually occurred several times, as new nurses and doctors entered the room. They asked my friend, how do you know the person to whom you donated your kidney? My friend told them, he did not know him-- he was merely a fellow Jew. Seeing their faces of surprise and incredible admiration was very touching. For as Jews, we are one family, and when one of us suffers, we all suffer. When a family member needs something, wouldn't we run and do anything we can to help them?
    The Holy Temple was destroyed beause of baseless hatred. We should all follow my friend's lead-- and baselessly love each other, and this Passover we should all find ourselves back in our Holy Land, celebrating Moshiach's arrival, may it be speedily and soon.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe
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Where have all the Towels Gone?

Dear Henry,
      As a life-long vegetarian (except on Purim) hailing from the majestic Rocky Mountains, I am, by nature, a man of nature. Heck, my tweeter photograph (follow me at dannywolfe1) is of me sniffing a blossoming yellow dandelion in the Holiest of all lands. My idea of a good time, is to frolic and prance in a Peruvian Meadow,  or a Kazakstani rain forest in the midst of the summer. As such a man of nature, I am all for the international trend of going Green. It is a good idea. Natural is better.
      But Henry, I ask you, AT WHAT COST?!?! You see, dear Henry, I recently moved to cloudy Albany, the capital of this lovely little state of ours. I spend my days sitting in the wonderful campus center, and I love every part of my day: Sitting at the tables, speaking with the most inspirational students, occasionally watching Stephen A Smith go at it with Skip Bayless  on ESPN, and eating a bagel from Dreidels. I even recently discovered an amazing store called Outakes, where they sell me hot cups of water for my Super Duper, life changing fast lane tea for 25 cents, and they even sell odwalla energy bars for 99 cents. There is one, or two parts of my day, however, that I absolutely dread. Heck, I dread it more than a Panda Bear Cub dreads coming out of the Arctic Sea on a wintry Alaskan morning. What is it, exactly, oh Henry, that I dread? Henry, I dread going to the bathroom. Why, you might ask? Because there is a widely accepted American custom to wash ones hands after going potty. And for some reason, Henry, unbeknownst to me, the sinks do not provide one with the option of controlling the water temperature. Thus, the water comes out scorching hot--hotter even, than a mid-summers hike in Ein Gedi. Hotter than the Chicago Blackhawks, and even hotter than burning hot. Henry, if these sinks had what we would call "knobs" then I would go ahead and turn on the colder side so as not to burn my precious little hands.
       BUT,  Henry, and this is the big but-- these sinks have no such knobs. And what is worse, is that after one burns one's hands, one lacks the theoretical option of drying them, with an old fashion device called "paper towels." There are no paper towels in Albany, Henry. Rather, all there is is an automatic dryer which promises that "Your hands will be dry in 12 seconds or less." I wish this was true. It is not. It is a filthy lie. My hands don't get dry in 12 seconds. Perhaps if I left them in for thirty seconds. However, if I had this handy dandy little tool called "paper towels" I would have dry hands in three seconds or less. Thus, every time I go to the bathroom, I cringe at the thought of burning my hands, and then being unable to properly dry them, after they have been thoroughly scorched.
      The Talmud teaches us, "Who is rich? The one who is happy with what he has." Judaism teaches that the key to happiness is to appreciate what we do have. Many times in life we don't appreciate what we have, until it is gone. After all, they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot. I never cherish my nose, for example, until its so stuffed up with mucous (Perhaps too graphic of a description) that I cannot fully appreciate the taste of my wife's deliciously delicious food she has cooked, especially for me. Have you ever realized how valuable our nose is, for the culinary enjoyment of eating? We never appreciate the state of not having a headache, until we have a horrific pounding migraine, and we would do ANYTHING to have our heads return to feeing normal. Do we only call out to G-d when we are in most dire need, or do we stop, and thank G-d even when the going is good? Judaism teaches that the first thing we do every morning when we wake up is thank G-d for returning our souls to us. When we pray, three times a day, every day, we thank G-d for the blessings He has bestowed upon us.  I never realized how special paper towels were, until they disappeared from my life in Albany. I took them for granted. Now that they are gone, I long for them. When I am in my own home, not in the UAlbany bathrooms, I take ENORMOUS pleasure in turning on the cold water knob, and then proceeding to dry my hands with a good old fashion paper towel. I have learned to be more appreciative if mundane, precious gifts G-d has given us.
       Life is like a paper towel in Albany. Precious. We sure as heck better cherish it while we have it.

Yours truly,
Danny Wolfe

Life lessons from a "Humble Virtual Assistant"

Life lessons from a "Humble Virtual Assistant"

2-12-13

Dear Henry,

       I am sorry it's been so long since I have written. I imagine your devoted readers have been anxiously awaiting for the next post, in the same way that a young beaver cub anxiously awaits his mama to return from a long days work in the frigid Icelandian meadows. Heck, I even bet they have been anxiously awaiting the next blogg post in the same way that Fitty aka Fifty Cents is anxiously awaiting for his track to explode. 

       I have been doing well, thanks for asking. It's taken so long to post since I am simply, Thank G-d very busy, not because I have forgotten about you. There are a few topics on my mind that I want to discuss, but since time is short, I will bli neder leave writing about my aversion to automatic hand dryers for another blogg post. Instead, today, I plan to discuss an incident I had with my IPad and Iphone 4s. 

       You see, dear Henry, that as my iPad is in my backpack, sometimes, some mysterious lady named Suri, who my lovely colleague Nadine introduced to me, (whom I refer to by her Yiddish full-name of Surele) starts talking to me. Apparently, she is on my new, fancy shmancy I phone 4S as well. As I pulled my car Sally-the Santa-Fe into my garage--I decided I should ask Surele what the weather is going to be for that particular moment, on that particular day. So as I turned off the car, I dramatically looked to my left-- and then, like James Bond himself, gaze to my right-- to make sure no one was going to witness me speaking to my some-what imaginary friend Surele. When I saw the coast was clear, I went ahead and I pressed the little button on the front of my Iphone 4s, and said, "Suri, what is the weather today?" She responded, without missing a beat, "Its not looking good-- Going to be cold until Monday." Then I said, "Thank you Suri!" She responded, "Just doin' my job." To this, I replied, "Really Surele, you're really great! I appreciate the help." At this point, she responded, "Who is Surele?!" I answered, "That is you silly! Anyways thanks for all the help!" To this, she answered-- "I am just putting myself to the fullest possible use." 

     As I sat there, speaking to Suri, I couldn't help but reflect on her powerful words. When I asked her what she was, she told me she is, and now, Henry, I quote,  "just a humble virtual assistant." I thought about how when I tried thanking her, she deflected the praise, and told me she is just doing her job. I then thought about what she meant when she told me just tries to put herself to her fullest possible use. 

     She actually reminded me a lot of what I have studied in our timeless volume on ethics called Pirkei Avos-- Judaism's book of ethics given by G-d at Mt. Sinai, passed on to us from generation to generation. Pirkei Avos has many tremendous lines, like "Mo Money Mo Problems," for example. However, after speaking to Suri I see that she also was well versed in Pirkei Avos. Pirkei Avos  teaches us "If you have learned a lot of Torah, don't think you are so special, because that is why you were created." In other words, if someone comes and gives me props for being such an accomplished Torah Scholar, my response, is meant to be like Suri's: "Just doin' my job!" It says elsewhere in Pirkei Avos-- "If I will not be for myself, who will be for me? And EVEN If I am for myself, what am I?"  In other words-- even if I am accomplishing a lot, and doing good work-- just like the good folks on Central Ave who take care of Sally when she goes in for an oil change, and even if I am fighting the good fight, just like a gang of ugly grey squirrels just tryin' to make it through the winter--Still, oh Henry, what does that amount to, in light of what I am CAPABLE of doing?  If I have the potential to be a .300 hitter for YOUR Colorado Rockies, and I instead am batting .275, what the heck am I accomplishing, compared to what I am meant to be doing? If I decided to be a super-model instead of a world renowned rabbi capable of inspiring millions, should I feel good about myself? If I ran a quarter marathon, when everyone knows I could easily run 2 marathons blind-folded--much like my future brother in law-- should I be proud of my accomplishments? Or, should I realize that that is only the tip of the tip of the tippy top of the icey- iceberg of what I am capable of accomplishing? Are we, G-d forbid, selling ourselves short? Or, are we like Suri, putting ourselves to the fullest possible use? 

      My blessing to all of us, is that we should strive to be like my new imaginary friend Surele, and we should settle for nothing less than living according to our maximal potential. And even when we are meeting our potential, let us retain Suri's humility, and realize that we are merely doing our job, and ultimately, nothing more, than  "simple, virtual assistants."